Seduction: A Dark Bratva Fake Marriage Romance (Wicked Vows)
Seduction: Chapter 17

Markov looks down at his phone, though he has that look again—the one he got right before he decked Jake. I’m not afraid he’s going to lash out at me; I’d like to think I know him too well for that by now. But something. . . something’s made him angry.

“I had this phone when I arrived. I have two. You can see them if you’d like. One is older, but the contacts didn’t sync correctly, so I carry both.”

I’m not quite sure I believe him, but what reason would he have to lie?

“Oh.”

Tonight has shown me again the reality of who we are. The truth crashes into my thoughts like thunder.

It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. But it never was.

I’ve given myself to a man who can never be who I need him to be. I have fallen in love with a man who’ll always abide by his own code of ethics, everything and everyone else be damned.

I need to sleep. We both need to.

I’m bone-weary when we get back and don’t give Markov a hard time when he sweeps the room. Checks the door. Checks his phone and sends a text. Checks his weapon and makes sure it’s loaded before placing it on the dresser.

“Come to bed, Markov,” I say gently. My eyes feel scratchy when I blink, but when he joins me, I draw in a gasp.

“Your hands,” I whisper. “They’re a mess.”

He scowls down at his bruised and bloodied knuckles and shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“We can at least wash them,” I say, pushing out of bed and getting a washcloth from the bathroom. I wet it with warm, soapy water and rejoin him. “I don’t have much in the line of first aid with me. . .”

“I don’t need it. I’m only humoring you.”

I give him a serious look. “Protection is your job, and I’ve humored you. But this is mine. Medical, remember? First aid? This is my jam. Don’t take this away from me.”

He grunts and reluctantly nods. “Go on.”

I kneel in front of him so I can get a better look. I take his large, calloused palm in both of my hands and peer at the damage. He could use antiseptic but we’re lacking a fully stocked first aid kit. Instead, I clean the blood and sweat from both hands and replace that the wounds are only superficial.

“Told you I was fine,” he grunts.

I nod, placing his hands down and going to put both of mine on his knees to push up to standing, but something stops me.

I’m. . . kneeling before him. This feels intimate.

Submissive.

The utterly possessive look in his eyes tells me he feels it, too.

“You have an important day tomorrow, Vera,” he says in a way that’s very. . . Daddy.

I nod.

“You’re on the verge of a breakthrough, aren’t you?”

My chest swells. He knows. He’s been following along while I chatter on and on about the challenges we’ve faced. “Yeah,” I say softly. We’ve been studying specifically how certain plants indigenous to remote areas are unaffected by a biological threat with widespread pathogens. If we learn how to harness this knowledge, it could change so much. . .

“I believe in you. I know you can do this.” His eyes heat, and the tone of his voice tells me he feels what I do, too. “I like this vantage point. What about you, Vera? Do you?”

I do. I so do. Slowly, I nod because I don’t trust my voice, and I’m confused about why this feels so nice. I’m a strong, independent woman who gets shit done. I got here of my own volition and on my own merit. Why do I melt into a puddle when I’m kneeling in front of him?

Slowly, he cups my face with his large hand. I swallow when he drags the pad of his thumb along my lower lip.

“I’ll have to remember this. Now, you need some rest so you’re ready for tomorrow.”

I want to pout, but I feel my body aching for rest.

“Tomorrow, we’ll discuss that little fit you had in the community room.”

I open my mouth to protest as my heartbeat thunders in my ears. “Markov⁠—”

One sharp shake of his head tells me this isn’t the time we’ll discuss anything. “Now you need sleep. We both do. You have to work tomorrow. And when your work is over. . . we’ll have a talk.”

I can’t help but wonder if that talk will involve me over his knee. Why does a small part of me hope that it does while the rest of me balks? This is way more complicated than I anticipated.

It isn’t complicated sliding into bed, though. I close my eyes and feel the softness of the mattress and the warmth of Markov beside me.’Rest, Vera.”

I close my eyes, resting easy in the knowledge that he absolutely has this under control.

The next day, Jake doesn’t show up to the clinical. He’s not missed, though, and even Irina isn’t bothered by it. She doesn’t say much, likely because she aims to be professional, but at the end of the day, she says, “It was nice to see the rest of you have more of a chance to. . . participate.”

Sophia and I worked hard side by side cataloguing specimens while Maxim and Liam studied test tubes. It wasn’t until we were a full twelve hours into it and Professor Morozov ordered us dinner that I finally, finally made the breakthrough. Markov was just outside the door, taking a call.

