Owned by the Badman (Russian Bratva #1) (4 page)

When the opportunity presented itself and her father owed me, I seized it and made my deal. Her life for his. She would become my wife, my property. The weak bastard accepted the terms
immediately
, without consulting anybody at all. Really, it made me sick. She needed to be out of their home as soon as possible.

Was it so easy to hand something as fragile and beautiful as Haleigh over to a monster? To save himself? He did not deserve her.
Not that I do
. I am a cruel beast of a man, but I want her just the same.

“Come, Haleigh, you are home now,” I say as softly as I can, trying to be gentle so as not frighten the little dove.

Haleigh nods slightly and slides out of the car. She is grace and beauty personified, her voice sweet and soft.

I have never had
good
.

I have never had
sweet
.

I have never had
soft
in my life.

Although, I am afraid I will break her, I want to have a piece of her softness in my home and, most importantly, in my bed.

“Your home is beautiful,” she whispers softly. I simply nod.

It is massive is what it is.

While most businessmen live in the city, in high-rise apartments, showing off their wealth and looking down from their appointed statuses above the rest of the people. I can’t handle the claustrophobia of it all. I need space. I vowed to myself when I was a dirty kid, crammed in an orphanage in Moscow, that I would one day have a castle to myself; that I would have room to just breathe. I made that dream a reality as soon as I possibly could.

“Your home now, too,” I say, taking the expensive bracelet from her fragile wrist, before unclasping the necklace and handing them to Dimitri.

“Make sure Mrs. Stockhardt receives these immediately,” I order. Dimitri nods before leaving us.

We are completely alone now. I have other staff but excused them for the weekend. I have also taken the weekend off from all of my duties.

This weekend I have set my priorities.

This weekend is to be about my new wife and me.

I am going to claim something that is
mine
.

For the first time in my life, I own something—
someone
.

I own something completely untarnished.

I cannot wait to finally have Haleigh, completely and totally at my mercy.

I
AM A WRECK
, an absolute
nervous wreck
. I don’t know what Maxim expects from me, and I don’t think I will please him. He is big and masculine. No doubt, he has been with dozens of beautiful women. I am a scared, timid, shy
virgin
who has only had her first kiss tonight.

He won’t want me, and then what will become of me?

I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel Maxim’s strong hand rest on my lower back, his lips at my ear.

“Come upstairs,
golubushka.
” My eyes widen at his gentle words, and I look at him in question.

“Little dove,” he responds as he guides me up the stairs and toward the set of double doors at the entrance of the master suite.

My palms are sweaty and I feel faint; this feels like the death march.

Maxim opens the double doors. He appears oblivious to my extreme nervousness, or perhaps he just doesn’t
care
.

Once the doors open, my uneasiness quadruples and I am taken aback by the sheer size of the room and the furniture.

Everything is big and black with hints of red, very masculine, and very rough—just like the man himself.

The gigantic bed has a black leather headboard, and a red comforter with black pillows decorating it. There is a leather bench at the foot of the bed with two red pillows on each end. The dresser and nightstands are also black and modern,
plain
, without framed photos or anything personal at all on them.

I can’t see a man like him decorating with throw pillows
.

Maxim has obviously had help decorating his home, and I wonder if an ex-girlfriend or lover put this sensual bedroom together for him. I try to tamp down the jealousy that worms its way inside of me at the thought of another woman with my new husband.

The only piece of artwork on the wall is a giant framed print of St. Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow. It is bright and colorful and stands out in the dark room. I slowly walk up to the photo and look at the swirling colors. I think about how vivid and exquisite it must be in person.

“This is where I am from. Moscow,” he states, his accent thicker and so very fascinating to my ears.

“This is a cathedral, right? It is very different. Is it so brightly colored in person?” I ask as my eyes still search and take in the colors of the print.

“It is. I should like to take you there one day if you so desire … to my homeland,” he murmurs softly.

I feel his finger on my bare shoulder as it circles my skin then slowly slides down my arm, leaving a heated trail and goosebumps in his wake.

“I would love that. I haven’t traveled anywhere before,” I freely admit. Maxim’s lips press against my shoulder, my skin still hot from his fingertip’s touch.

“Come to bed, wife,” he says gruffly. His words startle me. I can’t help the chill that runs through my body.

I am not prepared for this. I don’t even truly know what to expect. When mothers were giving their daughters
“the talk,”
mine was using a pointing stick to hit my toes and instep because my feet weren’t
perfect
enough.

“I- I’ve never …” I let the words trail off, looking into his ice blue eyes as they flare with something I don’t understand.

“It’s all right. I know, my little dove. I’ll take care of you,” he almost growls.

Maxim grasps my hand with his and leads me toward the gigantic bed. I feel like I am going to panic. My breathing becomes erratic, and my eyes can’t stop darting around the room. It feels like it’s spinning.

I can’t speak; my throat and mouth feel like I have swallowed sawdust, so I stay silent
. It is my chosen statement anyway
. I can’t get into trouble for questioning things when I am silent—I have learned this lesson the hard way.

Silence is golden
.

