Torrid (Sordid 2)

My nipples tightened into knots. A muscle clenched low in my belly as he continued to drag the hard steel down the center of my stomach. His pupils dilated and his breathing picked up. Holding this kind of power over me was probably the ultimate turn-on for him, just as it was for the submissive side of me. It was sick, but we were sick together.

“You’re the only one,” I said, “allowed to touch me.”

As if he needed validation, his free hand shot out and snaked behind my neck. He tugged me on my knees closer to the edge of the bed and pressed the gun between my legs. The cold seeped in through the lace, but the contact was both painful and pleasurable on my heated skin.

His gaze went to my mouth and watched as my lips fell open. For a moment, he seemed to consider kissing me, but drew back as he thought better of it. “I’m not going to kiss your lying fucking mouth.”

The gun moved, and the slide massaged my swollen clit, drawing a soft moan. His broad shoulders lifted in a deep breath, and he didn’t stop me as I laced my fingers together behind his neck and set my forehead against his.

“You want to punish me?” I should have felt weak, but instead I found strength. “Go ahead, Vasilije. I’m yours. I’m your motherfucking property. You can do whatever you want.”

31

Vasilije

My head was a fucking disaster. Rage boiled in my veins, and the need to punch something was overwhelming. Alek was working with the Russians, and Oksana had betrayed me. I was almost as mad at myself as I was at her. I should have seen this coming. The more beautiful the woman, the more likely she was to fuck you over.

And wearing that expensive lingerie I’d bought her, and the whore-colored red lipstick, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I hated her. Goddamn her for twisting me up like this.

I thrust the gun, grinding the top of it against her pussy, and she shuddered. She wanted me to punish her? I’d do it, all right. She needed to feel the way she made me feel.

I’d lost control once. I’d reacted impulsively and taken a life, and swore I wouldn’t again. Death wasn’t something to be decided spur of the moment. But it was still touch-and-go for me now on whether Oksana should live. She said she wanted my help taking down Sergey Petrov, but she’d also said he was her father and had sent her here. It reeked of a setup.

My father’s words haunted my mind. Was it already too late for me?

Her hands slipped down from my neck and fisted my t-shirt when I stroked the gun between her legs. She moved in time with it, fucking the gun in my hand. I didn’t want it to, but it got me hard.

“Whatever I want,” I repeated.

She nodded, distracted by the sensation the weapon was giving her, and whimpered when I pulled all the way back, leaving her quivering.

“Downstairs. At the piano. Now.”

Like the obedient pet she pretended to be, she climbed off the bed and followed my order. When she was gone from the room and her footsteps creaked down the stairs, I raked a hand through my hair, not sure what to do. I felt like I should kill her, but I didn’t want to. The knee-jerk reaction went away as quick as I’d had it, and all I was left with was stinging anger.

Even if I wanted to believe her, I sure as shit couldn’t trust her anymore.

And I needed to. She knew secrets about me no one else did.

I scanned the room, searching for options, and when my gaze landed on the black plastic bag on my nightstand, I went for it. She claimed loyalty to me, but she was going to have to prove it.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I glanced down and hesitated.

She sat at the piano like a statue, her back stiff and her fingers waiting on the keys. Bright moonlight poured from windows, casting a silver glow. Her white skin against all the black lingerie was fucking gorgeous. Picture perfect, but I was too pissed to get out my phone. The image would probably stick in my memory forever anyway.

As I walked across the hardwood toward her, she swiveled just enough to look at me. She sighed softly when she saw I didn’t have my gun anymore, but eyed the bag I held in a fist with a hint of anxiety. Good. She should get used to feeling uncomfortable.

I dropped the bag and it thudded loudly on the floor, making her flinch, and I strode into the kitchen. What I needed was in the bottom cabinet, closest to the basement door. The roll of black duct tape was practically new.