“Markov. Oh my God. Markov,” I say, my voice wobbly. My eyes are somehow a bit misty, and I’m so overcome with emotion at what we’ve finally done. “You won’t believe it.” I sniff hard. He shoves his phone in his pocket and takes both of my hands in his, all ears.

“Yes? What is it, love?”

He plays the part of a doting husband so damn well. Too well.

I swallow and lick my lips. “I figured it out. I finally found a way. It’s absolutely groundbreaking.” I’m trembling with the enormity of what I discovered. “You know how if you plant marigold flowers around a flower bed, it serves as a natural barrier to pests and insects and even woodland creatures like deer?”

He shrugs and shakes his head. “I did not, but go on.”

I can’t help but giggle a little. He really is outside his sphere of knowledge and is totally comfortable with owning it. And I love that. I love that he isn’t threatened or intimidated by me.

“We can develop crops with a similar approach. Natural deterrents to biological threats or air-borne illnesses. It’s basically like building a bubble around certain areas that would be otherwise compromised and endangered. This is. . . this is huge.” I swallow against the rising lump in my throat. “I mean, we knew this, but what we developed in the lab today has the potential of increasing our speed of application by like tenfold. We’re only in the beginning stages, but. . . but we did it.”

I squeal when he lifts me straight off the ground and tosses me in the air before he catches me and spins around right there in the open. Some onlookers chuckle.

“Amazing, Vera. I’m so damn proud of you. I knew you could do it. I knew you could.”

I nod, still a bit tearful. “I know,” I say, swiping at my eyes. “I know you did, which is why I’m an emotional basket case right now.”

No one has ever believed in me the way he does. Even my mother, who adores me to pieces and is always my biggest cheerleader, often lets her own fears get in the way. “Now, don’t get ahead of yourself,” she’d say, or “Let’s take one thing at a time.” But I pushed past the cautionary words and fears. They seem far away now, unable to hold me back.

He pulls me into a big hug, so warm and reassuring I want to stay here forever. I breathe in his familiar masculine scent and let myself sink into the strength of his embrace. “And I’d bet it’s no coincidence that you didn’t have to wade through the arrogance of a certain American to get there, mmm?”

I giggle against his chest.

“Um, can you put me down now so I can save face?”

“Of course,” he says, immediately complying while he whispers in my ear. “I’ll give you that out here. But when we’re alone, little girl. . . you’re Daddy’s.”

Gah. Is swallowing your own tongue a thing? Because I’m choking on literally nothing.

“Are you needed back at the lab?”

“Not today,” I tell him. “Morozov dismissed us.”

“Excellent. Why don’t we go back and you can call your mother and tell her the news?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’d like that.”

Could the man be any more perfect? Of course he knew the next person I had to tell was Mom.

Perfection. Science tells us it doesn’t exist, that it’s only a figment of our imagination and yet my romance-lover’s heart dares to hope.

Back in the room, I let Markov check everything to make sure we’re safe and half-expect he’ll replace something. “Coast is clear.”

I hear footsteps behind me and look over my shoulder to see Jake scurrying past us. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and his head is down; he doesn’t even look my way.

I wonder if Jake will pose a problem anymore. I suspect not.

“Did you replace out anything about the picture of the front of the room?” I ask Markov.

He shakes his head. “No. We haven’t been able to identify a source.”

“Ah.”

I close the door behind me and remember what he told me last night. I remember his promise.

I swallow hard.

When your work is over. . . we’ll have a talk.

My work is over. . . what will that talk entail, and why does my heart threaten to leap out of my chest?

“Here,” Markov says, handing me my phone. “Before you and I pick up where we left off, call your mother.”

Gah. Whyyyyy did he do that to me?

“Markov,” I choke out.

“What?”

“Why did you say that before I called my mother?”

A corner of his lips quirks up, and he shrugs. “Because I know exactly how you’ll respond, and I want you to remember who you belong to.”

“Even when I’m on the phone with my mother?”

“Especially when you’re on the phone with your mother. Your mother will praise you and tell you what an accomplished woman you are. And while that praise is well deserved, you were the one who told me you like the idea of putting things down for a while. That you don’t always want to be the strong, powerful, in-charge woman.”

I swallow. “Right.” I dial my mother. It’ll be lunchtime back home. Nostalgia hits me in the chest with a wave of homesickness.

She answers on the first ring.

“Vera?”

“Mom! How are you?”

“Oh, it is so good to hear your voice. I know you’re busy, but I miss you so much. Thankfully, Markov’s been keeping me updated, so I don’t have to bug you too much.” She laughs.

I stare at Markov. “Markov’s been keeping you updated?”

What?

“Oh, yes. He texts me every day just to tell me how things are going. He said you were on the verge of a breakthrough. Something to do with. . . I could only follow so much. . . using crops or something to prevent. . . something.”

