Torrid (Sordid 2)

“Vasilije!”

He trudged toward the living room, making me bounce painfully on him. His voice was so deep and dark, I felt it vibrating up his back.

“I warned you,” he said. “I always get what I want.”

15

Vasilije

Even though Oksana didn’t weigh a lot, she shifted around and was a bitch to carry. I’d done more of a leg day today than upper body, and thank fuck for that. I stormed toward the sectional leather couch and hurled her on it, watching her head bounce as she flopped down on the cushions.

Her blonde hair splashed around her, and she gazed up at me with wild eyes. Did I look deranged? She pissed me off. One minute I’d thought we’d had something, like . . . an understanding. Her faint smile when I’d told her the gritty shit about Ivan’s death had lit me up.

But why wasn’t she willing to return the favor, and tell me the details when she’d taken someone else’s life? If she wanted to be unfair, I’d show her just how unfair I could be.

She tried to scramble backward, but I put a knee on the couch cushion, seized the belt loops of her jeans, and jerked her back to me. I jammed the top of my thigh between her legs and watched discomfort twist her face. “What?” I growled. “You don’t like it now? You fucking loved it last night.”

I undid the snap at the top of her jeans before she realized what I was doing. She tried to push my hands away, but I was stronger and faster, and dropped her zipper. I dug my fingers around the waistband and jerked her pants down, even as she twisted and struggled to make me stop.

“Fuck me, you’re not wearing anything under these?” I grinned, as the virgin scowled. She hadn’t wanted to put the panties back on after her shower, but what about the bra? I shoved a hand under the hem of her black sweater and flipped it up, getting a flash of the white, see-through bra.

“You listened when I told you to get dressed in the shit I bought you.” I shifted so I was standing beside the couch and put one hand on the back of it. “Why’d you decide now to stop being a good girl?”

She was distracted trying to put her sweater back in place, so I used the opportunity to pull her pants the rest of the way down to her knees. I loved the look of her. The pale, smooth skin covering her thighs and the darkened triangle just above her pussy. I wanted to bury my face in it. Lick her from front to back until she was begging or screaming, or both. But I wasn’t about to reward her. She needed to get her ass back in line, and realize who she belonged to.

And speaking of ass . . .

When a panicked Oksana sat up and reached to pull her pants back in place, I grabbed her arms and shoved her over the back of the couch so her ass was up in the air. It looked heart-shaped like this, her pretty pussy peeking out at the bottom. I put one hand on the small of her back, pushing her down when she tried to move. Then, I slapped my other palm against her skin, and the loud crack echoed under the vaulted ceilings.

“Ahuyet!” she gasped.

I spanked her again, and it had to hurt because my palm stung. “Speak English,” I ordered. “What’d you just say?”

Her breath came and went in heavy heaves. “It doesn’t make sense in English.”

I slapped her on the other cheek and watched it pink up. My handprint was already visible on her skin, and I curled my mouth into a half-smile. She looked good like that. Branded as mine, even if she wasn’t wearing anything I’d bought her there. “Try me.”

Her voice was tight. “It’s like a . . . more vulgar way to say, ‘oh my fucking God.’”

More vulgar. “I like your obscene mouth, especially when it’s blowing me.” As I smacked her ass, the impact rippled over her skin. It was so incredibly hot. As she whimpered, my cock twitched. “But right now, I want you to tell me every goddamn detail, you little murderer.”

She jolted as I slapped her bright red ass, and this time I left my palm against her burning skin. I moved my fingertips over the curve of her cheek, sliding them down until they grazed her pussy. Her skin was damp and slick, and I rubbed a tight circle over her clit.

Jesus fuck, her strangled moan had me rock hard in a half-second.

“Vasilije . . .” She was pleading, but for what? For me to fuck her? To leave her alone? Maybe I was playing this all wrong. What if the best way to punish her wasn’t with pain, but with pleasure? To turn her body against herself?