Maxim looms behind me, his large hands sliding from my bare shoulders to my arms and down to my wrists. His lips touch the base of my bare neck before he slowly removes the pins from my hair, allowing it to tumble down my back, hitting my elbows. I am not used to having it down often; in ballet, it is a distraction and must be worn in a bun—always.

“I have never seen your hair down, Haleigh. It is simply breathtaking.” His voice is soft and his words charming.

Not once has somebody complimented
me
; my teachers and parents have only ever pointed out the flaws in my dancing. Each performance was a lesson on how to grow but never have I been praised. I find myself smiling at the gift.

“Thank you,” I mutter, unable to move or say anything else.

Maxim gathers my hair at the nape of my neck in a faux ponytail before letting it slide down one shoulder. His lips touch my opposite shoulder, and then he kisses his way up to my ear.

“You shall never wear it in a bun again, my little dove. You will not hide its beauty from me, do you understand?” he commands.

It is a complete command, and yet it isn’t. It is a compliment laced within a command. I find myself willing to yield to any demand he has, as long as he compliments me, which is sad in and of itself. The attention is lustful. Maxim’s focus on me, his attention
to
me, is what dreams are made of, or at least my own.

“It’s vulgar to wear your hair loose, Maxim,” I murmur my mother’s words, knowing it isn’t what he wants to hear, but also knowing I could not just accept it. I would feel too guilty. Nevertheless, it is what I have been taught.

Suddenly, his strong fingers are wrapped around my chin as he moves my head around toward him, my neck is craned extremely uncomfortable but not painfully so.

“Nothing your husband asks of you is vulgar, Haleigh. Nothing about you could ever
be
vulgar, and your parents have no power here in this house or in this marriage. You will do good to remember that when I ask something of you, whatever it may be—you do it.” His voice is low and gentle, but his tone is stern, reiterating his seriousness.

“Yes, Maxim,” I whisper, my eyes wide with shock and anticipation.

Maxim nods and then slides the hidden side zipper on my dress down my body, releasing me from my wedding dress.

I feel exposed, my breasts bared with white lace bikini panties. It is the most naked I have ever been in front of a man who wasn’t at the dance studio, and even then, I wore a nude leotard most of the time, covering my body.

Maxim’s fingers dance down my spine and over my hips before he grips them. I can hear him breathing heavily behind me, and I wonder if I turn him on or if he is disgusted by my thin frame. He spins me around to face him, and he looks pained as his eyes travel up and down my body.

“So beautiful, Haleigh, but so achingly thin,” he whispers as if it hurts his heart to even think the words, let alone say them.

“I-I have to stay thin so that I can be lifted by my partners. Plus, I dance ten hours every day of the week. I’m sorry that I don’t appeal to you, Maxim. You must be terribly disappointed,” I confess shakily, looking down. I can’t look him in the eye. I can’t see the disappointment that is there, where I know it most certainly is. Instead, I stare at his beautiful thick throat and wait.

“Haleigh, look at me.” His tone is sharp,
commanding
, and my eyes automatically dart to meet his.

“You are beautiful, in every way. You do not disappoint me. I am just concerned for your health. This body that you carry is not a healthy one,” he rasps.

Maxim’s concern floods my heart. A man who doesn’t know me is concerned for my health—it is deeply and heartrenderingly stunning. A lone tear escapes my eye and Maxim bends down to kiss it away, showing me again that he has compassion I have never seen before, not from any other human.

“Come now,” he mumbles, picking me up by my waist, and guiding me gently onto the bed, His large body hovers over mine but doesn’t press into me.

“I will show my wife what it means to be mine,” he murmurs, and I know that he is going to make love to me. His lips crash down on mine, and his tongue licks my lips, urgently trying to gain entrance to my mouth.

I can’t stop the moan that escapes my throat as I feel his tongue slide into my mouth, warm, soft, and firm. He knows what he is doing, and I am relying on him to take care of me. His large hands slide onto my hips, and I feel his fingertips tracing the waist of my panties. He then slides over my core, firmly rubbing my lace covered center, and applies pressure exactly where my body has begun to throb.

Maxim’s lips leave my mouth and travel down my neck as his other hand carefully wraps around my thigh and spreads my legs farther apart, his lower half nestling between my thighs.

“My beautiful little dove,” he whispers, kissing down my chest.

Maxim’s lips caress my breasts and I blush. I know my breasts are extremely small, and he will be so disappointed in me.
Why would he want a woman with such small breasts?
I have zero femininity when I am out of clothes. I look like a boy, and I have never hated myself more than I do at this moment.

I want to be everything he desires, I want him to always treat me the way he is right now. I love the softness and gentleness he’s offering me at this moment. I yearn for his attentions and his gentility, something no other person has given me. I want to give myself to him this instant, not because it is my duty but because I want him, all of him, and all that he can give me.

“Open your eyes. Stay with me,” he says. His tone sharp but his voice gentle.

“You are beautiful,” he murmurs against my breast.

He swirls his tongue around the flesh of my breast before he wraps his lips around my nipple. He flicks the hardened bud with his tongue, causing my back to bow, the foreign feeling delicious.

“Maxim,” I breathe, the first words I have spoken in what feels like hours.