Seduction: A Dark Bratva Fake Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)
Seduction: Chapter 10

Sharing a room with my fake husband is going to kill me.

I came here to study, not be seduced by the hottest fucking Russian man I’ve ever met in my life.

But it’s the first time I’ve had the chance to get close to a man – and not just any man, but a sexy, dominant one… maybe, for once in my life, I can live a little. I came here to prove myself capable and worthy of the opportunities I’ve been given, determined to break free from the confines of my sheltered upbringing. To forge my own destiny. Why should romance be limited to the pages of a fictional book?

“Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t replace out,” Markov says in that Russian accent that makes my belly dip. Why is he completely unconcerned? It seems he doesn’t fear my father at all.

I bite my lip, wrestling with my inner turmoil. I choose my words deliberately, weighing each one before I express it. “You asked me to trust you. And I definitely want to do that. But I can never live with myself if, because of my choices, I hurt somebody else. I don’t want you to be hurt, Markov.”

His return gaze makes my heart do a little flip-flop. He cradles my chin in his strong, capable hand. After our first encounter, it was hard to imagine he was capable of such tenderness.

“Let me worry about that. Please. Those books you read? About dominance and submission? The sex, everything that goes on in the bedroom. . . That’s only the very beginning. It’s about way more than that. In real life, it’s about establishing trust. It’s about letting things go. You don’t need to worry about your father.”

I don’t know if I can stop, but the next second, my brain short-circuits because he’s leaning in. And oh my God, I think he’s going to kiss me. I’ve never had a real kiss with a real man before, just awkward fumbles that left me wanting in the back of the high school auditorium at stupid dances.

“I love that you bite your lower lip when you’re deep in thought. I love how naturally graceful and poised you are, even when you’re sitting on my knee after getting a spanking.” My heart leaps into my throat. Then his lips touch mine, and I’m completely lost to sensation.

I am floating. The nerves in my body are teeming with need and arousal. When his lips meet mine, a delicious warmth and awareness spreads through me like molten honey, a sweet fire in my veins. He holds me to him. One arm at my back, cradling me, his other hand grasps my jaw. My hands rest on his strong, powerful shoulders. It takes me a second to realize the moan I’m hearing is mine.

I don’t know how long we kiss, but when we finally pull away, gasping, I am as pliable as warmed taffy in his hands. My heart thunders in my chest, and I forget why I protested to begin with. That kiss was everything I wanted.

“We’re going to take this slow, Vera,” he says, the slightest quirk at the corner of his lips. I don’t know if I’ve seen him smile yet, and I think if I ever do, I might tumble head over heels in love with him. But that slightest little quirk is boyishly charming and warms my heart.

I snort. “Go slow,” I repeat. “We barely know each other, and you’ve already spanked my ass and kissed me. Is that normal?”

His voice is husky. “For a husband? Yes.”

Oh, Jesus.

My stomach drops. “Get in bed,” he commands. “That alarm is going off at four forty-five, don’t forget.”

“Are you sure about that? I don’t think we need to get up at—” He gives me a firm pat on my ass and then guides me into bed.

“Bed, young lady,” he says in that warm, commanding voice that does all sorts of crazy things to me. “Have you already forgotten that you need to obey your husband? Idi v krovat. Bed.”

Obediently, I roll over and stare at the wall, adrenaline surging through me. I’m not so tired anymore.

“I don’t think I can just fall asleep like that. If you’re my husband, I need to at least look at you. Can I look at you?”

He climbs in beside me, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

“Going to fantasize yourself to sleep?” he teases seductively. “I approve of that.”

“Perhaps I will. Will you?”

“No. I’m going to tuck you in and wait until you fall asleep. Then I’ll take a quick shower and join you. Then I’ll get some sleep.”

The thought of him standing naked in the shower makes me squirm.

“You can’t survive on sleep deprivation. “

“Made it this far. “

A sudden realization makes me groan. “You heard everything I said in English when you were pretending, didn’t you?”

He nods. “Just call me Jason Bourne.”

“Jason Bourne was an assassin,” I say with a laugh. Maybe it’s my imagination, but the slightest shadow crosses his face.

“He was also skilled,” Markov says. “And I’m right here in front of you.”

“You’re a lot bigger than Jason Bourne. And he’s not a small guy. You’re impressive. Look at your shoulders. What do you bench press?”

He snorts, which is the closest thing to a laugh I’ve heard yet from him.

“Now that you’ve gotten a good chance to look at me, go to bed.”

“I really haven’t. You have tattoos everywhere. I want to see them.”

He picks me up, rolls me over, and sets his hand around my waist. “Tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

I stare at the wall like a child who has just been told to go to sleep when it’s still light out after feasting on gobs of candy. It’s not really fair. “I told you, I can’t just fall asleep.”

