The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

This is the part that disturbs me. How excited I am to hurt Kayla. How hard I get when she whimpers, when she pleads. How much the idea of punishing her, then soothing it all away makes me feel like a mountain.

The justifications I have in my head—that she wants this, that she asked for it, that she enjoys it, too, only go so far. She just had an upsetting experience at her audition. Bad enough to make her cry. Should I really go through with this?

But she said it’s what she wanted. She seemed excited. And she has a safe word. I keep reminding myself of that. She has a safe word, and she doesn’t want me reminding her that she’s free to walk out that door any time she wants.

So it’s up to me to figure out how to give her what she needs.

I prepare for our scene.

The water in the shower turns off. Kayla doesn’t dally. In just a few minutes, she walks out of the bathroom, her naked body flushed from the heat of the shower. I watch her from the armchair by the sliding glass doors as she comes to me, stealing a glance at the implements and pillows I laid out on the bed before she kneels at my feet.

I take a mental snapshot of yet another magnificent picture. Kayla’s wet hair falls over her shoulders, sending rivulets of water trailing over her puckered nipples. She sits on her heels, her open thighs inviting my fingers to stroke between her legs to find out just how wet it makes her to submit to me.

“I’m sorry for lying, Master,” she murmurs.

I doubt either one of us is very sorry now. But I do want to make this point. I nearly choked on my heart for a minute there thinking we were over. Not understanding why she would ever try to deceive me.

“Thank you.” I don’t touch her—not yet, even though I can see she wants it. She leans forward, her pretty face tilted up, those eyes trained on my face. “Don’t keep things from me again, blossom. I don’t lie to you; I expect the same respect. We don’t lie to each other.”

Her chin wobbles. “Yes, Master.”

“Listen, I don’t want you scared of me. I like to run the show, but that doesn’t mean I won’t respect your wishes.”

She blinks. “What if I wished you to not do anything?”

Blyad’. She wants me to give this guy a pass? No fucking way. “Nyet. Someone puts their hands on you, they’re going to answer to me, end of story. You’re mine, Kayla. That means I protect you to the death.”

She shifts her butt on her heels, like that turned her on. “Yes, Master.” Her voice is soft and honey-sweet.

I unzip my jeans. “Show me you’re sorry.”

10

Kayla

A shudder of pleasure runs through Pavel when I lick around the head of his cock and then take him into my mouth. I love sucking Pavel’s dick. I love how submissive it makes me feel, how glorious the ultimate act of service is. This time, though, I’m determined to make it the best blowjob of his life. I’m a pleaser. I hate feeling like he’s disappointed in me, and the need to get out of trouble and earn his praise drives me to use everything in my arsenal. I take him deeper than I have before, going slowly to practice relaxing my gag reflex until I get his full length into my throat.

His hand fists in my hair, but he makes no sounds. This guy always holds himself back. It makes me try all the harder. Sometimes I wonder if a guy was just nice to me, I’d be bored. I’m certainly never attracted to the nice guys.

Not that Pavel is mean. He’s attentive, and there’s an outline of respect even when he’s being completely disrespectful. He takes care of my needs. He’s just… not nice. But who cares? Some of us like rough. There’s nothing wrong with that, no matter what my roommates think.

I suck hard, drawing my mouth slowly back, listening for Pavel’s harsh intake of breath, sensing the tightening of his fingers in my hair. I wait long enough to create urgency before I take all of him back into my mouth, into my throat. He lets out a groan.

I’m wet just from his pleasure, from my subservient act, from taking on the role of slave.

Pavel’s breath grows ragged as he starts to gently guide my head, and then eventually takes over, directing the action with his fist in my hair.

I nearly come myself when he chokes and then groans, shooting his essence down my throat. The salty taste burns a little, and I pull back to swallow. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Master?” I chose this moment strategically. He’s always more generous after he comes or after he’s broken me.