I smile and shake my head at him. “Yes, exactly, and Mom, it’s big news.” My voice gets a little husky again because this is so monumental for me. “We did it. We figured it out.”

Her whoop is so loud in my ear I have to hold the phone at a distance until she settles down. Markov and I grin at each other.

“Oh, Vera, I knew you could do it. Knew it! Markov did, too. He said he had total faith that you would persist until you figured it out.”

I swallow. “He. . . did? Oh.”

For the first time in my life. . . I have a little circle of support. I’m not even sure how to handle the surge of emotion.

“Tell me everything,” Mom says. I’m grateful for the chance to pull myself into facts and out of the emotions that threaten to choke me.

I tell her everything, and while she probably only understands about twenty percent of what I say, as usual, she’s attentive and curious.

“Oh, Vera,” she says. “Your grandma and I are so, so proud of you. You’re going places, sweetheart. You watch and see.”

Heh. I try not to think about the fact that the next place I’m going is probably right over Markov’s lap.

Double gah.

“Now, I want you to tell me about other things.”

I look up at Markov, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his strong, sturdy hands braced on his thighs. “Mmm?”

“You and Markov. How is our Jason Bourne?”

I look Markov straight in the eye while I respond. “He’s bossy as hell. Kind of old-fashioned, too. Thinks he knows everything. And he won’t even let me walk in our room—I mean my room—without checking to see if it’s safe first.”

My cheeks heat. I’m thankful my mom is thousands of miles away and can’t see how beet-red I am. If she caught that little blunder, she doesn’t let on.

“Of course he is. Men like him would be, you know. They always would be.”

I wish Markov wasn’t here right now. I’d want to talk to her. . . honestly. Woman to woman. About everything.

Mom, why am I capable and independent but crave his dominance?

How can I justify being a woman in modern-day and still allow him to tell me what to do?

How do I make peace with what my body wants and what my mind knows is right?

And most of all. . .

How can I love a man who’s forbidden for me?

But I don’t. I don’t ask her any of these things and just assure her that I’m fine.

I assure her Markov is.

I tell her I love her and that I can’t wait to come home.

“Stay close to him, sweetheart. Your father has made many mistakes in his life, you know I believe that, but appointing Markov as your bodyguard was one of his better decisions. And on that note, Vera. . . you and I need to talk.”

Why do those words never fail to incite fear in me?

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry. It’s just that your father called. He said that there’s a benefit in Moscow this weekend, and he wants you to attend. Now, I know how you feel about him⁠—”

“No, Mom. We had dinner with him recently, and it was a disaster. Ugh. I hated being around him. He is so full of himself! Besides, I don’t have time to go to a benefit.”

I feel guilty hearing her sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I know, Vera. I know, I really do.”

“Then why make me go?” I feel like an angsty teen. “It’s too much. Why does he insist I go to these things?”

“Because he’s trying to mend bridges. He thinks if you see him with his peers, you’ll think more highly of him. Because you’re his daughter, Vera.”

I hate that my father puts my mother in this position. She must hate him more than I do, but she knows she’s stuck being married to a powerful man of the Bratva. She knows he keeps mistresses and has long since broken their vows to one another. He’s done all of this and still makes her do his bidding because he can, the power-hungry asshole. Without him, she’d be penniless and homeless and blacklisted from everyone she knows. It’s shitty, and it isn’t fair.

“It isn’t just all that, Mom. It’s also because he wants to parade me around and make himself look better. He has no interest in who I am as his daughter. None! My perspective won’t change just because he’s playing the part of philanthropist for a night.”

Markov shifts on the bed. When I look over, he taps his wrist as if to remind me to wrap this up. My pulse races.

“Having Markov with you might make things a bit more bearable, no?”

That’s. . . debatable.

Finally, I agree with a sigh. I can’t make life harder for my mother because I protest on principle. I have hoops to jump through, and this is one of them. “Yes. I can go. I’ll do it, Mom.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

We talk for a little while longer, and I have to admit, I keep the conversation going a little because I’m a little. . . nervous. . . about what happens next.

I finally hang up the phone and turn to face him.

“What did she ask you to do? You weren’t happy about something. What’s going on?”

I sigh and shake my head. “There’s some benefit thing my father wants me to go to, and he wants me to go with you. I don’t want to go. I mean. . . your aunt is the one who’s with him in Moscow, right? Ugh.” I can’t even think about the fact that Markov has a connection to one of the many women my father cheats on my mother with.

“Ahh. And when’s that?” He’s once more wearing his poker face, but he doesn’t exactly look thrilled at the idea of what we have to do.

