Bratva's Brat (Loftry University Playthings 2)

As the car eases to a halt, unease takes the place of desire. I don't even know where here is, but we've obviously arrived. Master Grigori inspects his clothes as he zips, buttons, and tucks himself into the presentable man he appeared to be at the beginning of the evening. His being clothed makes me feel all the more naked and ashamed. Scooting back to the chair, I wrap my arms about my waist and hunch down, covering every inch as best I can. He steps out of the limo, every movement lithe and controlled, and leaves me there. Inching my way towards the door, I tilt my head so I can hear the conversation. What good it does me. More Russian meets my ears before Master Grigori thrusts his upper half into the car and offers me his hand.

Tilting my head up, I slide past him, pushing against his bulk as I make my way out of the car. He chuckles but thankfully chooses not to reprimand me, at least not right here and now. Who knows what he has planned in his house of horrors. I press my back against the car, letting the dulling pain sharpen my senses. I can't afford to let him muddle my head. Not right now. Not ever. As he pulls away from me, my new home looms up ahead, just as grand and imposing as he is. Looking up the impressive stone front, my vision fuzzes as the enormity of my situation hits me at full force.

His house is enormous. Stone steps lead up to an impressive edifice, all awash with white stone and golden hues. I've only ever seen places like this when I'd sneak travel magazines I stole and dream about a life far away from my family. A single tear escapes my eyes as I remember shoving them between my mattress like a boy with porn. I wonder if my parents have found them yet. No doubt they have, but it's not like they can return them. By now, they'd be out of date: pages torn, nonsensical scribblings, hearts and flowers. No one would take them back. To be fair, they would probably be in the garbage with the rest of my things.

Clearing my vision, with a violent shake of my head, I continue to peruse the landscape, taking in the perfectly manicured lawns, the twinkle of lights around the building. Everything is just how I imagined my dream house. Fitting for it to play a starring role in my current nightmare. Murmured voices reach my brain through the haze - tinges of sound creeping in on my consciousness. I can't even discern where they're coming from until a gentle hand shakes me out of my reverie.

Snapping my gaze from the gargantuan structure, I turn to look at Master Grigori, his face scrunched up with concern. My stomach twists as I take in his pitying glances, so reminiscent of looks from my past - teachers, caregivers, guidance counselors - all of them looking at me with eyes that acted like they cared without actions to back it up. Sneering, I stare him down until that disgusting look gives way to something more tolerable. I can deal with anger. Anger is something I'm on intimate terms with.

"As I was saying. I have meetings that I have to deal with tonight. Ivan will show you to your room. You have my permission to take the butt plug out and wash yourself before going to bed." He pauses for a moment before running his fingers through my hair. "Trust me, Rybka, you will want to get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow you will be familiarizing yourself with how my household is run and what will be expected of you."

Without so much as a goodbye, he turns on his heel and heads towards the door. I watch him as he strides away, my insides twisting the further away he gets. Men pour out of the shadows as he nears the door, two falling in behind and two in front. My eyes dart back to the inside of the limo, praying some sort of covering reveals itself. No such luck.

"You come, no fuss."

I feel Ivan's bulk even before he speaks. It's this large menace that looms over me, engulfing me until I feel like I'm suffocating. How can I seduce him when just his presence makes me tremble? He looks like he could rend me with just a flex of his arms, like a less fuzzy Siberian bear if you beat him in chess. Smirking at the image of Ivan holding some poor robot's arms over his head in victory, I give one more cursory glance to the inside and turn to face the music.

"Smile. You'd look prettier," I mumble, patting him on the shoulder.

Setting my jaw, I nod towards the door and start the shameful climb. More men pour out from around the door, each stopping to glance up and down my naked form. Goosebumps explode over my skin as so many strange eyes peruse my flesh. Awareness prickles me as I note their guns and firm stances. They could end me with just a nod from their fearless leader. Repressing a shudder, I pause for Ivan to lumber up ahead of me and get the door.

"No fuss, da?"

"Da."

My spirits sink as he leads me into the house that is my new prison. Maybe if I'm good enough, Master Grigori will let me still attend classes in person? Even as I think this, my spirit plummets. Knowing him and Dean Anderson, they will want me as far away from Professor Richards as possible. I bite my bottom lip, distracting my emotional pain with physical pain. If I'm going to escape, I'll need to get my head in the game and quit being distracted. Following Ivan through the twists and turns of this massive house, my spirits fall even further with each foot we go. How will I actually escape here?

I'm horrible with directions, always have been. Now, when I need an internal compass the most, it fails me. As he stops in front of a door, the blood drains from my face. Showtime. Before I'm even ready, he opens the door and steps back to allow me inside. Craning my neck around, I see an ornate bathroom with dated, golden filigree everywhere. My nose scrunches up in distaste, but at least the large garden tub makes up for it. My muscles ache in protest as I weigh my options. Do I try my plan another day and let myself have a night of respite? As tempting as it sounds, I know if I don't fight this now, I'll lose my nerve and end up with Master Grigori until he's finally tired of me. Better to leave on my terms than wait for him to cast me aside. It's inevitable. We both know it. At least I'm the one willing to admit it and do something about it.

