The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

Breath coming in ragged drags, I kick off the panties and resume my position.

Ravil slaps me between the legs.

I gasp, instantly trying to close them. I may let him spank my ass, but my pussy is something different. It’s so swollen and slick right now with my juices. Embarrassingly so. It’s like this every time I masturbate since I got pregnant.

Too much of the baby’s testosterone, I imagine.

“Open.” One word, very firm.

I do, only because I want him to go on. I may not have liked having my pussy spanked, but it only served to make me needier. More desperate.

He slaps me there again. And again.

“Naughty kitten. I will enjoy punishing you.”

I flush with heat, the throb between my legs driving me mad.

He stops spanking and rubs his fingers through my wetness again. “Now, if you want me to finish this later in a way that has you screaming my name, you will do exactly as I say.”

My pulse picks up speed.

He removes his fingers, slaps my ass on each side again, and pulls my skirt down over my bare, smarting cheeks. “It’s time to go. You’re coming to live downtown with me for the remainder of your pregnancy. You will tell your office you’re on bedrest and can no longer come in. I will permit you to maintain your work and friendships remotely so long as you never mention me or your situation. I will be monitoring.”

I stand upright but cling to the back of the sofa with one hand for stability. “And if I don’t?”

The question I dread to ask.

“Then I will take you to Russia until the baby is born. No promise of your safe return when it is over.” He completely leaves out whether my son would be with me when—if—I returned, so I’m guessing the answer is no.

The room spins.

I must look like I’m about to faint because Ravil scoops me into his arms, honeymoon style. “Come, no need to be upset. I will make sure you have every comfort and necessity for this pregnancy.” He carries me to the front door and opens it. “These are easy guidelines to follow.”

Behind the door stands a giant. More of a bear than a man, with broad, Paul Bunyon shoulders, a scruffy beard and dark piercing eyes.

I shriek a little.

“Shh. It’s Oleg. He will carry you to the car.”

“I don’t need to be carried,” I say quickly. I don’t find the man threatening, per se, but he’s huge and a stranger. And I don’t love that Ravil is handing me over to anyone else.

Ravil tips me down to stand. “You will walk out with me quietly? No alerts or alarms. No problems from you?”

I look down at my stockinged feet. “I need shoes.”

“Not the heels,” Ravil says firmly. He tips his head at Oleg and says something in Russian to the giant man who steps inside. We stand silently in my apartment hallway. My mind races the entire time.

What would I do if a neighbor came by? Would I try to signal for help despite Ravil’s warning?

No. I believe his threat.

If he took me to Russia, I’d have even less means of escape. I don’t speak the language. I don’t know anyone there to help me. And the chances of me escaping would be slim to none.

Oleg returns carrying all four of my suitcases at once, along with my purse and leather work satchel.

Ravil bends to open one of the suitcases, seeming to know exactly where to look and produces my flip flops. He drops them on the floor for me. Oleg picks up the suitcase and marches toward the elevator without a word.

I try to shove my feet in the flip flops with my thigh-high hose still on, but I can’t really get the thong between my toes.

“Hold on, kitten.” Ravil surprises me by squatting in front of me to drag one of my thigh-highs down. I lean over to help with the second one, and he pushes me back, pinning my pelvis against the wall. “Don’t rush me.” His accent grows thicker. “I was enjoying my view.”

He rolls the second thigh-high down my leg and off my foot but keeps the hand pinning my hips against the wall firmly in place. “Such long legs.” He grips behind my knee to pull it slightly forward and kiss my inner thigh.

Tingles race up my leg straight to my already needy sex. He slides his hand up my inner thigh to brush my bare pussy then lifts my skirt and brings his face between my legs.

I moan before his tongue even makes contact. “Uhn. Ravil.”

“That’s it, kitten. Say my name.”

My pussy clenches. I’m annoyed with my own neediness. I should definitely not be begging this man for anything—especially not sex. He doesn’t deserve my surrender. He’s essentially stealing me from my life, and only God knows what he plans to do with me and the baby once it's born.