“Fine. Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he teases.

“Um, sure.”

He continues in his rough voice, accent thick. “There once was a little girl who was up way past her bedtime. Her daddy told her to go to sleep, but she was a naughty little girl who didn’t obey, so her daddy gave her a spanking, tucked her into bed, and she cried herself to sleep. The end.”

My cheeks heat.

Daddy. Mmm.

“Very funny. I actually read myself bedtime stories, and they’re much better than that.”

“Go ahead, then. Read your book. Under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“If you get to a sexy scene, you have to read it out loud.”

“You have no idea what I read.”

“Of course I do. You’re an intelligent, educated woman. Intelligent, educated women like to read romance.”

“How do you figure that?”

“They don’t have time for real-life romance.”

“Hey! That’s presumptuous.”

My back is to him, so I can’t see his smirk, but I can imagine it. “I’m just teasing you. Intelligent, strong women also like to give their brains a little break. There’s no way you could constantly perform at such a high level without fueling your brain. Some women play mindless games on their phones. Some listen to music endlessly. Some watch silly TV shows. You’re a reader, so I doubt you’re reading academic texts all the time. My guess is romance.” He tugs my braid, that’s loose by now and half undone. “And the truth is, I saw the title of one of your books and looked it up, so I have an idea of what kind of stories you like.”

Oh, God.

I pick up my phone and flick on the reading app. This time, though, it doesn’t captivate me as it once did. The hero seems too. . . passive. I’ve had a taste of a real alpha male, and I crave more. The heroine in this book is also annoyingly dumb, the type that makes you want to scream, “Don’t open the basement door!” I prefer someone with a bit more sass, too. And the story itself is all about. . . well, sex. I want more, something I can sink my teeth into.

Now that I’ve had a taste of the real deal, my expectations for my fantasy world are a bit. . . higher.

I skim until I get to a sexy part.

I hold my finger up in the air. “Got it. Are you sleeping yet?”

“I’m dead asleep,” he teases.

I roll my eyes and read out loud to him.

“When I return to this room, I expect you on your knees, naked. If you touch yourself, you’ll be punished because those orgasms belong to me.”

“That’s kinda hot,” I whisper.

“I agree,” he whispers back. “A little predictable and cliché, though.”

“Really? Would regular old vanilla sex be better then?”

“If they were in the middle of a restaurant. He makes her stroke herself to the brink of orgasm under the tablecloth. That would be entertaining. Or maybe at a ball game with luxury seats, they’re both tucked under a blanket. He edges her throughout the entire game and tells her she can only come if there’s a touchdown so her screams blend into the crowd’s.”

“You’ve given this some thought.”

“Mmm. It isn’t that hard.”

Great. He’s a natural then. I yawn widely. My eyelids are heavy.

“Right, put the book down and get some sleep,” he says, pulling the blanket around me. I have to admit, it feels nice for him to take care of me like this. I close my eyes. I’m in a warm cocoon of protection for the first time in my life. I pretend I’m sleeping, regulating my breathing. I want to see what he does when I’m asleep.

After a while, I wonder if he’s sleeping, too? But then there’s a subtle shift of the covers, and I hear him get out of bed. I sneak a peek as he walks to the bathroom and takes a towel from the shelf.

He did say he was going to shower.

Does he. . . does he touch himself in the shower?

Does he think of me?

I didn’t miss the press of his erection against my ass when he laid behind me in bed. I turned him the hell on, and I am here for it.

I listen for him in the shower. It might be my way too dirty mind, but I imagine I hear him groan. A short while later, the shower turns off, and he comes out wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his tapered waist. It’s dark in here, and he isn’t looking my way.

He walks to the dresser and takes out his cell phone. Frowns at it. Then sits at the tiny desk, which is dwarfed by his large frame, and types into the phone, scowling.

What is his world like? What work does he actually do when he’s not baby-sitting me? I don’t know anything about the man.

His low command startles me. “Go to sleep, Vera.”

I close my eyes, sighing, and finally feel the pull of sleep.

I wake up the next morning to the sound of my cell phone ringing and stare at the screen. Four forty-two a.m. My alarm is going to go off at any minute.

I look beside the bed and replace it plugged in. Well. I definitely didn’t plug it in. I look around for Markov, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Markov?”

It’s a tiny room, and the bathroom’s vacant. Where is he?

The cell phone keeps ringing.

“Hey, Mom.” I’m hit with a pang of guilt. I texted her when we landed but got so caught up in the hustle of everything that I didn’t call her. I do a quick calculation—it’s only nine forty-two in the evening the day before for her. It’s so strange to be in a different day than the person I’m closest to in the entire world.

