The Hacker (Chicago Bratva 5)

Hurting Natasha was never my plan.

“Spread your knees.” My guttural bark oddly fits out here in the darkened forest.

Again, her enthusiasm couldn’t be doubted. Natasha, for all her sweetness, loves the kink. Somehow it makes me even crazier for her.

I gather her wet hair in a bundle and tug her head back. “You like to be punished.” I slap lightly between her legs.

She gasps and shivers, letting out a little note that sounds like, “ooh.”

I spank her pussy again. The wet flesh slides under my fingers, inviting them to linger. A few more slaps, and then I accept the invitation, pushing my middle finger through her folds, seeking her clit. I find it and circle once, twice. I press my thumb over her asshole as I screw one finger into her. She’s wet—sopping wet.

I pull my fingers out and give her ass a light spank. “You’re lucky there’s no olive oil out here, amerikanka, or I’d put my cock right here.” I press on her anus, making it flutter against the pad of my thumb. “I guess I’ll have to make you pay another way.”

It’s wrong—ever so wrong—but I unzip my jeans. My cock is hard as steel for her, throbbing to be used for the benefit of us both.

“I don’t have condoms, but I’m clean,” I tell her as I drag the head of my cock through her juices. I’m looking for consent.

Maybe I’m hoping she’ll spook.

She doesn’t. “I’m on birth control.”

I ignore the part of my brain that wants to analyze who she went on it for.

She wants me to fuck her.

I grip her hair again, making her back arch when I pull. “You need me to show you what happens when you test me?”

“Yes,” she breathes.

Foolish girl. Foolish, beautiful, darling girl.

I can’t help myself. I shove into her and my mind short-circuits at how good she feels. Her delicious wet heat. The way her tight channel hugs my member like a glove. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex, I’d forgotten how incredible it feels. But this doesn’t compare to those early fumbles of my youth. Everything is different. I’m a different man. Hardened by violence. Removed from life. I’m not a gentle lover. I’m not attentive, except to make sure she’s still enjoying it. That she still consents. I’m an animal, staking a momentary claim.

And because it’s so different, it seems allowed.

I slam in, fucking her hard.

She arches that slender cat-back of hers, pushing her ass to meet my thrusts, taking me deep. My balls slap against her soft flesh. Every smack satisfies me in a way I don’t understand. I’m not a sadist. At least I didn’t think so. But the heady sense of power she offers with her surrender makes me high.

Shame at the mental contortions I made to allow myself to do this mingles with the high, and I get even more brutal with my pounding, changing my grip to hold her hips and taking shorter strokes.

Natasha starts to vocalize her need—short gasping cries that make me even more desperate to fuck the hell out of her. “Dima!”

I both love and hate when she says my name.

It makes it personal but sounds so damn perfect at the same time. Hell, this is personal. Me pretending it’s not is jacked.

It’s cruel to Natasha.

Unfair to Alyona.

Torture to me.

“Come, amerikanka,” I order. I have no idea why I think I can command a woman’s orgasm, but she squeezes around my dick like she’s trying to obey.

“Blyad.’” Heat spikes at the base of my spine. I pump faster.

“Dima.” She sounds alarmed now.

I know the feeling. The pressure before the release. My movements get jerky as I slam in and out, hurtling to the edge of the precipice. And then I’m catapulted over it. I slam in hard and come.

Natasha reaches between her legs to rub her own clit and tangle my fingers with hers, nudging her out of the way. As soon as I take over she comes. I bump in and out a few times to help bring it to a full finish.

I pull out and give her ass a resounding slap—hard enough to make her flinch. “Bring your own towel next time,” I tell her, my voice deep and rough. I put my dick away, and then I go into my room and shut the door in true asshole fashion.

11

Natasha

I wake to the sound of rain. The clock beside the bed says I slept until 9:30 a.m., which is far later than it seems because the sky outside is grey with a summer storm. It’s incredibly cozy. I want to pretend we’re here at this beautiful, luxurious cabin on a weekend getaway. That we have to stay in and play games together today, but when the rain lifts, we’ll go for a walk in the forest and enjoy the scent of rain on pine.