Torrid (Sordid 2)

“You’re gonna make me come,” I groaned. My body took control. I leaned over her, crushing my chest to her back and shoved a hand down between her legs. I wanted to turn her body against her. I stirred her clit, rubbing my fingers furiously from side to side, and bit down on her shoulder.

“Oh, shit,” she whined. “Shit, Vasilije.”

“Fuck, yeah.” I grunted it between thrusts. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

Pleasure shot from me. It ruptured from my core in waves of heat, traveling like flames through gasoline. I came in a torrent, one gush of ecstasy after another, filling her in spurts. She moaned through it, like my enjoyment was hers, and fuck me . . . was it? Did she get off knowing I had?

As soon as the last pulse thudded through my body, I reached over and grabbed the plastic bag. I’d bought her more than just lingerie to wear, but thought it might be a while before I sprung the small plug on her. It had been more a gift for me than her.

I turned the small velvet drawstring bag over and dumped the silver plug out into my palm, and slowly retracted my dick.

“What—” she started, and the rest of the words died as I slid the metal plug into place.

I yanked her underwear back up. “Maybe I’ll fuck you again and pull that plug out so you’ve got my cum dripping out of both holes.”

“Oh my God.”

I stood, went to the bathroom, and cleaned up, and when I came back, she was as I’d left her, waiting for me. “You’re still here,” I said. It would have been easy for her to lift the bench and slide the duct tape handcuffs off.

Her breath came and went rapidly. “If this was an attempt to drive me away . . . it failed.”

“You’re fucking stupid. Get the fuck out of my house before I change my mind and kill you.”

She was bound, yet she stared at me defiantly. “Then do it, because I’m not going anywhere.”

Did she have a death wish? No, I thought bitterly. At this point, what did she have to lose?

“Go,” I said. “Run back to daddy for protection.” Or at least her brother. Konstantine wasn’t as powerful as his father, but like me, he was next in line. It was fucking inevitable one day I’d be pitted against him, if he survived to succeed his father.

She shook her head. “I’d rather let you fuck my ass again.”

I came to her, kneeling beside the bench and got in her face. “You’re seriously starting to piss me off.”

“Look at me. Do you think I care anymore?” She spat the words like bullets.

I’d degraded her. Pushed and humiliated her, and yet she stayed. Every second she stayed made me nervous. When was she going to give up? She wasn’t loyal to me. She couldn’t be. I was eager for her to break.

“You don’t get to choose your family,” she said quietly, “but you can choose your friends.”

Was she fucking nuts? “We’ll never be friends, Oksana.”

She let out a sigh of frustration and squirmed against the tape. “I’m still the same person I was before you knew about my father, and you, Vasilije Markovic, are the only person I’ve shared that with.”

Fucking her had been a bad idea. It messed with my hormones and made me weak. If she had told me the night I brought her home she was Sergey Petrov’s illegitimate daughter, she would have left in the trunk of my car. It shouldn’t be different now, but . . . fucking hell.

Everything was different.

I’d thought we were the same, and I’d liked her so goddamn much. Now, I stared at the woodgrain in the floor, and considered leaving her here while I went upstairs to smoke a joint. It was all too much. I felt heavy.

“Please,” she said. “I need you to tell me my brother is going to be okay. If you want to kill a Petrov, you know which one is the bigger threat.”

It slipped out before I thought better of it. I was used to saying whatever I wanted around her. “We can’t get to him.”

“But I can.”

Well, shit. At least that was true.

Her voice was firm. “You don’t want me anymore, fine. But we can help each other. Think about it. How much better would it be for your family if Sergey was gone? And my father doesn’t care about me . . . but Konstantine does. My brother’s not going to do something if he thinks it might get me killed.”

It all sounded too good to be true.

I found myself on my feet and walking toward the kitchen, and as I came back to her carrying the chef’s knife, her panicked look was sharper than the steel blade in my hand.