Bratva's Brat (Loftry University Playthings 2)

Chapter 5

Grigori

Numbers jumbleand twist on the paper as I stare down at it. Looking over at the clock, I realize I should sleep, but I just can't get her out of my head. Dropping my face into my hands, I rub my temples for a few moments. I've already fucked her twice, and yet it's still not enough. There's something deep within me that demands I claim her, mark her. The clit piercing isn't enough. It satisfies just a smidgen of the ferocity I feel towards her. I want to bathe her in my cum, make it to where she can't breathe, can't think, without me in her mind.

Not that I knew much about Richards, but he doesn't seem the type I should get angry over. Hell, I've fucked more women than Chelsea could even fathom; why would she being attached to this one man make a difference? Then again, her laying her head on my shoe, something she obviously learned from another dominant, was a ballsy move - no doubt she was trying to compare us two. Straightening my shoulders, I grit my teeth. There is no comparison. She would learn that soon enough.

The soft snores of my dogs catch my attention, and a soft smile eases over my face. Glancing over at them, my body softens, and everything begins to untense. A soft chuckle passes through my lips as I think about her sitting there, her mind convincing her I didn’t see her. When would she learn that I see everything? I see her. She can try to hide it the best she can, but like attracts like. The broken, jagged bits in me sees every sharp and splintered piece in her. Perhaps it's best not to get too attached. She needs someone whole to put her back together. Not someone like me.

Scooting out of my chair, I ignore the muffled whines and barks as Nikolai and Sasha beg me to stay with them. I have another pet to attend to right now. They will just have to wait. Slipping off my shoes, I navigate my house with practiced ease. I wasn't creating a hyperbole when I said, "monsters lurk in the shadows." Though she obviously didn't see it, my men roam these halls, becoming one with the night, living in the dark. As I make my way to her room, I count at least five that I know of. No doubt more are stationed outside.

The fact that she thought she could escape is laughable if it wasn't so terrifying. Clearly, we come from different worlds. Though jaded, she's still untainted when it comes to the desires of evil men. Any one of my men could have ended her life if they thought she was an enemy. They are trained to kill first and question later. A slight tremor zips down my body, quickening my steps. It was stupid of me not to brief my men on our new arrival. I'll have to make that a priority later today. I can't have them killing the girl after I promised John she'd be safe.

As I reach her door, I pause for a moment, unsure of my next move. I'm not a soft man, so any ideas of cuddling or snuggling after our scene was out of the question. Besides, there's no comfort with punishment. That's a lesson that was driven home numerous times growing up as a Bratva. What sort of legacy would I be leaving behind if I left key principles to rot on the wayside? I lean my head against the door, my insides twisted about by warring desires. I'm not my father, but I can't show mercy either. Not when so much hangs in the balance.

Easing the door open, I take care to keep my movements as quiet as possible. Light from the bathroom gives me enough illumination to pick my way through without tripping on something or causing a scene. Pillows are strewn about in a haphazard way, as well as a sheet lying puddled in the middle of the floor. Frowning, I look at the disarray, flexing my fingers as I take in the mess. She's only been in this room for a handful of hours, and already she's disrespecting the space. At her soft moan, my head shoots up, my body frozen, poised to move at the slightest provocation.

She turns over, her mass of hair tumbling about her face. Without a top sheet, every inch of her is on display. Perhaps I should look into getting a lock for that door after all. I would hate to have to kill one of my men for seeing her in such a deliciously vulnerable state. Prowling closer to the bed, her fevered whimpers shoot straight to my cock. I slide my hands down the front of my pants as I watch her lying there. The thick fabric of both pants and underwear impede the friction I desire. Stifling a groan, I thumb open my pants and unzip them. Each painstaking drop of the zipper thunders in my ears. I swear even Ivan on the other side of the house can hear it. I watch her face, convinced that she's going to wake up any moment.

So what if she does? I'll just take her again. With effortless precision, I dispel my pants before skimming my underwear off of my hips and onto the floor. Creeping closer to the bed, I take in her naked form and swell even more. I grip my shaft, pumping a few times as I watch her body twist and turn ever so often, her mind caught up in some dream. I wonder what she's dreaming about. As her thigh falls to the side, I stare at her lower lips, wetness glistening at her entrance. A soft growl rumbles in my chest as I think about who she might be dreaming of.

