Bratva's Brat (Loftry University Playthings 2)

Chapter 2

Chelsea

Cold tiles pressagainst my body, hurting more than they soothe, but at least this pain I can control. Sitting back on my butt, I ease myself down to the floor, waiting for the ache as the spark of pain morphs and settles deep into my muscles. The two goons that brought me in there are nowhere to be found, and if I’m honest with myself, being alone is more painful than the potential repercussions if I didn’t listen to them.

The tub in the corner bubbles and froths, but I want nothing to do with it. I know it’s supposed to help with my sore body, but right now, the pain is the only thing keeping me grounded, keeping me from slipping into the painful oblivion left behind by Professor Richards. Closing my eyes, I grip at my sternum, not sure if I want to claw my heart out or mush it together to force it to heal.

His words flit through my mind, stinging me with renewed barbs. Bending down, I let the last of my tears drop from my eyes. Soon, there will be nothing left to cry. Gripping myself about the waist, I hunch over, forcing myself to suck in air, to fill myself as much as I can, but it doesn’t help. It only makes me want to hurl the tepid coffee that was flung towards me before being forced before the assembly. Even murderers got a last meal. Was I so much worse than them?

The plug is heavy inside me as I stumble up to my feet to inspect the damage in the mirror. Turning this way and that, I force myself to take in the angry red lines crisscrossing from my shoulders to my thighs, pausing to touch and prod a few of them, wincing as the expected pain blooms to the surface. Groaning, I continue to trip my fingertips along my skin, sucking in a deep breath as old pains fade and new ones shoot to the surface.

Amidst the discomfort, the heat and razor-sharp pain morph into something else, something warm and languid. Moaning, I slide my hands across my thighs, contemplating if it’s worth breaking the rules just this once. Hot, bitter tears spill from my raw eyes and onto my cheeks. Like following the rules ever got me anywhere.

Shaking my head to clear my vision, I force my fingers lower. Rules be damned. Pleasure explodes over my body with the first swipe of my fingertips. Tilting my head back, licentious moans pour from my throat. The edge of danger heightens the pleasure flowing through me. My ears prick, searching out any noise to alert me of being found out. Only the hum of the tub sounds in the room.

“This isn’t you getting clean.”

The sharp bark of his voice sends a barrage of hot and cold alternating down my spine. Gulping, I turn from the mirror to face my new owner, dread filling my gut. My body clenches as he holds my gaze. I can’t pull away even if I want to.

“Seems to me, there’s a rule about self-pleasuring.” Pausing, he lets his eyes wander up and down my body. “Hmm. How to dissuade you. Obviously, the punishment from earlier hasn’t put you into a more obedient frame of mind.” He stalks closer, his voice dropping as he nears me. “Should I sew your pretty little pussy lips together? Hmm? Perhaps staple them? That will make it easier for you to obey, wouldn’t it?”

I turn back to the mirror, gripping the cold, stone counter. Dumbstruck, I watch him approach, frozen in place as his fingers reach for my hair. They intertwine within the thick strands, his touch surprisingly gentle. I hold back the soft moan that threatens to escape as he scrubs at my scalp, easing away some of my tension. Without warning, he fists the hair, tugging hard at the roots.

“Do not let me catch you pleasuring yourself again. Is that understood?”

His thunderous frown arrests my gaze. My words catch in my throat. Lowering my lashes, I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“Maybe a good punishment for you would be to give you everything you want until you can’t handle it anymore. Hmm?”

His fingers release my head so fast my head drops forward. Gripping my waist, he whirls me around before lifting me up to sit on the counter. The ease in which he handles me flips my stomach, sending unwanted warmth further south. The cold granite bites into my skin, pebbling it until I shiver. His expression never warms as he looks at me: just cold, hard fury dances in his eyes.

With a shift of his feet, his knees pry my legs apart until I’m shamefully exposed to him. He doesn’t give me long to stew about it before his hand descends to the mound between my thighs, his fingers curled like talons, his nails biting my delicate skin. I open my mouth to scream, but he leans forward, eyes deadly.

