Gilded Cage: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 1) by Nicole Fox (free novel 24 .txt) 📗

Fantasies are powerful things, especially for women like me who’ve spent so long living with no other means of escape.

But I’m ashamed of how much I gave him last night. Far more than I should have.

My body was laid out for him like a gift, my desire for him pooling between my thighs and running down his fingers.

And those fingers… I didn’t think it was possible for a man to bring a woman to climax that way.

Yes, I’d seen it in movies and read about it in books, but it had always seemed like one of those scenes that were titillating more than realistic.

It felt like he had taken my body hostage. And when the orgasm had finished ripping its way through me, I was left breathless and scared and hungry for more.

And his face… that all-consuming, powerful, desirous expression he wore the entire time his fingers were inside me…

It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

But perhaps the most shocking thing about last night was the fact that something I said had actually gotten through to him.

“Is this what you like?” I’d asked. “Having a helpless woman at your disposal? Forcing yourself on a woman who can’t refuse?”

I saw his hunger extinguish instantly. The craving slipped off his face and left him bare and angry.

He had let me go and I had run, but even then, as I’d scampered back to my room, I wasn’t sure if safety was what I really wanted or if it was just what I was supposed to want.

I sigh deeply and sit up. I’m still naked and reluctant to take a shower.

I tell myself it’s not because I want the scent of him on me.

In order to prove that to myself, I get up and soak in the tub for twenty minutes.

When I move back into my bedroom, I pick ripped black jeans and a white cashmere sweater, two purchases from yesterday’s shopping spree.

I’m just finishing dressing when there’s a knock on my door and Crew Cut walks in with his usual sour expression.

“Your car will be here in twenty minutes,” he says, like a programmed robot. “Breakfast is in the kitchen.”

“Where are we going today?” I ask him. “More shopping?”

He doesn’t bother replying. Just walks away.

I curse at his back and head into the kitchen. I’m not hungry, but I know it’s important for me to eat. For my unborn child to eat.

So I sit at the table alone, eat a croissant, and wash it down with some cold milk. I take my vitamins discretely back in my room, then head to the foyer by the elevator.

Blue Eyes and Crew Cut are waiting for me. For the first time, I notice that both are in their usual suits, but they seem somehow dressier than usual.

“What’s with the ties?” I ask when I spot the difference. “Is that a pocket square?”

Of course, neither one answers me. And when we walk out of the building, I’m more than a little surprised to see the stretch limo waiting for me.

“What the hell is this for?” I say to no one in particular, even as I get into the limo.

The drive is about fifteen minutes. The whole time, I try and figure out where I’m going that would require such a fancy ride.

Another question keeps nagging me, but I refuse to ask either one of my personal goons this time.

Where’s Artem?

It’s not until the limo stops in front of a grand cathedral that realization finally dawns on me.

“Oh, my fucking God.”

Today is my wedding day.

Panic is the only thing I’m aware of. Like getting sucked under a huge wave in the ocean, it’s all I can sense.

Then my door is pulled open and I start shaking my head.

“No,” I shriek. “No! I’m not getting out. This can’t happen!”

My bodyguards exchange a glance. Clearly, they’re prepared for just such a reaction.

They move in on me as a single, emotionless unit.

I scream and kick and try to escape their claws. But I’m no match for them.

They succeed in dragging me out of the limo while I curse their mothers and spit at their faces.

“No! You can’t do this!” I yell. “If Artem is such a strong fucking man, tell him to get out here and do this himself!”

Neither Blue Eyes nor Crew Cut seems inclined to do that.

Instead, Crew Cut grabs a hold of me and hoists me over his shoulder. He carries me into the cathedral, downstairs to a bottom level of the building, and into a corridor lined with rooms.

Blue Eyes opens a door for his comrade. I’m carried inside and deposited unceremoniously onto a soft sofa that cushions my rough landing.

“You fucking bastards, both of you!” I rage at them.

My bodyguards don’t respond as they leave the room without a word.

Only then do I realize that I’m not alone. Not by a long shot.

In fact, there’s a whole team of people in the large, carpeted room with stone walls that looks like something out of a medieval fairytale.

“Who the hell are you?” I demand.

An older woman with dark, curly hair steps forward, her expression sympathetic and almost apologetic.

She gives me an awkward smile. “I’m Alice,” she says. “And this is my team. We’ve been hired to get you ready today, love. We’ll need to start with your hair and makeup.”

I blink at her, trying to wrap my head around the absurdity of the situation.

Is everyone just gonna pretend that I’m not being forced into marrying a Russian mobster?

“I don’t want to do my make-up,” I say. “I don’t want to do my hair. I don’t want to get married!”

Alice looks at the four people standing behind her, then back to me again. She kneels in front of me so that we’re at eye level.

“Ma’am, I understand all that. But like you, we don’t have a choice.”

The way she says it, her tone dripping with fear, makes me pay attention.

Alice and her team are not at fault here. They are merely