The Hacker (Chicago Bratva 5)

“Move and I’ll use the wooden spoon on your ass again,” he warns.

It takes my sex-addled brain a moment to even compute what he means, but when he leaves the room, I understand. I hold perfectly still as if my compliance with this order will bring me the satisfaction I so desperately need. I listen to his footsteps going swiftly down the stairs then back up.

To keep up the suspense, I don’t look when I hear him come back into the room. He pulls my buttcheek open with one hand and drizzles something between them.

Now I look.

It’s the olive oil. He brought the spoon, too, which actually would be a real incentive for me to cave. I hope he won’t use it on me. At least not too hard.

Dima kneels up behind me, parting my cheeks with the heels of his hands and lining his cock up. I automatically tense up, my anus fluttering at the contact. Dima makes a disapproving sound in his throat and applies a little pressure. “Now you take my cock, amerikanka.”

I moan my agreement. It’s so wrong but feels so right. Especially because it’s Dima. Or maybe only because it’s Dima.

For a moment, nothing happens. I’m resisting him, I guess, but I don’t realize it until he murmurs, his tone far softer, “Open for me, Natasha.”

I don’t know what that means, but I imagine opening for him, and my muscles relax. He breaches my back hole. There’s a burning sensation, but he goes slowly, feeding his length into me, centimeter by centimeter.

“It’s too big,” I protest.

Dima uncaps the olive oil and pours a little more between us. “Take me.” It’s a command, but he delivers it in a soft voice, with a touch of coaxing to it. I knew I was right that he’d never hurt me.

He may play at using sex as punishment, but I’m safe with him. I’m safe, and I can win this battle with my surrender.

I concentrate to relax until he’s fully seated, and then he starts moving slowly in and out.

I moan. “It’s good,” I admit. I tug at my bound wrists because the urge to put my fingers between my legs is overwhelming. My sex feels so empty. So needy. “Dima… please,” I start begging.

“Please what?” He lords over me with that authoritative tone now that I’m begging.

“I need… please…”

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

Fuck. No way. I’m not giving in. No chance.

I don’t answer at first. He strokes in and out of my ass, making me frantic with the need for him to either stop or give me more.

“Hmm?”

“No.” I sound petulant because I know he’s going to deny me what I need.

He thrusts a little harder. “No? I have all night, Natasha. You will definitely do as you’re told by the time I’m through with you.”

Oh, God. His words turn me on. I don’t know why I love it just as much when he’s mean to me as I do when he’s tender. I guess I know the meanness isn’t real. It’s a barrier he uses to hold back from loving me.

That’s the barrier I’m trying to knock down.

Dima thrusts deeper like it’s a punishment for my refusal. It’s too much, but it feels so good.

I moan into the bedcovers, keep my ass up, my legs spread. “Please.” I beg again without even meaning to.

“Da,” he agrees, pounding a little harder.

A little faster.

I’m already lost, spinning into the place of no thought, only lurid sensation.

“Dima,” I pant.

He groans, and the sound of his arousal nearly sends me over the edge.

“Please.”

“Will you be good?” He drills into me, and I’m incapable of speech. Incapable of anything but simultaneously melting and clenching, ready to come unglued at every seam.

“I need to… I need…”

“You need to come, amerikanka?”

“Yes.” Relief streaks through me.

“Say the magic words.”

“Please?”

His laugh is dark. “Wrong answer. This time’s for me, then.” His breath sounds ragged as he thrusts into me, and then I understand his meaning. He’s going to come.

Without me.

My pussy clenches on air, desperate to come with him, but when he does plow deep and shout, I can’t quite muster it.

I dry sob into the bed. “No, no, no, no, no,” I complain. When he pulls out, I roll my hips on the bed and squeeze my thighs together, trying to get enough friction on my clit to orgasm.

“You’re in trouble now.”

I dimly register Dima’s threat as he retreats and returns, using a warm washcloth to clean me. He’s buttoned his jeans back up, fully dressed while I’m fully naked.

Even though I didn’t come, I’m weak with need, limp from being used. I continue to up the bed. Dima takes mercy on me and runs his fingers over my sex until he finds my clit, which he rubs.

I come immediately, the orgasm wrung from me in quick pulses around air.