“Vera! Oh, thank God. I’ve been calling and texting.”

I sit straight up in bed. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. I just hadn’t heard from you and was getting worried.”

“Mom, I’m fine,” I say. I feel a little guilty. I should’ve maybe called her last night instead of getting. . . distracted by Markov.

God, I miss her, and it hasn’t even been that long. Hopefully, it’ll get easier. “I was sleeping. Remember the time difference? You’ll be getting ready for bed soon, right?”

She sighs on the other end of the line. “I know, I know, I just. . . I felt so awful sending you off with that silent man who doesn’t even speak the same language as you. It felt like feeding my child to the wolves.”

“I’m not a child, though,” I say gently. I look around the room again. “And you’d never guess but he actually very much does speak English.”

“What!”

I fill her in but leave significant chunks of details out, like my faux marriage. I tell her about the program, getting to meet Dr. Morozov in person, and the other people joining me when the door opens, and Markov comes in, dressed in running gear, scowling at me.

“Let’s go.”

I sit up and glance at the time. Oof. It’s well past the wake-up time.

“Mom, I have to go. I’m going to get a run in before I go to my first session, okay?”

“You’re so dedicated and disciplined,” she says tearfully. “Yes, yes, of course, sweetheart. Text me some new book titles before you go. I need something to occupy myself with you gone.”

“I will, promise.” I got my love of reading romance from my mom, so we swap titles all the time. Not sure how she’ll feel about my latest obsession, though.

I hang up the call and get out of bed. “Did you plug my phone in? That was really sweet.”

Shrugging, he walks over to the bed to tidy the blankets. He lifts the sheets and quickly snaps them into place.

“I did. It was responsible, not sweet. You can’t start the day off with a dead phone. Are you going to get dressed, or are you going to stand here and tell me making the bed is sweet?”

“In science, we learn that two apparent contradictions can coexist,” I say over my shoulder as I walk to the dresser to grab running shorts and a tee. “The duality is a foundational concept in quantum mechanics. Or take the classic example of Shordinnger’s Cat⁠—”

“Vera,” he growls. Oh, I love me a good growl.

“Yes?” I ask. I slide out of my pajamas and get dressed in front of him. I don’t bother looking over my shoulder. He seduced the fuck out of me last night, so I have no intention of being modest. I smile to myself at the sound of his muffled groan.

“I was going to tell you to stop jabbering on about duality or whatever the fuck it was and get dressed, but apparently, you can do both at the same time. Impressive.”

His lips are pressed in a thin line when I turn to face him and pull my sports bra on. “All I was going to say was that someone can be grumpy and sweet at the same time, and you’re a classic example.”

“Call me sweet again and see how that goes for you,” he says as I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. “And where’s your top? You can’t go out dressed in shorts and a bra.”

I shut the door. “Of course I can. I get hot as hell running.”

“I’ll douse you with water. Wear a top.”

I frown at myself in the mirror while I brush my teeth. I’m not exactly sure how far I’m going to push this whole thing. I am not the type to allow a man to dictate how I dress, but. . . that whole spanking thing last night was hot.

I don’t know if I’ll ever really know how much I like in terms of dominance and submission if I don’t give it a go.

“I’m not wearing a top!” I yell, just to see what he’ll say. There’s no response.

My heart thumps.

When I open the door to the bathroom, I’m not sure what to expect. Markov stands, one of my running tanks in hand.

“I chose the smallest one. I’ll carry an extra bottle of water if you overheat and pour it on you. But you are not running on this campus—on my watch—without a top, at least not until I’ve had a chance to truly survey who’s here and who we have to watch.” He leans forward and tips a finger under my chin. “My job is to keep you safe, Vera. Don’t make my job harder for me, please.”

There he goes again. For some reason, his request, combined with that finger under my chin, does a lot more to sway me than his bluster and threats.

I sigh. “Fine, I’ll wear the top.” I tug it on. “Happy?”

Markov regards me with his arms crossed on his chest. Wearing a sleeveless workout top and shorts, his muscles are on full display.

Lord.

“I’m happy that I managed to cajole you into being smart about things,” he mutters, gesturing to the door. “And that attitude still needs to go, wife.” I half expect him to swat my ass when I walk past him, but luckily, he’s too busy procuring bottles of water.

“Where were you?” I ask as I open the door.

“Just outside the door. I was taking a call from the captain and didn’t want to wake you.”

“Oh?” I take the bottle of water from him and we begin walking at a good clip, warming up. “Anything important?”

“Oh, yes,” he says as we begin to pick up the pace in unison. “You and I have somewhere to be tomorrow evening.” He grits his teeth beside me.

“Why?” What the hell?

Markov scowls as he keeps pace beside me. “Your father’s arrived in Moscow.”