"Here is bathroom. This is where you clean and soak. Da?" He pauses until I nod before walking to the door right next to it and opening it up. "Here is sleep. Go clean, then sleep. Da?"

Taking in a deep breath to still my raging nerves, I lower my eyes to the floor, drawing every bit of innocence into me. It's not as hard as I imagined. After all, if I just pretend he's Professor Richards, I can easily pretend to be an innocent young girl, hoping to sluff off her naivety with a much older and wiser man. Glancing back up at Ivan as he pokes about in the bathroom, I grimace and change the scenario to drop off the wiser part of it. Older man will have to work.

"Mr. Ivan?"

"Da?"

He continues to fuss about, pulling oils, soaps, salts, anything a young girl would probably want for a bath. Does he even know what a woman wants or needs? As he eyes the contents with murderous intent, the answer is probably no. It's probably as foreign to him as a peasant eating duck with a king.

"Mr. Ivan?"

"Da?"

His voice rises as he whirls about, bubble bath in one hand and bath pearls in the other. The look he gives them both threatens a chuckle to bubble up, but I keep it in. I can't seduce him if I'm doubled over with laughter. I saunter over, putting my hips to work as I make my way to him. His arms go slack as he watches me. Good. Reaching up, I pluck both containers out of his hand and lean all the way over to put them on the opposite side of the tub. A glance over my shoulder confirms that he's transfixed on my ass. Wiggling my butt just a little, I make a fuss over where I should put the bottles before standing back up.

"You know what would really help me, Mr. Ivan?"

"What, Myshonok?" His lips set into a firm line.

"Master Grigori shoved this butt plug inside of me really deep." I pause to nibble at my thumb, glancing up at him with lowered lashes. His chest rises and plummets as his breathing grows haggard. "I don't think I can pull it out myself. Could you help me?"

"Da."

His voice is barely a whisper as he stares at me. I should feel bad. After all, this man will probably die because of me. Giving myself a mental shrug, I rationalize it as better him than me. I lean over the tub and thrust my ass out, tamping down any shame that threatens to rise. It's not about sex; it's about survival. If I can just think of it in those terms, all will be fine. Thick fingers grip my ass as Mr. Ivan kneels down behind me. His breath fans against my sensitive skin and everything clenches up, sending a fresh wave of arousal ricocheting through my body.

You can do this. You can do this. The words form a static refrain in my head, a mantra that does nothing to soothe the pounding of my heart. I grip the tub in front of me, grateful that I can't actually break the porcelain. Am I really doing the right thing? Scrunching my eyes closed, I let the events of the night flow through my brain, the humiliation giving me strength. The need for revenge colors my vision, making it haze a bit around the edges. If a little humiliation is all I cause him, then he's gotten off lucky.

"I pull now. Don't fight."

Gritting my teeth, I breathe in deep through my nose, forcing a calmness I don't feel into my body. He rocks the hard glass back and forth, easing it out in small increments. I half expected him to yank the damn thing out. The fact that he's taking his time, trying to cause me as little discomfort as he can, makes me feel just a smidgen of guilt. No doubt after tonight, he'll have a bounty on his head. For that part, I do feel a little remorse, but for the rest of it? They can all go to hell for all I'm concerned.

His labored breathing washes across my spine, sending tingles rushing through my lower half. Biting my lip to stifle a moan, I grit my teeth and pull forward, hoping to apply enough pressure to yank it out. Mr. Ivan settles his hand on my lower back, the warm palm in sharp contrast to my frigid skin. I stay in place, the façade of a dutiful submissive sliding into place. With a grunt of approval, he goes back to wiggling the plug back and forth. At this point, I can't tell if he's trying to turn me on or actually ease the discomfort of pulling out such a large plug.

Testing the waters, I slip my hand in between the sink and my legs, a whisper of a moan slipping past my lips as I slide my digits across lips, finally finding some relief from the arousal twisting my insides. The pleasure is unlike any I've ever felt before. Then again, this is the longest I've been teased and denied in my life. My eyes roll back as I pinch the tender flesh, shooting both pain and pleasure flowing through me. A sharp, stinging swat to my ass pulls me out of my stupor. Yanking my hand back into place, I look over my shoulder at Mr. Ivan, his brows drawn with displeasure.

"No. Bad." He punctuates the word with an equally painful blow to my other cheek. "Only Grigori touches that."

My lips twist up into a mask of humility as I lower my eyes to the floor. Faking a shame I don't feel, I let other memories color my cheeks as I paint the perfect picture of a demure submissive.

"Yes, Mr. Ivan. I apologize."