Anger rolls through me as I loom over her, watching her sigh and gasp. Gripping my shaft, I plant my feet as I glide up and down my cock with rough, jerky motions. A heady mix of pleasure and pain shoot through me as I keep my eyes locked on the brat as she lays there, oblivious to my ire. She shifts about, and I wonder for a brief moment if she'll actually wake up. Will she be frightened to see me standing over her, lurking like a common peeping Tom? I close my eyes for a brief moment, picturing the fear on her face as she wakes up to my wrath.

My balls tighten as I watch her, innocent in her sleep, incognizant of the havoc she's wreaking on me. I shouldn’t take this out on her. She can't control who she dreams about, but by God, when she wakes up, she'll know it was me that tormented her in her sleep. Not that pussy Richards. I'm the one that owns her. Cum spurts from me in an angry spray, splashing against her pale skin, painting her chest and stomach. Sneering, I watch as her eyelids flutter, her body trying to rouse her, but sleep keeps sucking her back in. Come morning, she'll realize there's nowhere she can go to escape me. Not even sleep will keep her safe.

* * *

Chelsea

A throbbing, pulsing fullness in my brain wakes me up. Groaning, I pat my hands about the bed, fumbling about for my phone. At least I managed to get several hours of sleep, though truthfully, they were fitful enough that I'm tempted to not count them. All I want to do is roll back over the force myself to get some more sleep, yet, judging by the time, Master Grigori will probably be at my door insisting I wake up and start the day.

"Good morning Lastachka. I trust you slept well?"

Adrenaline shoots through my system, prying my eyes completely open. Dressed in his typical suit pants and white shirt, Grigori sits perched on the edge of my bed, his hungry eyes roaming over my body, pausing every now and then at my chest. Refusing to be cowed by him, I sit up, thrusting my shoulders back to give him a good view. His gaze goes from hungry to damn near feral in a matter of moments. Maybe taunting him with my body isn't such a good idea.

A creak in the floorboards snaps my attention from Master Grigori to Mr. Ivan standing just in the shadows. Swallowing a startled squeak, I wrap my arms about my chest, shielding my breasts from his gaze. I've already gotten in trouble for tempting Mr. Ivan before; I don't want to make that mistake again so soon. As I bring my arms up, I realize something is not quite right. Instead of the smooth skin I normally feel, there's a rough texture, almost like dried, cracked earth. Looking down, I see the flaky, white evidence, and my stomach plummets. Someone did come in during the night. My eyes whip back and forth between Mr. Ivan and Master Grigori. Neither of them says a word. They just both stand there, silently judging me.

But who did it? If it's Mr. Ivan, will I get into trouble again? If it's Master Grigori, then I guess I should be flattered. Fuck, what if it was another one of his men? Unease prickles up my spine as I curl into myself on the now too large bed. Nothing feels safe. My space, at least the space that was given to me by the good graces of Master Grigori, has been violated. Not to mention the fact that I was violated in my sleep. Somehow that part doesn't bother me as much as knowing anyone could just come in and do as they please. At least at the school, we had notice.

The small smirk forming on Master Grigori's lips sends a modicum of relief flowing into me. It had to be him. That smug expression just keeps getting wider as I attempt to surreptitiously pick off his essence. The unease from earlier slowly morphs into anger churning low in my belly. Not only did he mark me, he got off while I laid here and suffered. Dropping my hands to my side, I spear him with a glare, shoving all my pent-up rage into my gaze. Unaffected, he brushes off an invisible speck of lint from his pants before standing up and walking over to me.

"Up. You've laid around long enough. It's time to get ready for the day."

I sit there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at him, silently daring him to do his worst, before easing myself off the side of the bed. I take my time, making a big show out of how slowly I can comply with his orders. Mr. Ivan huffs behind him, crossing his arms as he watches my display. Like he's going to do anything about it. My asshole gives a protesting twinge, spurring me to go just a touch faster. His cock could do a lot of damage if Master Grigori allowed him. Maybe I should try to behave until I feel like I can take another pounding.

"Hands forward, palms up."

Confusion buzzes about in my brain at his words, but I obey him. Best to lull him into a state of complacency. The more he relaxes his guard around me, the easier it will be to get away next time. I peer down at my fingers, half expecting some other fluid of his to coat them, but they look pristine.