“I know, you hate socializing. You’d rather stay here, where things are, at least for now, predictable and safe.”

“Mmm. Yes. And why didn’t your father tell you he wishes you to attend this. . . what did you call it? Benefit?”

“Ugh, because this is what he does.” I stifle the need to whine. “If he suspects I’m not going to want to do something that he wants me to do, he gets my mom to ask me instead because I can’t say no to her.”

“I see. When is it?”

“This weekend. And Markov, if he thinks he can parade his mistress around in front of me. . . I don’t care if she’s your aunt or not. That’s just not right.”

“Indeed,” he says with a sober nod. “In any event, we will deal with the details of the upcoming benefit. But in the meantime, we’ll deal with the issue at hand.”

I turn away and bite my lip. “About that.”

“Mmm,” he says soberly, reaching for me so his hands grip my hips. “I told you we’d talk about things, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but. . .”

“No buts. Come here, Vera. We’ll have this conversation now. With you over my lap.”

“Markov!” I protest as he tugs me over his knee. He doesn’t do anything, only rests his large hand on my ass.

“Now,” he continues. “Let’s talk.”

The blood rushes to my face even as my body heats. I’m instantly aroused. It feels as if all the blood in my entire body has rushed between my thighs.

“You disobeyed Daddy, didn’t you, Vera?”

Why does it feel so wrong yet so. . . why do I love hearing him say that?

“Um. I maybe did.”

I gasp when he brings his palm across my ass. A flare of arousal stokes my pulse. I stifle a whimper.

“There’s no maybe about it, is there?”

“Welll. . . I had good reason,” I begin, and he brings his palm across my ass a second time.

“Let’s hear that reason,” he says. “Though I can guarantee that you will always answer for disobeying me.”

“I—I—” It feels as if my brain’s short-circuiting.

Do I want this?

Yes, I do.

But. . . Daddy?

Gah, hawwwwt.

I can hardly even think straight.

I’m a grown woman!

A grown woman who loves being called little girl. . . by him.

But he’s going to spank me, and he’s talking about all sorts of things like. . . obedience.

Hawwt.

Gah!

“I was scared for you. I didn’t want you hurt. And I—” Okay, here comes the brutal honesty. “I don’t know what I think about you telling me what to do.”

I brace myself for another hard spank and hiss in a breath when he cups my ass in his hand instead. “Good answers, Vera. Those were very honest.” I feel the warmth of his chest at my back when he brings his mouth to my ear. “Daddy likes it when you tell him the truth.”

Oh. Dear. God.

Why is that so fucking hot?

I could get into this. . . With just a little more persuasion, I could. . . totally get into this.

“Good little girls who do as they’re told get rewarded,” he says warmly, the tone of his voice melting me into a big old pile.

Oh, do they?

What might. . . that look like?

With deft fingers, he unfastens my skirt and tugs it down over my heated ass. Oooh.

I’m hardly breathing as he parts my legs and sinks one blunt finger between my folds.

“Oh God,” I whimper. I’m so swollen, so wet, so intensely turned on I feel like I’m on the edge of coming already. “That’s so—my God—how did you know?”

“Know that a spanking from Daddy turned you on?”

Not just that, I want to tell him. My God, it’s everything. The spanking, being over his lap, the whole Daddy thing.

“I didn’t know. I theorized. See, I’m a scientist, too, baby, just like you. I had a hypothesis, and I tested it. And it looks like I’ve made my own breakthrough.”

He circles my clit with his warm, rough fingers and my hips jerk of their own accord.

“You’re a naughty little girl who likes this. You come alive when Daddy disciplines you. You crave more of this, more of me. This is probably what you fantasize about when you touch yourself, isn’t it? Tell me the truth, Vera.”

I nod. I have been fantasizing about the dirty things Markov could do to me the second I met him because he oh-so-easily replaced my collection of Jason Bourne fantasies.

“Tell me what you imagine when you touch yourself.”

“I don’t⁠—-”

He spanks my ass, hard. Shit, that hurts like hell over naked skin.

Why do I want him to do that again?

“Don’t lie to Daddy, Vera.”

How does he know I’m lying?

I squirm uncomfortably on his lap. “Well, yes. I imagine you tying me up. I imagine. . . this. Being over your lap. I imagine you lecturing me before you spank me. I imagine. . . like. . . maybe you. . . using things on me.”

“That’s a good girl,” he says in that voice that makes me melt. “Like what?”

“Like. . . that time you used your belt. Or maybe. . . I don’t know, something like. . . to keep my wrists together. I. . . I’ve only read about these things, and I don’t know what I like or want.”

I breathe out and complete the melting process. I’m literally boneless now.

“But are you willing to replace out?”