The Bride Of The Devil

CONTENT WARNING: /This novel contains mature themes, explicit sexual content, strong language, and adult situations. Reader discretion is advised./ Lydia Andreyevna thought the stories were exaggerated. They said the Grand Duke of Zolotaria was a monster. That he wore a mask to hide the face of a killer. That he bathed in blood and showed no mercy. But when she saw Ivan Romanov slit a man’s throat and smile at the corpse like it was art, she knew—she had married the devil. After losing her parents, Lydia was left to suffer under her uncle, Lord Alexander, who stole everything she had. Desperate to escape a forced marriage to a count old enough to be her grandfather, she begged Queen Olga for help. The queen agreed—but at a price. Now, Lydia belongs to a man feared by all. A man whose name alone makes others tremble. A man who doesn’t flinch at death… because he’s lived too close to it for far too long. And behind his mask, no one knows what he's truly thinking. Not even his wife. ___________________________________ Just a Heads-Up: The spicy stuff doesn't happen right away. It begins from chapter 28. This story takes its time setting the mood and building the connection first—trust the slow burn! ____________________________________ HERE'S A LITTLE SNEAK PEAK TO LET YOU KNOW WHAT TO ARE INSTALLED FOR ..Ivan lay back on the bed, his body bare, scars marking his skin like they were a part of him. Lydia straddled him, her nightgown barely hanging on, the heat between them impossible to ignore. She couldn’t stop herself. Her fingers traced his scars, feeling the rough, jagged lines of his past. Her touch was light, exploring, and the more she traced, the more she wanted. Her lips found one of the deeper scars across his stomach, and without thinking, she kissed it. The moment her lips touched his skin, Ivan’s body tensed, his breath catching. Lydia kissed the scar again, soft at first, but the hunger in her grew. She moved lower, her lips following the lines of his body, tasting him, feeling the heat of him. His hands slid up her legs, slow and deliberate. The heat in his touch made her gasp. His fingers moved higher, slipping under the edge of her nightgown, his hand brushing the soft skin of her thighs. She shivered when his hand moved closer, touching the fabric of her underwear, his fingers brushing against her, feeling the warmth of her. Her body went rigid, her breath coming faster. She wanted him to touch more, deeper, and he knew it. Ivan didn’t wait. His hand moved between her legs, finding her soaked, trembling with need. He didn’t give her time to think, his fingers sliding inside her without hesitation. Lydia gasped, her body arching toward him as his fingers moved inside her, rough and relentless. She couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. She wanted more, needed more, but he was in control now. Her hands scrambled to pull at his chest, her nails digging into his skin, but Ivan didn’t let up. His grip on her tightened, holding her in place, his fingers pushing deeper, making her cry out...