He pushed her limits but it wasn't the things he did to her that frightened her-it was the thought that he would stop doing them. Even though the possibility of ever living without him was unthinkable, she knew that even in death he would still be with her. Because he was in her.
"I'm watching you, Ptichka-always watching."
She gasped as he bent down and lifted her bent knees into the air before sliding her legs over his shoulders. He spread her open like a smorgasbord to be devoured. Her legs quaked as his tongue slowly explored her slit, those blue eyes locked on hers through thick lashes.
"You're a dirty girl, you know that? I've made you my slut."
He used his thumbs to pull her pussy lips apart, revealing the entrance to her slick core. With a groan of pleasure, he slipped the tip of his tongue inside to lick her plush, sensitive, silky flesh.
Her body betrayed her when it quivered and she knew he'd felt it. A low chuckle escaped his mouth, causing her to blush with embarrassment and humiliation. He pulled away slightly, still cupping her ass in his hands, his lips glistening with her arousal.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of. I did it on purpose," he murmured as he reveled in how good her ass felt in his hands. The womanly flesh was so deliciously plush yet firm as he squeezed and kneaded, occasionally letting his fingertips graze the sweetly puckered rosette. She groaned when he slipped his thumb inside her pussy and lapped at her clit.
"The rest of the world sees the impeccable hostess, the nurturing wife and mother." He paused just long enough to slip one, then two, fingers inside her rear opening, his heavy-lidded gaze never wavering from hers. With his thumb still firmly anchored in her pussy and his fingers filling her from behind, his hand gripped her, front and back, in an utterly primitive gesture of ownership. "But only I get to see you when your civility has been stripped away. Only I get to fuck and debase my dirty girl."
As he lowered his mouth to her clit, she surrendered to his touch, fully prepared to go as high as he wanted to take her before crashing down into breathless waves of pleasure. He worked his digits in and out rapidly, not giving her a second to catch her breath. Her body abruptly jolted, her back arching as if targeted by a thousand volts of electricity. After she came down from the climax, he wrapped an arm around her and released her from the chains. He carried her into the adjoining room and gently laid her down.
The basement had always been a dungeon, but Glazov had converted the adjoining room into a more extensive BDSM playroom. Her husband was a moody, unpredictable man when it came to sex so options were important. Custom-made BDSM furnishings and every sex toy imaginable were at his disposal, including a king-size bed.
There was one thing she could always be sure of, whether he was fucking her like he wanted to kill her or gently making love to her: in the end, he consumed her. Glazov would not be satisfied until his inner fire completely devoured her. But fire was a funny thing; whether it smoldered, blazed, flickered or torched, it still burned.
To those he loved, he could be a warm, reassuring ember on a cold dark night; but to his enemies, he was the equivalent of an incinerator, easily capable of reducing them to soot and ash.
"So. Fucking. Beautiful," he whispered as he thrust his cock inside her. He held her head between both of his hands and stared into her eyes like he could see into her soul. Probably because he could. In that moment, she felt like he had absorbed her into himself. They were no longer Glazov and Kathleen-they were one. Always, one.
She could never love another man. As far as she was concerned, other men didn't exist. All others paled in comparison to Alexander Glazov.
She had no way of knowing when she took on a friend's debt all those years ago, that she would encounter the man who would forever change her life.
She still heard the ominous thunder in the distance but she refused to run from the storm. She would, as a Bratva wife – as Glazov's wife -- do what she had always done. She would fight. She would survive.
The stranger lowered the high-powered night vision binoculars from his face, his chest heaving as he tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. Disgust rolled through him, burning in his gut like acid as he replayed the scene in his mind.
The night vision equipment had been an expensive but necessary purchase. He could only get so close to her, for the time being, anyway. The animal she was married to thought he was the fucking president or something, with all the security he had going on. Glazov's property was like a fucking fortress, complete with heavily armed guards patrolling the perimeter.