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

“You gave me the greatest gift a woman can give.”

“My virginity?”

“Your trust. Your openness. Your vulnerability. And yeah, baby. Your virginity.”

He kisses my cheek.

I giggle at the memory of what I just did. “I called you Daddy.” I smack his shoulder. “You made me.”

“I did,” he says with a satisfied chuckle. “And you liked it. I knew you would.”

Of course I did. It was all kinds of taboo and hot.

“I never called my own father Daddy. I barely called him anything. Why did that not feel wrong?”

He grins. “Because you’re kinky as fuck, sweetheart. And you like what I give to you—protection. Nurturing. A safe place.”

Mmm. Yes. All of that.

“My mind is trained to find the why behind things and I—I need to stop that sometimes.”

He smiles. “You do. Sometimes, we don’t need to know the reasons behind why we do what we do. Why we love what we love. Why we love who we love.”

Love.

He went there. He totally fucking went there, but we’re still obviously talking on hypothetical terms. Still. . .

We’re lying in bed. It’s inky dark outside, and the window is cracked just enough to let us hear the tell-tale sign of late-night crickets. It’s a marvel to me that in a place where humans can’t understand differences in language, the late night sounds of crickets are a universal language.

“That’s amazing,” I whisper. I feel split wide open. Exposed but in the best possible way. Bared. And the effect is making me quite contemplative.

“What is?”

“I don’t understand a word of Russian, and there are people here who don’t speak English. But the language of the crickets has no barriers. They all speak the same. What if humans never had such limitations?”

“We’d kill each other,” he quips. “Sometimes a language barrier is the only thing keeping people from fighting.”

“True,” I say with a smirk. “When I was little, my sister and I invented this language to speak to each other. It was fun.”

“Cute. My brothers and I did something similar. We had hand signals, and we thought we were something else.”

He buries his face in my hair and inhales.

“You like that?”

“I do. You smell so damn good. I feel like I’m in the middle of a field in spring, surrounded by violets.”

“I guess that expensive shit’s worth it, then.”

He inhales again, deeper. “Indeed. When my brothers and I did our hand signals, my father thought we were mocking him, so he put a swift end to that.”

“Dammit. Those strict Russian fathers. How many brothers do you have?”

He doesn’t answer at first. It’s a simple enough question. Why the hesitation?

“I have five brothers and one sister,” he says. “And you?”

“Wow. One older sister. So that’s a lot of brothers.”

“Mmm hmm,” he says. “But I don’t want to talk about my brothers in bed.” He leans over and nips my ear lobe. I squeal.

“I’m not that tired, though. I like these late-night convos.” I stick my toes out from under the blanket because I’m overheating. He helps me by tugging the rest of the blanket off when my toe gets stuck.

“I didn’t say we had to go to sleep. We can keep talking.”

I love the feel of his warm, strong body beneath mine. I lift my leg and crook my knee so I’m sort of straddling him. It’s as cozy in this small, utilitarian room as it would be in a much larger room with a crackling fire and the soft glow of lights.

“Tell me about you and your siblings. I want to hear.” I cozy up to him. Having a large, bustling family and getting into mischief with siblings is one of my fantasies.

“I didn’t have much of a relationship with mine. My sister was sent away to some kind of Russian boarding school.”

“Why were you the only one at home?”

“My mother put her foot down. I was the baby, the youngest. She begged my father to let me stay home with her, and by then, he had a mistress and only wanted to keep my mother pacified.”

“Ahh.”

I lean toward him and intertwine my fingers with his. “I’ve wondered what it was like coming from a large family. Did you know your aunt growing up?”

He shakes his head. “No. Her getting me a job with your father was a way of getting in my family’s good graces again.”

“Interesting. Making up for lost time?”

“Exactly. I spent much more time with my siblings than anyone else. My father was often away for work, and my mother was a bit overwhelmed with so many of us at home. My older brother and I took charge frequently.”

“No wonder you’re so bossy,” I tease.

He only lifts a shoulder. “It comes naturally, perhaps. My father had a saying. ‘The older brother is the father’s right hand.’ The older ones are often expected to take on many of the responsibilities and leadership roles within the family.”

“Can you tell me what that was like?”

Markov’s eyes soften, a hint of nostalgia flickering across his features. He shifts slightly, turning more towards me, his voice deep and thoughtful. “It wasn’t easy, Vera. I had to be both a brother and sometimes a father figure. It meant a lot of responsibility, and discipline was a big part of it. My father had rigid expectations.”

I love hearing this human side of him. I love how he talks with such love for his family. I want to meet them.

“Could you share a story from those days? Something that really sticks out to you.”

He chuckles, the sound low and resonant, then pauses, searching his memories. “Alright, there was this one time,” he begins, his gaze drifting off as he recounts the tale. “My younger sister had this wild spirit, always getting into trouble. One day, she decided to climb the largest tree in our yard, the one my mother forbade her to touch. I caught her just as she was about to reach the first huge branch that hung over the ground with nothing beneath it.”

I gasped. I could just imagine a mischievous little girl defying her mother and hoping to prove to herself she could do it.

His hands gesture vividly as he speaks, painting the picture for me. “What did you do?”

“I could have scolded her and made her come down and face a punishment. But we had enough of that with my family. Instead, I climbed up there with her and positioned myself between her and the ground in case she fell. She didn’t, though. My mother called her her little monkey. I asked her why she disobeyed Mom and why she had to do something that thrilled her.”

I hang on his every word. I love hearing him share these stories with me. “What did she say?” I ask, my voice a whisper. I can almost see him with that same straight-laced look about him, though maybe a boyish softness still clinging to him.

