Under Control: Chapter 19

Valentin deposits me into his room, posts a guard on the door, and orders me not to go anywhere. Then he disappears, leaving me to curl up in a ball on an easy chair.

I try to get the sound of killing out of my head.

But it’s stuck like a catchy tune, and no matter what I do, I keep seeing the spray of blood, the screams of men dying, the roar of bullets thudding into the walls all around me.

And it was my fault.

It was my fault.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so naive? I should have kept my mouth shut and let that horrible woman insult my parents. If I had been the bigger person, Valentin’s men might still be alive, and his plans might still be in motion.

Instead, I let my anger get the best of me and I started a war.

I play that moment over and over through my head. I think of a dozen different ways I could’ve handled myself. But always, no matter what, the shooting starts again, because my aunt was setting me up from the very start.

I don’t know how much time passes. I feel catatonic as I wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes. I can’t drift off to sleep though—because whenever I feel like I might start drifting, I hear the guns again.

I see the blood and taste the fear.

“Malishka.” His voice. Deep and low and perfect. I open my eyes and Valentin’s there, kneeling beside the chair. “Are you okay?”

I flinch away when he tries to touch my face. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He slowly gets to his feet.

“Valentin.” Sorrow burns in my voice as I shy away from him. He looms over me, a gorgeous, dark god of death. I’m aware that I’d be in the ground right now if it weren’t for him saving my life, and I don’t think I deserved it.

“Come with me.”

“Valentin, please.” I shake my head as I try to push him away as he leans down to grab me. “Please, I don’t deserve it.”

He ignores me and drags me to my feet. When I struggle, he simply throws me over his shoulder and carries me into the bathroom. I kick and pound his back, not even sure why I’m struggling so hard. He puts me back down in front of the mirror and forces me to look at myself.

The girl staring back is haggard. My hair is a mess and there’s a bruise on my right cheek.

Dried blood cakes my shirt and the side of my neck.

“I’m going to clean you off,” Valentin says and turns on the shower.

Revulsion overtakes me. I strip off my clothes, not thinking about Valentin watching me. I need to get this blood off me so badly, and I don’t care about anything else right now.

I don’t even know whose blood it is.

“Come, malishka,” he says and helps me get my shirt off. I unhook my bra and kick my panties to the side, and I step into the scalding hot water.

It runs reddish brown.

I scrub my skin, getting the crusted blood off. I spit on the floor and wash my hair three times before I start to feel like I’m getting clean again.

The shower door opens and closes, and Valentin joins me.

I’m suddenly extremely aware of him.

He’s big and muscular. Water runs down his sculpted chest and abs, rushing around his dark tattoos. Images of violence, of skulls and snakes and guns, cover his gorgeous body.

“Let me,” he says and begins to clean my back.

I shiver and turn, letting him take over. He’s surprisingly tender for such a big man. Slowly, he cleans me, from my head down to my toes.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” I say to him once he’s finished and begins to lather himself. I stand to the side, arms over my chest to cover my breasts, while water drips from my hair.

“You’re my wife. You’re in distress. It’s what a husband should do.”

“Valentin—”

“I know what you’re going to say.” He looks back at me as soap streams down his chest. I follow the flow, down to his abs, along that gorgeous V, to his half-hard cock. Scars pucker his thighs and his stomach, and there’s a bandage over his thigh.

My god, this man is beautiful and terrifying. He could crush me with one hand.

“What’s that?” I ask him, heart racing fast.

“You’re going to tell me what happened in that room was your fault.”

I whimper softly and look at the floor. I’ve never felt so weak and pathetic in my entire life, and I hate it. I hate feeling like this.

“Because it was.”

“You didn’t make me hit Aram.” He steps closer until I’m pinned against the cold tile wall. He peels my arms away from my chest and presses himself to me.

He’s so fucking big and warm. My stiff nipples burn into his gorgeous skin, and I’m trembling for him.

“But I overreacted. Aunt Sona—I mean, that awful woman Sona, she was insulting my family and I couldn’t keep it together.”

“You were defending your parents in the same way I was defending my wife.”

“It was my fault. All I had to do was sit there and be quiet.”

“That’s not what I want from you.”

“Isn’t it? I was supposed to be your ticket to the Brotherhood. And I just, I screwed it up.”

He stoops down and kisses my neck. “Is that what you think?” He brushes his mouth up to my chin and grabs my wrists, holding them up above my head.

I’m so vulnerable for him right now.

“It’s the truth.”

He shakes his head. Water droplets scatter across the wall. “You’re right then. I married you to get closer to your uncle. But I defended you because of who you are.”

“I don’t understand.”

He bites my lower lip. I gasp at the pain.

“You will.”

“Asshole.” I try to push back against him, but he’s got me under his control. “What don’t you get right now? It’s my fault all those men are dead.”

“No. It’s my fault.”

