The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

Her eyes get bright with tears. “Please kiss me,” she warbles.

I kiss the hell out of her, my mouth devouring hers, my lips an instrument I wield for war. I fuck her mouth with my tongue, and my semi-hard dick slips back home in this position for a few last glorious strokes. I kiss her until she’s breathless, panting and moaning, and then I back off, roll us to our sides and pull her body against mine.

She rests her head on my biceps, her cheek on my chest. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

But still I can’t get over my guilt. The sense I may have done the wrong thing with someone I never want to hurt.

I don’t know how long we lie together in the silence. I don’t want to get up until she’s been held long enough. She needs the aftercare, especially considering I broke her. Finally she stirs and moves away from me.

“I’m hungry now, Master.”

I drop a kiss on the top of her head and roll off the bed to order us some food. Then I pick up my phone and return to the bed with her soft aftercare blanket, which I drape over her. I sit with my back against the wall. “I need that name, blossom.”

She lifts her head and licks her lips, blinking those wide eyes at me. “It’s Blake Ensign.”

“Thank you.” I pull her pillow close to my hip, so she can curl against my leg, and I can stroke her hair.

I text Dima, our bratva cell’s hacker. Kayla got casting couched by this douche: Blake Ensign. I need an address, so I can deal with him. Please and thank you.

Dima texts back immediately. On it.

I text Maxim next because I doubt he would appreciate me texting his wife personally. Tell Sasha I did not appreciate her advice to my girl.

Maxim texts me back a few minutes later. Sasha’s reply: uh oh. He sends a second message, What’s your plan with the mudak?

I reply, I’m going to hurt him. I said before that I don’t get mad, I get even, but tonight, there’s a rage to my violence.

Maxim: Good.

“Room service.” A man calls as he knocks on the door.

“Leave it outside,” I snarl, even though Kayla’s fully covered by the blanket. No other man’s going to even think about Kayla tonight without getting my fist in his teeth.

Kayla

I wake up because Pavel’s no longer in the bed. I climb out in the darkness, reaching for the soft, fuzzy blanket he wraps me in after we play and pulling it around my shoulders. I look for his shoes and wallet—or some other sign that he’s left the room, but they are still here. I see three empty bottles from the mini-bar on the dresser.

I find Pavel leaning on the balcony with another tiny liquor bottle clutched in his hand.

“Master?”

“Malysh. I’m sorry I woke you.” He doesn’t move.

“No, you didn’t. I mean, I missed you in the bed.” I catch sight of his normally impassive face and catch a glimpse of a torture before he scrubs his hand across his neatly trimmed beard. “What’s wrong?”

“Come here.” He opens one arm, and I press myself against him. His addictive scent mingles with the sharper tones of vodka.

“What is it?” I press, knowing he probably won’t share on his own.

“Are you all right, Kayla?” He turns his gaze full on me like I’m the one who’s just drained four bottles of liquor and is standing outside looking bereft.

“Yes. Are you?”

“I don’t want to play that way with you again,” he says quietly.

My heart starts beating like he’s breaking up with me. But he’s not. He can’t be, he’s holding me close against his body.

“What way?”

“Punishing you until you cry. That was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“No.” I press myself even closer to him, like I could meld our two bodies, so we’d never come apart again. “It wasn’t wrong. I needed that. You gave me the release I craved. Why are you upset?”

“Upset.” He repeats the word with a bitter chuckle, like doms aren’t allowed to be upset.

I start connecting the dots. He’s told me so little, but they do connect. He told me he couldn’t play at non-consent. He’s always telling me I’m free to go. Somewhere in his life, he’s seen something ugly.

The balcony tilts and spins. Everyone thinks this is wrong—what we do. Now even Pavel does, too.

Is it wrong? Sick?

But I can’t believe that. Not with how close I feel to this man right now—even though he shares nothing of himself, he just told me I’m his everything.

He’s my everything, too.

“What are you afraid of, Pavel? That you’ll hurt me? That I won’t use my safe word when I should?”

He turns to face me fully, and I’m struck by how much pain is in his eyes. He cradles my face in his hands. “Am I hurting you, Kayla? I mean, I did. I hurt you tonight.”