He smiles. “We made a deal. She promised to come to me if she felt the urge for an adventure, and I’d find a safe way to do it together. It was a moment of understanding, of connecting with her not just as her older brother in charge, but someone who cared about her.”

I have a realization. Markov would make a good father.

I reach out and gently brush his arm. “That’s. . . really beautiful, Markov. You showed her love and guidance, not just discipline. It’s no wonder you’re so dedicated now. You’re definitely a natural-born leader—bossy but in the best possible way.” I kiss the underside of his jaw, rough with a hint of stubble.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It makes sense to me that you’d be attracted to a certain. . . flavor in the bedroom.”

“Yes. I like to be in control.”

“Mmm.”

“And you, Vera. Tell me. If you could have one thing in your future, what would it be? You’ve lived a sheltered life. Do you want to explore? See the world? What is it you want?”

I sigh. As a romance lover, I’ve thought about this. I’ve lived so many lives, caught in the pages of my books, that I’ve spent more time than I care to admit thinking about what my perfect future would look like.

“No. . .” I say slowly. Will it sound silly? “I really want. . . a place I call my own. Four children and two dogs, a home close enough to a city so that we don’t have to drive forever to go shopping, but it’s far enough away that you can hear the crickets at night and see the stars overhead. One of those comforting places, you know? With a porch and maybe a swing and. . . I want to be able to see the sunset from my porch.” I flush a little. “That probably sounds so cliché and boring, doesn’t it?”

“Nyet,” he says firmly. “It sounds idyllic.”

My heart squeezes.

“Now, I want to know more.” He gives me that look that makes me feel like I’m the only person on the face of the earth. Markov’s superpower is his ability to focus with unwavering attention.

“Mmm? Go on. More questions.”

“Why do you crave submitting?” he asks quietly, his gaze respectful as always but probing. I love that when Markov is with me, I am the utter focus of his attention. I love that he listens, truly actually hears me, not just what I say but what I don’t. He’s intense, and sometimes I feel like being near him is like staring at the sun. I have to look away because the brightness might blind me. But it’s also his intensity that I love about him. His attention makes me feel valued.

I pause before I answer. Why do I crave submitting? It’s so much more than the fact that it turns me on, which it definitely does. It’s deeper than that, though.

“I don’t actually crave submitting in general. I like to read about it, yes, because it’s hot. It’s a fantasy. But I’m…not really sure where fantasy and reality meet.”

He brushes my hair off my forehead and bends down to kiss it. My eyes flutter closed at the warmth that trickles over me. I swallow and continue. “You’re here to protect me. I’m learning to trust you.”

This time, his responding kiss is to the top of my cheek. I smile shyly.

“With you, I. . . it’s not just hot. It doesn’t just turn me on. There’s so much more to it than that. It’s. . . liberating.” My tone grows thoughtful as I think it over. “I’ve poured myself into my studies. I’ve worked so hard for so long. It’s a relief to trust someone else completely for once.” I shrug. “Not to mention it’s erotic as hell.”

“Mmm,” he says. “Agreed. So it’s about finding strength in vulnerability.”

“Yes, that’s it. I feel like if I can trust you. . . really, truly trust you and allow myself to give myself over to you. . . you can take me to places I have only dreamed of before.”

“There’s a lot to be learned from some power play, isn’t there?”

My next question begs to be asked, even though I cringe at the thought of hearing his answer. “Have you. . . has there ever been another woman you’ve been with like. . . this, Markov?”

His immediate response makes my mouth dry. “No one, Vera. There has never been another woman like you, and there will never be another one after you. Never.”

Oh, God. Hello, intensity.

“If you think⁠—”

The blare of an alarm on his phone makes both of us freeze. Markov jumps out of bed first, grabs a pair of sweats, and tosses me mine. “Get dressed.”

I watch as he glides a gun to the small of his back with ease. It’s a stark and brutal reminder for me to not get too comfortable. I can’t ever forget who he truly is.

As we hurriedly dress, he receives a text on his phone. “Motherfucker,” he grunts, his eyes growing dangerously black.

My heart thumps. “What?”

He stares at his phone for a moment and quickly types something out. “I was alerted by outside security. They can send remote drones, but it might be too late.”

“Then. . . what other option is there?”

Still calm, he scowls at the ceiling and the heating vents, his eyes scanning the entirety of the room as if he has x-ray vision.

I can hardly breathe as the tension in the room thickens. I know that look on Markov’s face by now. His jaw set, his flinty gaze going from one corner of the room to the next. I feel the urge to look away so I don’t see the cold, calculating side of him that unnerves me.

“You crawl to safety. Underground. Are you afraid of confined areas?”

I shake my head. Heights, yes, but confined areas, I’m cool with. “I scoured the place when we first got here and found a maintenance tunnel underneath the building.”

“A maintenance tunnel? What?”

He nods, quickly grabbing a few things from the bedside table. “Move, Vera.” He pauses long enough to reach one rough hand to my jaw. “Are you alright?”

I nod. “Of course I am,” I lie. My heart threatens to leap out of my chest, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“The tunnel is linked to the old utilities systems. It won’t be comfortable, but we’ll be safe down there.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, and he gives me a curious look.

“I was afraid you’d make me go ahead of you and, like, scout things out or whatever. And I don’t want to go without you.”

He shakes his head. “No way am I sending you ahead without me. We go together, or we stay here together. There’s no other choice.”

I stare at him for long moments before I reach my hands to the back of his head and pull him fiercely toward me. I kiss him, a silent vow that we’re in this together.

“Let’s go.”

He takes my hand, and we hurry toward the back of the room just before an explosion sounds in the tunnel.