“Valentin—”

“Enough,” he says with force now. His voice echoes in the enclosed space. “Are you the Pakhan of the Zaitsev Bratva? Was it your idea to enter into that negotiation? Did you punch Aram in the face and break that fucker’s nose for daring to insult your wife? No, all of that was me. Don’t you dare try to take responsibility for things that I did. I have no regrets.”

“How?” I ask, staring into his gorgeous face. Anger and beautiful rage flow off him like an aura. The bathroom practically shivers with the emotions spilling from my husband right now. “How do you have no regrets?”

“Because I would kill a thousand men to protect the honor of my wife.”

“You’re insane.”

“This is the sanest I’ve ever been.” He’s inches from me, and I’m afraid. I’d be insane if I weren’t. This is my fault, this is my fault, this is my fault. “Look at me.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I just⁠—”

“Look at me,” he commands and pulls my face up to meet his. “You did nothing wrong. I should have prepared you better. It’s my fault I didn’t warn you that they might try to bait you into saying or doing something. I dragged you into a painful and difficult situation, and everything that happened was my fault.”

“All those men. They died, Valentin, because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“Those men died to protect their Pakhan. They died because they are loyal to the Bratva and for no other reason. Your hands are clean.” He grips my wrists harder and his mouth moves along my throat. “Your hands are clean,” he whispers.

And I shiver as his lips find mine. He kisses me gently at first. Softly, slowly, biting my lower lip, parting my teeth. I don’t want to open up for him but a ringing and a pounding in my chest and between my legs intensifies, and I know I can’t resist him. I know I’m too weak to turn away or to use the one word that will make him stop.

Need floods me. It wars with my self-loathing. His tongue slides into my mouth and slowly his kiss turns deeper, harder, as he pushes himself into me, crushing me with his mouth, bruising me with his gorgeous body. The kiss turns vicious, almost violent, as he tears into me, before pulling back, and the hooded, heady gaze he gives me destroys my ability to think.

The man is sex and sin and he kills me. He’s going to break me to pieces.

And that’s exactly what I want.

I push myself against him, throwing myself into his touch. He growls as soon as he senses my reaction. I shiver in bliss and his mouth finds my nipple and he sucks down, biting gently, sending pleasure and pain ripping into my system. He releases my wrists and wraps one hand in my wet hair while the other roughly shoves my thighs open.

“I take all the responsibility,” he whispers as his fingers slide deep into my pussy. I shiver and whimper, my teeth biting down on his collarbone. He drives his fingers in deeper, curling them, making my back arch. “I will never let them hurt my wife. I will never let them disrespect what’s mine.”

“Yours?” I pant, mouth hanging open. “Still yours?”

“Still fucking mine.” He kisses me hard before turning me around and putting my hands up on the wall. His cock presses against my entrance before he slides himself deep inside of me.

I gasp, arching my back, taking all of him deep. He growls in my ear and fucks me hard, one hand pulling my hair, the other tugging at my hip.

It’s vicious and rough, and it’s what I need. He erases all the negative emotions that have been rolling roughshod through my system for the past hour. His hands, his mouth, his cock, every inch of him, the ice-cold god of death and war and sex, he rips into me and makes me his.

And I feel protected. I feel wrapped in him. It’s strange and impossible, but somehow, with his dick buried between my legs, I feel like I’m safer than I’ve ever been.

“So fucking messy, baby,” he purrs in my ear, grinding his hips into my ass. His cock fills me to the brim and stretches me wide, and it feels like my brain’s short-circuiting. “You filthy fucking girl. After all that death and blood, you still get so fucking wet for me. Look at you, whimpering and whining as I rip into your tight little cunt. Tell me you love it, baby. Tell me you want to come for me.”

“I want to come,” I moan, pushing back against him. He’s steel and I’m softness, and he rips me open and handles me.

And I give myself to him completely, moaning his name. Valentin. Valentin.

He spanks my ass hard. His hands grip my hips as he fucks me, and finally, as he leans forward and bites my ear and scrapes a thumb across my clit, I finally hit my limit.

“Come on my dick, wife,” he commands. “Come for me, baby, and when you’re done, suck me clean.”

My triggers pull and an orgasm tears into my mind.

I can barely breathe. I can barely think. I gasp, arching into him, as he takes me like the dominant monster he is. All I am is his, a messy puddle of bliss and need, and as I slowly finish, he pulls himself out and forces me to my knees.

“Good girl,” he purrs, opening my mouth and sliding his dick into my throat.

I suck him, gagging and stroking. I keep going faster, tasting my pussy on his shaft, and he finally finishes on my tongue with a low, animalistic groan of bliss.

I swallow him, every single drop, because I’m a perverse weirdo and that phrase good girl is stuck in my head.

When I’m done, he pulls me to my feet and kisses me.

I stay there with him for what feels like a long time. Slowly, he pulls away. “Now do you believe me?” he asks, voice husky with sated lust. If I hadn’t already had one of the best orgasms of my life, I’d probably drop down to my knees and beg for another based on the tenor of his voice alone.

“I’m getting there,” I tell him, and he bundles me up in a towel before depositing me back in the bedroom with a pat on the ass and a promise to return soon.