Rough Exile

Why was he so angry? Was trying to leave such a big deal?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, not sure what I was sorry about.

“Why does hurting you only make me want to hurt you more?” When had he started shaking?

The pain was receding to a more manageable level, but I had the feeling it would take a few days before the ache went away entirely.

He leaned sideways, then started going through his coat pockets as I stared at the glittering ring on my finger. The world felt surreal. I was hot and cold and turned on and calm and angry, and I also felt like I wasn’t really in touch with reality.

“What are you looking for?”

“Something most men don’t need to carry, just in case.”

Band-Aids? Was I bleeding? Between the biting and the belting, I wouldn’t be surprised.

A cold packet of something landed on my back.

“What is that?” I couldn’t see it well enough to read the label.

“Kindness.”

He spread my legs, and I was so tired from the beating that I let him do it.

Was that a lube packet? Damn it.

“Ilya, no!” I tried to snap my legs back together, but he gripped the inside of one thigh with bruising fingers that were a warning not to interfere with his plans.

“Hold still,” he said harshly. “If you fight, I’ll hurt you more—and damn me, but I’d like to.”

Reluctantly, I relaxed my legs, going still and compliant. I wasn’t stupid enough to test him now, while I could tell his adrenaline was still running high.

He lowered his mouth to my ass and investigated the damage he’d done by brushing his lips over the marks he’d made. My backside throbbed, but the burning paired with his gentle investigation made my pussy twitch with an orgasmic aftershock. His scalding tongue dipped into the valley of my ass cheeks, and I buried my face in the coat, inhaling the scent of gasoline and wood smoke. I didn’t want him to do it, but I didn’t stop him as he stroked at my back hole with his tongue, the electric feel of it making me squirm and struggle. His big hand kept me from sliding away.

I heard the click of the lube bottle’s cap and then cold liquid slid over my skin.

”Isn’t my pussy good enough?” I complained.

“The very thought of your pussy makes my cock ache to be inside you. So hot. So wet. And the grip on my cock…” He groaned.

My legs spread wider, inviting him to take what he wanted. Instead, he coaxed his finger into my ass with patience that made me impatient. I didn’t enjoy anal that much, but knowing he’d never done it before and yet bottomed for Bron all the time made me more than willing. I expected it would be awkward and probably painful because of his inexperience, but at least he was using lube.

A second finger didn’t go in any more easily than the first, and he was muttering to himself in Russian. Hopefully, he wasn’t expecting me to answer him, because even though I’d learned a little, I didn’t recognize what he was saying.

He put me belly down on the coat and hauled me up by the hips.

“Tell me if I do this wrong.”

“If I say you’re already doing it wrong, will you stop?”

“No.” He sounded amused. “But you’re welcome to give me advice.”

He lined himself up and slowly worked the head of his thick cock into my ass. He swore in Russian, occasionally hissing, but I couldn’t tell if it was with pain or pleasure. With my eyes screwed shut and my teeth gritted, I tried to ignore the cramping in my guts.

Unlike Bron, at least he gave me time to adjust. Ilya knew what it was like when Bron did it to him.

When he was balls-deep, he groaned, shuddering.

“This is very…different. I prefer your pussy, but this is—”

He grunted and started to move, as though he couldn’t help himself. Why was hearing him enjoy my body so hot? I was used to stoic men who took their pleasure and maybe went as far as breathing differently when they came, but Ilya was vocal in his appreciation. It felt like a compliment even if I wished like hell he was smaller. My skin was covered in goose bumps, and the parade of them over my body made me shudder.

“Fuck, this is good,” he mumbled to himself as his hips took up an unsteady rhythm. “So fucking tight.”

I was glad one of us didn’t feel like we were having our guts stirred with a greased telephone pole.

When an uncomfortable whimper escaped me, he was kind enough to slow down, groaning quietly with each thrust. Soon, my body adjusted, and I rocked back to meet him—enjoying it even though I was still annoyed with him.

Being his first for this, too, was an interesting feeling—as though I were corrupting him one hole at a time, even though he was the one buried in my ass. I reached between my legs and scraped my nails over his balls, making him gasp and his cock flex inside me. I moaned in appreciation, feeling like I might get off even without him paying attention to my clit.

The door banged open.

Of fucking course.

Ilya jerked out of me, on his feet so quickly I didn’t have time to react other than to fall flat without the support of his hands.

“The fuck are you two doing?” Bron snarled.

We are so dead.

He caught Ilya by the neck and shook him. Ilya tried to break his hold, but Bron grabbed his hand, twisted his arm behind his back, and forced him to his knees.

“I was fucking her ass,” Ilya snapped, trying to swing at Bron with his free hand. He must have connected with something because Bron swore and kneed Ilya in the side of the head. Ilya went down on his side, but grabbed Bron’s ankle and jerked, sending him sprawling. As the two of them wrestled, I crept away, snatching up my clothes and doing my best to dress before they noticed.

Once I’d dressed, I skirted the pinwheeling fists and slipped out the door.

There was no point in running when they’d probably be pounding the crap out of each other for a while, so I zipped up Ilya’s old coat and headed toward the house. My ass ached from the belting I’d gotten. I’d left my underwear off and tucked them in my coat pocket. The rub of fabric against my ass still hurt, but the memory of what he’d done was hot, even if I’d thought I’d hated it at the time. I was tender inside, too, and the sensation was making me walk more carefully than I had been on my way to the cabin.

Ugh. Men.

The two of them needed to sort out their issues because I was tired of being underfoot when they were butting heads.

If Bron had shown up a bit earlier, then maybe I wouldn’t have gotten the cranky end of Ilya’s belt.

What had that been about, anyway? Would his family really expect me to be that submissive, or had he given in to his sadistic urges since Bron hadn’t been around to stop him?

Why weren’t the birds singing?

Hadn’t they been a moment ago?

I stopped and looked around me. Trees and more trees. I wasn’t even sure I was going the right way to get back to the house, but the island was only so big. Once I found the shore, I’d follow it.

The feeling of being watched nagged at the back of my brain.

Was that a growl?

A twig snapped.

Did wolves snap twigs when they moved through the forest? It seemed unlikely, but still…

I moved faster. Should I climb a tree? Wolves could definitely run faster than I could, but they couldn’t climb—not that I’d climbed anything in years. Maybe I couldn’t climb either.

Something dropped over my head, falling heavily around me. I tripped and fell to my knees, and a shocked scream escaped me. A net? I turned my head and found both men behind me, grinning evilly.

Their fight had apparently been short-lived. Ilya had a busted lip, and Bron’s cheek was bruised, but they both had the same look in their eye—which didn’t bode well for me.

I tried to struggle out from under the old net, but there was a lot of it, and I didn’t reach the edge before they were on me. One of them scooped my legs out from under me, and they jerked at the net, which closed me in like a bag. I panicked, screaming and struggling, but they both seemed far too at ease with manhandling the thing.