Arranged Bratva Love

Adelaide

Andrei, of course, lived in luxury. He was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

His penthouse apartment was in the nicest part of the city. I hated heights and he thought it was fun to have floor-to-ceiling windows. Just going within a foot of them made me feel dizzy.

I’d been married to him for one week. In that time, I’d seen him once. I think he came home at night. I’m not sure because I’ve been left in his penthouse to do nothing.

There was no guard, unless you counted the one outside my door, who wouldn’t let me leave. I’d tried. Multiple times. I’d explored every single inch of his penthouse suite, boycotting his office and his side of the walk-in closet. I didn’t need to see or smell more of him than necessary.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I kept my back to the windows that overlooked the city. I’d tried to get closer and that had been laughable. I got to the footmark and ended up on my stomach, attempting to crawl closer to see if I could stomach looking out the window. It didn’t work.

My fear of heights was so strong I’d even changed his sitting room around. The sofa was placed so when I watched television, my back was to the window. If the curtains weren’t open before I got up, they stayed shut.

All this time trapped inside the penthouse was driving me crazy. I was going out of my mind. Growing up, I’d never stayed indoors and always preferred to be outside.

I missed the animal shelter. This apartment was boring.

Collapsing on the sofa, I stared up at the ceiling and wondered if it would cave in. Would I be able to make my escape? I’d even thought about baking a batch of brownies that had sleeping tablets in them, but I didn’t have any tablets. Also, I’m not the kind of person to feed drugs to an unsuspecting person.

I was going to die of boredom. There was nothing to do, no one to talk to. I thought I’d at least be able to talk to Aurora, the kind woman I’d met at the wedding, but nope.

No cell phone. No laptop. Nothing. Just an empty penthouse apartment. I saw the small library he had, but reading right now felt like I was giving into temptation. I loved reading, but that wasn’t what I wanted to do.

I wanted to go out and explore. Find a different animal shelter a little closer to home, and volunteer.

This was a prison. Worse than the one my parents tried to force on me.

At the sound of the main door opening, I jerked up, a little startled. No one had come home during the day. Fear clawed its way inside me. Should I stand up? Stay seated? He didn’t give me any chores to complete. Nothing that would make my life worthwhile.

Andrei entered the main room and glanced over at me. “Get dressed. We’re going out to dinner in an hour.”

“We are?” I asked.

My voice sounded croaky even to myself.

“Yes.”

Nibbling my lip, I had so many questions but the fear of being forced to stay in this apartment was too much. I needed to get out. To feel the sun on my skin, or what was left of it. I’d even accept the cold bitterness of nighttime, just so long as I was out of this apartment.

Scrambling to my feet, I rushed into our bedroom. When I arrived a week ago, I found my side of the walk-in closet had been filled with clothes that my husband found acceptable. I don’t know if he shopped for everything or instructed a woman to do so. Looking through the clothes, I couldn’t pick the right one, so I settled on a dark-blue dress with a low neckline and a split up one side of the skirt. A little risque for my taste but the most modest one available to me.

I hummed to myself as I went into the bathroom, and took a quick shower. After washing my body, I blow-dried my hair to give it some bounce and body. I have long brown hair that falls to my waist. Most of the time, I pull it back in a ponytail. Just recently, I’d been leaving it down.

Entering the bedroom, I see the dress I picked had been changed. In its place is a red one that ends at the knee. There’s a slit at the side, which would reveal a lot more thigh than I wanted, and it was figure-hugging as well.

One day I’d given myself a little fashion show to see how much I loved or hated the dresses, and most of them I hated.

This wasn’t good. I didn’t want to wear this dress. The lingerie I’d pulled out was also gone. In its place was a red thong.

What should I do? Should I put the blue dress on? Or this one? I didn’t choose this one, so that meant Andrei had been in the room and changed it. He wanted me to wear this.

If I wore this, would he be in a good enough mood for me to ask for some concessions? How did this work? I was so far out of my depth, it wasn’t cute or funny.

He could kill me easily, dispose of my body without anyone finding out. His wife could end up disappearing so easily. The Bratva were capable of it. They had many people on their payroll. Lawyers, judges, cops, their reach knew no bounds.

