Nikolai
When I told her she was going to be my bride, she didn’t run.
Instead, she looked down. Blushed. Later, she glanced at my belt like she already knew what kind of husband I’d be.
She didn’t know it yet, but I’d already decided everything. There was going to be a wedding, a real one. A ceremony that tied her to me in every way, not just legally, not just publicly, but irrevocably. I didn’t do half-measures. Not in business, not in loyalty, and never with something as rare and wild as her.
She would walk down an aisle with candlelight flickering and its golden light catching the curves of her white silk gown. Smooth and soft and deceptively innocent. I wanted her in that color. I wanted her wrapped in contradiction; this untamable little firecracker dressed like purity itself. She would be the kind of vision that made men pause. The kind of woman that turned heads and gutted kings.
Her dress would cling to her body in all the right ways. The neckline would dip just low enough to paint an enticing picture, the fabric whispering around her legs with every step she took toward me. There would be no veil. No hiding. Just her eyes locked on mine and the knowledge that this was real.
She would pout through it, of course. Honestly, I’d probably have to take my belt to her bare ass before the ceremony, which would just make her pout even harder. My cock jumped at the thought.
Her lips would twitch in defiance during the vows. She might even roll her eyes when I said until death do us part. But she’d say the words, because deep down, beneath the fight and the bite, she wanted to be kept. She wanted a man who wouldn’t flinch when she pushed, who wouldn’t leave when she set things on fire just to see who ran.
I would never run.
Not from her.
Not ever.
I looked down at her—still flushed, her breath soft and uneven as she floated somewhere between resistance and surrender.
She was so fucking beautiful.
I leaned in and kissed her, slowly this time, deep, but soft. My mouth moved over hers like she was something delicate, even though we both knew she wasn’t. I tasted the uncertainty still clinging to her lips, the heat beneath the hesitation, the breathless ache she was trying to keep buried.
When I pulled back, I rested my hand against her cheek, brushing a thumb along her jaw.
“You have one more choice tonight,” I said, my voice quiet and steady. “The last one you’re going to get for a while.”
Her eyes met mine, wide and cautious. Hopeful.
I tilted my head toward the hallway. “You can sleep in the guest room. Or… you can sleep in my bed.”
She looked away for just a second, but not because she was unsure. She already knew the answer; she just didn’t want to admit how much she wanted it.
She glanced back up. Her voice was quiet when she answered me.
“Your bed.”
I stood first, and without a word, I reached for her. She didn’t resist—not even a breath of hesitation—as I lifted her from the bath, her skin warm and wet and flushed from the heat. She slid into my arms like she belonged there, like her body was always meant to fit against mine.
And it did.
Perfectly.
I held her close against my chest, one arm beneath her knees, the other wrapped around her back, her damp skin pressing into my shirt, making it cling to me. Her cheek rested against my shoulder, and for the first time since I met her, she was quiet. Not because she was afraid or because she was defeated, but because something inside her had softened and cracked open just wide enough to let me in.
She kept her eyes on me, still just the slightest bit wary. I shifted her gently in my arms and lowered her to her feet so that I could wrap a warm, fluffy towel around her shoulders, the plush cotton swallowing her up. She shivered a little, even in the warmth, and I held her steady as I began to dry her off.
I took my time. My hands moved slowly across her arms, down her spine, over the pink curves of her ass where my palm had left its mark. She let out the softest breath when I passed there, but she didn’t stop me, didn’t squirm away.
I toweled down her legs, her calves, her feet, lifting one at a time, placing them back on the floor, and she just watched me with a look of awe in her eyes.
No one had ever cared for her like that—not gently, not completely, and I could feel it in the way her body leaned toward mine like it didn’t know what to do with all this tenderness. Like it was waiting for the catch, but there wasn’t one and there wouldn’t be one.
Once she was dry and wrapped in the towel, I lifted her again. She was so light in my arms it stung something in my chest. Something protective, but also brutal. I didn’t want her to walk. Not yet.
I carried her through the doorway and into the bedroom, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing her in soft light, the skyline wrapping around her like a crown. I laid her down on my bed.
Carefully. Slowly.
I pulled the towel from her shoulders and replaced it with the blanket, tucking it around her body like I was sealing her in. Like I was guarding something no one else got to touch. Ever.
Then I stripped off my shirt, undid my belt, and let my pants fall to the floor. I left my boxers on, not because I was being noble, but because this wasn’t about sex.
It was all about her right now.
I climbed into the bed beside her and pulled her close—all flushed skin and shaky breath and wide, exhausted eyes—and wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her in against my chest. Her head fit perfectly under my jaw. Her legs tangled with mine.
And I just held her.
Her breath slowed after a few minutes, her body softening by degrees, and I ran my hand up and down her back in long, slow strokes. Soothing. Calm. My other hand brushed the crown of her head as I pressed a kiss into her damp hair.
“You’re safe now,” I murmured.
She didn’t answer, but I knew that night, I’d given her more than a punishment.
I’d given her peace.
