How lonely had my fiancé truly been? And despite that loneliness, he still managed to run the Bratva - still managed to lead with a fluidity that few presidents managed.
“She’s not that bad.” I swatted Dimitri’s wandering hand away from my thigh. We were truly out of time - I had used my thirty minutes to enjoy Dimitri instead of getting ready, which meant that right now I needed to forego a shower.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.” Dimitri stood up, sliding his pants over his hip, hiding his cock from view.
“You’re being dramatic.” I sighed as I finally stood up, surrendering the lush carpet to hunt for my shorts. “Her intentions aren’t, and she’s just terrible at expressing them.”
“I’m pretty sure that there’s a saying about intentions and hell, add a Vedman to that mix, and I’m not sure our home will still be standing upon my return.”
I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out in his direction, knowing full well that we were both running too late for Dimitri to do anything about my display.
He was upon me in an instant, his hand wrapped around my throat, the feel of the wall cool against my back as he held me there with ease. I hadn’t even registered his movement - didn’t even realize he had picked me up.
“Little Vedman.” His whisper was a seductive threat, and just as quickly as he had offered me pleasure, so he ignited that same need in me once more. “You will pay for that insulance later.”
“On my knees?” His palm was pressed firmly against my neck, but he allowed for an inch of space so that I could still talk - still swallow.
I felt his body stiffen before me, as if he hadn’t expected me to say that - hadn’t expected me to like being on my knees as much as I had. The truth was, I hadn’t expected that of me either, but I wanted to do it again - wanted to try - wanted to learn the way he enjoyed being sucked, touched, tasted.
“We’ll see.” He grunted once, before finally releasing me, and just as quickly as he had pinned me, he was out the door.
By the time I stepped into the kitchen, two large boxes of beignets sat on the kitchen counter, taunting me, and I wasn't sure it was possible to love Dimitri more than I already did.
But loving the leader of the Bratva was a dangerous game, even for a Witch.
Brenna was already seated at the table, her fingers flying across her phone. She had an expression that was either one of pure boredom, or complete focus - I could never tell with her.
Marie breezed into the kitchen twenty minutes late, her coffee cooled. She was effortlessly chic and unnaturally gorgeous. She didn’t even need the French accent.
“You’re late.” Brenna ground out.
“Appointed time is just a placemark - no one actually follows the exact time, you know that.”
As she shrugged, her cool, white blonde hair fell down her back, and I couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty. Where Brenna was all hard edges and sharp cheekbones, Marie was soft and feminine - she was the type of girl that you automatically wanted to be friends with, whereas Brenna stirred envy and jealousy in others.
“For someone who set the time of breakfast by arriving here early, I would hope that you could respect your own damn appointment, but as usual, I see that I obviously hoped for too much.”
“Ah, come now, Brenna.” The way Marie spoke Brenna’s name was all sensuality as she rolled the r’s and dragged out the last vowel.
“Don’t avoid the apology that is owed by simply using french charm.”
“You admit that we are charming.” Marie winked at her and I quickly shoved a beignet into my mouth to stifle my laughter. Marie was enjoying Brenna’s frustration far too much.
“You are incorrigible.” Brenna seethed.
But Marie seemed unruffled by the insult, offering only a half-shrug. “Such is the flaw of the French.”
Brenna ignored Marie entirely for the duration of breakfast, choosing to focus on the blank pad and pen before her. She peppered me with questions throughout the meal, and I watched as she meticulously wrote each answer down, creating a pre-wedding list. I needed to call Emily Rand and tell her not to bother hiring a wedding planner.
“Did Dimitri go to work?” Brenna fired off one of her ‘personal’ questions, which was fairly redundant because I was certain she saw him leave. I could only nod, unable to trust myself not to respond with sarcasm. Suddenly, eloping seemed like a wonderful plan.
“Do you know what the Russian traditions are?”
“No.” I shook my head as I brought my mug of coffee to my lips. Having finally cracked the ability to operate the coffee machine had been one of my crowning achievements this week. “I’m supposed to meet with Nina and go over the Russian expectations with her.”
“Great.” Brenna nodded gleefully, fully embodying her role as wedding coordinator. I supposed it suited her. “I’ll organise that.”
Marie simply smiled from behind her mug, offering her own praise for how light and fluffy the beignets were - even if they weren’t from France.