Sticking out my lip, I pouted. My husband’s life was now my life.

Reaching for the thong, I slid it on and up my body. I was a French knickers and briefs girl. I never wore a thong and this felt … weird. It slid between the cheeks of my ass, and I took a moment to glance in the mirror, checking out my ass. How could anyone call this lingerie? Sure, the main gusset fit nicely, but come on, it didn’t keep the ass contained.

I shook my head. There was no point in arguing. I wasn’t going to win. The dress had a zipper in the back and the way it was fitted meant I couldn’t zip it at the front and wriggle it into place. I was going to need Andrei’s help again.

With it settled into place, my back showing, I left the bedroom, and sure enough, Andrei was dressed again, looking every bit the wealthy businessman. The suit he wore fit him like a second skin. He had one hand shoved into his pocket, and the other typed away on his cell phone, without a single care in the world. His face was void of any expression.

I stepped toward him, cleared my throat, and he finally looked up. I don’t know how he did it, but every time he looked at me, I felt myself freezing up and my cheeks heating. We’d not had sex. We’d not done anything.

I spun around, presenting my back to him. “Could you please zip me?”

Pressing my lips together, I held my breath waiting for him. Why did this have to seem like a hard request? He was my husband. I imagine wives ask their husbands this all the time. Even boyfriends or girlfriends. There was nothing wrong with needing help with a zipper. I only hoped it fit me properly.

His fingers grazed the base of my back and I tensed up. I’m not a machine like him. I hadn’t spent a long time trying to school my face into doing what I told it to do. When I liked something, I smiled. When I hated it, I frowned. Something disgusting, my face scrunched up. This was who I was, and there was no changing it. Did he hate it? I had to wonder if he did.

He eased the zipper up my back and as he did, his touch seemed to set a path of fire along with it.

Again, I was still a virgin.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

The day after our wedding night, he told me to pretend like he’d been fucking my pussy raw. I didn’t know what he expected, but being awkward came naturally to me. So, I’m not sure if I succeeded in what he suggested but from the few sad faces on the women, I was guessing it worked. Yay.

He finished lifting the zipper, but his touch lingered. One of his hands went to my waist and I tensed up. I wasn’t used to being touched. His breath fanned across my neck and my heart raced. What was he thinking? What was he doing? I didn’t know what to say or do to make this situation stop.

“There are heels in the box,” he said.

I glanced down and sure enough, to my left was a box. I bent down and didn’t realize how close he was standing, and that my ass actually nestled against his crotch. Standing back up, I moved quickly, this time crouching down as far as the tight dress would allow. I opened the box and looked at the red, shiny shoes. I was not someone who knew fashion. They looked painful and expensive. I wasn’t going to ask him for a pair of sneakers.

Walking in the small heels on my wedding day had been a challenge. Whenever I could, I’d snuck away to take the shoes off. When I realized how long my dress was, I’d toed them off and walked around barefoot. Until my mother realized what I was doing, and told me to stop being an animal and to wear the damn shoes.

Sliding my feet into these heels, I knew I wasn’t going to make it past the night without breaking my neck. They were way too high.

“Perfect,” Andrei said. He moved away.

Was I expected to follow?

With his back turned away from me, I chanced a couple of steps in the too-big heels, and winced. They were going to hurt my feet. The shoes were a perfect fit but for a woman who’d spent her life in flats, my poor feet would pay the price. I should have taken time growing up to learn how to walk in heels. They were the ultimate weapon, apparently.

“Move it,” Andrei said.

Hands clenched, I rushed my steps, praying I didn’t look like a penguin walking. Would it have killed him to at least be a little nice? I was trying here. At least he got to go out and explore the world. He wasn’t trapped in a penthouse suite, dying a little every single day. I didn’t demand this marriage, he did.

My lips remained closed. There was no way I’d have the guts to say this to his face. He’d kill me and laugh as he did it. All I could do was hope he’d be in a good mood later on so that I could request to leave the penthouse at least once a week. That wasn’t too hard, was it?