Rough Exile

Noticing the scissors in my hand, he lifted his brows. “Are those to threaten Bron with? You won’t die of frustration, you know.”

“I figured you were the easier target. Besides, you enjoy giving me orgasms—I’ll do you a favor by letting you give me one.”

“When was the last time I gave you only one? I prefer you screaming and shaking for me, and all sweaty and limp when I’m done.”

I groaned and pressed against him. “Please? Just one? Bron doesn’t have to know.”

He chuckled and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Such a naughty, needy girl.” His gaze warmed, lingering on my face in a way that made my heart sigh in contentment.

Was I in love with him? Probably. How could anyone not be?

These feelings were probably something like Stockholm Syndrome from being trapped here for so long with two hot men who had big sexual appetites. It couldn’t get serious, and all three of us knew it, right?

The guys were starting new lives back in civilization, and I’d be going home.

Hell, I didn’t even have so much as a visitor’s visa to be in the country. I didn’t relish the idea of being sent to a prison in Siberia if I got caught, that was for damn sure. I could go home and apply for a visa, but how long did those even take? How long did they last? I knew nothing about traveling legally, let alone how to live in Russian society.

“Hey, you know it’s only a joke, right?” He cupped my face in his hands. “You’re not naughty at all. You’re very good.” He tipped my face up so he could study my expression. “You’re upset.” He kissed my forehead. “Tell me.”

Tell him what? That I wanted Vas to leave us alone on this island? That I didn’t want him to achieve his dream of being allowed to leave permanently and be close to his family—something he’d been working toward for years?

“I’m just nervous about pretending I’m your fiancée.”

He kissed me again, this time on the mouth. Without the beard to scrape my skin, his kiss felt different. When he pulled away, he sighed and rubbed his face on mine like an overgrown cat.

“It feels so different.”

“Mmhmm.” I threaded my fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp the way I had with Bron. He groaned in contentment.

“Do you think my face would feel good between your thighs?”

I nipped his bottom lip, and he picked me up and perched my ass on the edge of the vanity so he could get between my legs. He kissed me again, trying to get me to open my mouth, but I playfully refused. His tongue slid along the seam of my lips, coaxing me, making me think of him sinking to his knees and doing the same to my needy, aching pussy. He could push down my leggings, push aside my panties…

It was impossible not to part my lips, to let him in. Our tongues slid together, and I was so wound up, the wicked sensation sent an orgasmic shudder through my entire body. There was something magical about a man who loved making out like a teenager—who did it for the pleasure of it, instead of as a box that needed to be checked so he could put his dick in me.

His dick was straining at his jeans, and I pulled off my leggings and hooked my legs around his, putting my feet on the backs of his calves so I had leverage to rub against him. My panties didn’t do much to protect me from the denim he wore, but I was so frustrated I didn’t care.

He slid his hand up my shirt and cupped my bare breast, pinching my nipple hard enough to make me squirm against his cock. There were too many layers of cloth between us. What were the chances he’d agree to fuck me before Bron came in and pitched a fit?

Ilya groaned into my mouth, and the sound shot straight to my brain, making me feel like I’d risk anything—do anything to hear it again.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Bron’s growl at the door made me jerk back. Ilya only looked at him. I expected him to be flustered and apologetic, but he only narrowed his eyes.

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Ilya’s brows dipped.

“The rule is the two of you aren’t allowed to paw at each other behind my back.”

“And why should I obey you?”

Bron invaded Ilya’s personal space, trying to intimidate him with his body. “Just because you grew into a man while hiding under that beard doesn’t mean anything has changed between us. Obey me or I’ll punish you.”

Ilya turned to face him but leaned a hip casually against the counter between my thighs and wrapped an arm around my waist.

“Tomorrow, we go to see Vas. This arrangement between us is over, Bron. We may choose to be with each other after this, but I will only obey you when it’s what I want to do.”

Bron grabbed his arm, but Ilya broke the hold as though he’d always known how to counter it. They grappled, bumping into the door and the wall. I drew my legs up and tucked them underneath me, ignoring the urge to try to stop them. They had to sort out their new dynamic without my interference.

Bron was broader and heavier, but Ilya seemed slightly faster. They both had something to lose and a point to make.

Stray elbows and fists flew, and I flattened myself back against the mirror.

After a blur of movement that was too fast and too close for me to follow, Bron got Ilya into a headlock. I was disappointed for Ilya, but maybe this struggle between them would need to take time, anyway.

Ilya grabbed between Bron’s legs.

The fight stopped. An angry, rapid discussion in Russian ensued, and I only caught a few words—most of them swears Ilya had taught me.

“Let go of my balls, suka.”

“Let go of my head, suka blyat.”

Slowly, they let go of each other and straightened.