Page 61 of Bought to Bear Bratva Heir

This was all a punishment for what she had put me through six years ago.

So why did it feel like I was the one being punished?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Daisy

My body was still quivering with the aftershocks of my orgasm when guests started to arrive, and it didn’t matter what I did to try and stop it; it kept on trembling. Every time I thought I had it under control, I’d remember the feel of his hands and mouth on my skin, and a mini-orgasm would rip through me again.

I stayed where he had left me, on my back in the middle of my bed. The only time I had moved was to pull the blankets over my nakedness. That was around the time the music had started and the first guests had arrived.

An hour ago, maybe more.

Was he out there with the taste of me still on his lips? Did he have me on his fingers still? I knew Ilya. It was the kind of thing he would do. Hold his fiancée's waist and shake hands with fingers that had so recently been inside of me. Just like he had made me cum whilst telling me how worthless I was.

Or maybe he really did care for Marguerite? He was going to marry her, after all. There had to be some feeling for her.

Surely he wouldn’t greet his guests, his fiancée, and her family with me still on his fingers? Would he?

Yes, Ilya was a heartless monster.

Tonight had proven that to me. And I hated myself that I had cum for him anyway. It would have been easier if he had fucked me. I could have gotten over that. But to have him touch me so expertly whilst saying such hateful things made me feel dirty.

It made me feel worthless.

Which was exactly what he wanted me to feel.

A giggle sounded from outside my door. Right outside. A woman’s laugh that she tried to hide. Instantly the laughter was cut off, broken by a whisper. Almost like whoever was out there was trying to be discreet.

My interest piqued, I yanked on the clothes Ilya had thrown around my room in his hurry to get me naked and under him earlier, and tiptoed to the door.

Ilya had told me to stay in my room, that he would knock if he needed me to watch Alec, but opening the door wasn’t against the rules, was it?

Especially when I spotted Alec’s back, his shirt already untucked from his pants as he hurried towards the back of the apartment and towards the guest bedrooms.

Instantly my interest was piqued. Throwing one glance behind me towards the party, I had a second to wonder where Ilya was in all those glamorously dressed people, and then I went after my son.

I caught up with him a second too late. He had already opened a closed bedroom door and stepped through by the time I reached it.

And right there, her slinky red dress hitched up around her hips, was Marguerite. The man who was kissing her wildly was not my Ilya.

"That’s not my papa." Indignant, Alec barreled forward, his little fists clenched, and that’s when they saw him. Faces flushed, they rounded on him. The man, his blond hair falling into his eyes, grabbed at his arm and dragged him further into the room.

"Little shit saw us." Roughly, he shook my child. "If he tells—"

Sliding from the chest of drawers, Marguerite smoothed her dress down her legs. "He won’t say shit, will you, you little shit—"

I moved on instinct, rushing across the room to block the slap she aimed at my son's face. "Don’t you—" Roughly I tossed her away so she landed in a heap next to the bed. "—dare touch him."

Never in my life had I ever been so angry. Tugging Alec into my side protectively, I wrapped my arms around him and glared at her.

I’d known there was something rotten about her; Alec had as well.

"Does Ilya—" I began to say, when she opened her mouth and screamed, smashing her head against the wooden bed frame over and over again.

Completely confused, I stayed rooted to the spot. What the hell was she doing?

"Ilya!" she screamed so loudly that the music was abruptly cut off, and the sound of feet running towards us had me turning towards the door just as Ilya appeared in the doorway.