“Go ahead. No one is going to save you, Lastachka. Howl to the heavens, let them writhe to the music of your agony.” His fingers dig in harder, the would-be scream dying into a squeak on my lips. “You want to pleasure yourself without permission, then go ahead. Pleasure yourself now. I want to see how wet you can get for me.”

He releases his hand, the skin still throbbing a sluggish refrain, soft echoes of the pain he caused. I slide my fingers down, hesitant in their journey. There’s no way he can punish me if he’s the one ordering me to do it...right?

“You will want to hurry and get yourself off. Miss this opportunity, and who knows when the next time you’ll orgasm is.”

I pause at his words, dread filling me like lead. He wouldn’t deny me forever. He couldn’t. I look at his expression, and the dread turns to terror, the tendrils weaving their way under my skin. I spread my lips, my fingers stuttering over the slick, swollen skin. Just skimming against the hardened flesh, I gasp, fire racing through my body.

His eyes gleam as he stares down at my core. I clench in need as his fingers stroke his stubbled jaw, my body lurching forward as if it were me he was touching. Get it together. No drooling over the enemy. Gritting my jaw, I continue my quest, his devilish gaze following every movement. As my fingers spread, the door to the bathroom opens, the slam of metal against stone ricocheting off the walls.

A mountain of flesh and muscle lumbers into the space, only getting a cursory glance from my captor. Interesting. Watching the man as he leans over to speak with Master Grigori, I strain to listen as words tumble from his lips in stilted sounds and grunts. His eyes never leave me, even as he cocks his head to the side to listen better. I ease my legs close, hoping to slink back into my oblivion.

“Did I tell you to move?” He interrupts the giant as if nothing he’s saying is important.

An unnerving feeling slithers up my spine as he turns and stares at me as well. Both men stand there, the hunger stark in their eyes. I swallow, looking between the both of them. My brain clicks and whirs like a dilapidated computer, sussing through whether to obey him or shield myself from their onslaught.

I shake my head, letting my gaze drift down. With both sets of eyes boring into me, it’s harder to pretend like it’s nothing at all to display myself to these men. Pursing my lips, I force my hands to still at the sides of my thighs and not cover my nakedness. I’m not sure I could talk my way out of doing something that egregious, especially not after he caught me touching myself. That would be like adding fuel to the fire.

“When I ask you a question, you answer with your words. Or do they not expect that of you anymore?”

“No, Mr. Grigori, you did not tell me I could move.”

A savage slash tilts up his lips, just barely baring his teeth. Crossing his arms, his muscles ripple under the movement, undulating like pythons right below the skin. I swallow, easing back from the implied threat. His strides swallow up the distance between us until the heat from his skin washes over my body. Shivers erupt at the contrast. His fingers, firm and unyielding, grasp my chin, craning my neck up to look into his eyes.

“You will address me as Master. Nothing more, nothing less.” He pauses to run his fingers through my hair, a gentle caress that belies the icy chip to his words. “You are nothing, Lastachka, except what I tell you you are, what I make you to be. Right now, you’re my little fuck toy, skin and holes for me to slake my pleasure.” His hand drops from my hair to encircle my throat, the steady pressure sending my heart racing. “Do not forget your place. Now then, Kukalka, spread out this cunt and give Ivan a show.”

My fingers tremble as I spread myself back out, heat tinging my cheeks. Ivan’s gaze drops to my core, his eyes shining with lust. Maybe this is good. Maybe if I can ensnare him, he’ll help me out of my predicament.

Blue eyes, ice and fire intertwined, stare into me. Ivan’s tongue sweeps out to wet his bottom lips, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. Though it’s not unheard of to have a submissive of The Society be put on lurid display, it’s never happened to me. Not since the night of my initiation has anyone looked at me with such unabashed lust. Not even Professor Richards looked at me with such unchecked hunger.

Massive shoulders heaving, chest rising and falling, Mr. Ivan stops short of stroking himself as he watches. His hand hovers over his belt but remains aloft. Master Grigori’s rhythmic squeezing against my throat pulls me back to the job at hand. His warm breath stirs my hair as it comes and goes in harsh rasps.