Hel & Veritas

The Angry Wife

Fiorenza woke up feeling enveloped by warmth, like being snuggled under a heavy blanket. Except this blanket was strangely firm and caressing her breasts. She sighed, enjoying the sensation despite the oddity, but her brow furrowed as a distinctly masculine scent – a unique blend of aged cedarwood and smoky leather – filled her nostrils.

Her own sheets never smelled so… manly. She blinked slowly, trying to shake off the lingering sleepiness, and her eyes landed on a high, black ceiling dominated by a grand black and gold chandelier. Still groggy, she frowned when she felt a gentle squeeze on her left breast and warm breath tickling her neck.

She pulled back the cover, her eyes widening in shock as she saw a large, veiny hand possessively cupping her breast. She whipped her head around, a gasp escaping her lips as she stared at her incredibly sexy surgeon boss, sleeping soundly, holding her tightly in his arms.

Slowly, the fragmented memories of the previous night slithered back into her consciousness, a chilling reminder of the true, unsettling nature of the man she had both respected and harbored a secret crush on for nearly a decade. Before she could stop herself, a loud, terrified scream tore from her throat, jolting the man beside her awake.

Fiorenza seized the opportunity to scramble away from him, backing up until she stood near the edge of the bed, oblivious to the intense, hungry gaze that devoured her body. She noticed his blatant, shameless stare fixed on her bouncing breasts and instinctively covered them with her hands, her cheeks and neck flushing crimson.

“I should start getting used to this view, don’t you think, milaya?” he asked, still lying on the bed, both arms casually propped behind his head, flexing his impressive muscles as his eyes roamed over her as if he owned every inch. And how dare he call her by what sounded like a lover’s name?

Fear coiled in Fiorenza's stomach, knowing the man before her was a killer, but she wouldn't succumb without a fight. Lifting her chin, she met his intense gaze head-on, her voice dripping with haughty disdain. “If you’re going to appreciate my beauty, at least have the decency to learn my name!” she sneered.

Xenia chuckled, a low, resonant sound that made her frown deepen and her blush intensify. Yes, she had witnessed him commit murder, but that didn’t erase the confusing fact that a part of her was undeniably drawn to him.

Hearing him call her "milaya" – a soft, possessive sound – sparked a sudden, confusing jealousy at the intimacy in his voice, a feeling she couldn't quite place.

Before she could fully process his relaxed demeanor, Xenia moved with the fluid grace of a panther, leaping off the bed and circling until he stood directly in front of her. Snapped from her thoughts, she gasped as one of his arms snaked around her waist, molding her body against his hard frame, while his other hand gently brushed his knuckles against her cheek, making her eyes widen further.

He smiled softly, seemingly unfazed by her disrespect. “Apologies, moy malysh! I should have realized you’re new to Russian culture. Milaya is an affectionate term for a wife,” he explained, his smile unwavering while Fiorenza stared at him, dumbfounded.

But wait…

Did he just say wife?

As in, his wife?

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to have deserted her. He chuckled again. “Did you just call me wife?” she finally managed, her voice laced with disbelief. Was this the same man who had brutally ended a life just hours ago? Xenia’s smile widened, looking as genuinely happy as a child on Christmas morning.

He chuckled, then leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, sending her heart into a frantic overdrive. “Takoye ocharovatel'noye malen'koye sushchestvo, moy tsvetok!” he murmured, gazing at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. Wait, where did that sudden tenderness come from? Lovingly? Pfft.

Her frown deepened when he spoke in Russian, and he, understanding her confusion, explained, “Forgive me, dorogoy, if I get lost in your beauty and switch to Russian, but you, moy malysh, make me lose all coherent thought until all I see and feel is you!” His knuckles gently traced the line of her collarbone, sending shivers dancing across her skin.

Her cheeks seemed determined to maintain a permanent, natural blush, deepening with each passing second. She glanced down, trying to avoid his piercing gaze, and her breath hitched once more as she noticed the exquisite ring adorning her finger. It was a Fancy Vivid Blue Diamond Ring, a radiant-cut gem surrounded by brilliant-cut diamonds with a delicate pink tint, all set in 18-karat white and pink gold.

She had always believed her mother’s engagement ring, a vivid purplish-pink diamond flanked by trapezoid-shaped side stones, was the most beautiful in the world. But this ring… it surpassed anything she had ever seen. She looked up at him, searching for answers in his eyes, only to find him watching her with a possessive intensity that made her feel like the very air he breathed.

No, she was misinterpreting everything. He had kidn*pped her, forcefully married her, and brought her to God knows where. There were no tender feelings involved here. It was her own foolish heart making assumptions.

Despite the hurt, the truth remained stark. She hardened her resolve and met his gaze directly, just as her papa had taught her. “Look, Dr. Mikhailov! I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but for me, marriage is a sacred and serious commitment. I would appreciate it if you stopped making these ridiculous jokes about it. And please,” she added, trying to pull away, “stop touching me!” But his arm around her waist felt like an unyielding steel band, surprisingly comfortable and secure, she had to admit.

He pulled her even closer, if that was possible, his fingers that had been tracing her collarbone now wrapping firmly around her throat. It wasn’t overtly threatening, but it was far from playful. The light pressure on her windpipe sent a chaotic flutter of butterflies through her stomach. She felt lightheaded, as if teetering on the edge of a precipice, tempted to dip her toes into a pool of unsettling pleasure.

Through her hazy vision, she watched his eyes burn with a fierce desire, his jaw tight and rigid. He looked at her with an almost manic intensity, yet it wasn't the same cold, predatory look he had directed at the dying man in the bakery.

This look was raw, possessive, making her knees tremble. He leaned down, burying his face in her neck, taking deep, shuddering breaths as if trying to regain control. She didn’t dare to move an inch, silently cursing her own weakness in his presence. After a long moment, he straightened to his imposing height, the crazed look in his eyes now softened with a flicker of something akin to gentleness.

He smiled faintly, his gaze lingering on her face, and pulled her closer, his grip on her throat remaining firm as he lowered his lips to her ear, his warm breath sending shivers through her body, making her clench her thighs to suppress a moan that threatened to escape. “Be angry, break everything, burn my empire to the ground, moy tsvetok, and I will sit back, do nothing, and indulge in all your tantrums… But starting today, until the day we draw our last breath together, you will never question my loyalty or the sanctity of our marriage!” His deep, resonant voice sent a shiver down her spine. “I will wait for you to accept our new reality, but under no circumstances will I ever accept being apart from you!” he continued, his eyes locking onto hers.

His lips hovered just above hers. “I will wait for you to call me Xen when I have my fingers knuckle-deep inside your cunt!” With that shocking statement, he pecked the corner of her lips and winked, a taunting smirk playing on his face, leaving her utterly speechless.

“You… You…” she stammered, trying to find her voice. He chuckled, a smug sound. “Cat got your tongue, Tsvetok?” he asked, his smile infuriatingly self-assured.

“You are sick!” she sneered, a shiver of unwanted arousal running through her as she recalled the vivid images of him watching her pleasure herself, moaning his name.

He unwrapped his hand from her throat and pulled her face to his chest, hugging her tightly, his fingers stroking her hair as he murmured something in Russian.

“Ya budu kem ugodno, poka ya tvoya, detka!”