The Soldier (Chicago Bratva 4)

“Hot,” he breathes against my lips. For a first word, it seems appropriate. He strokes my ass, his palm sliding under the hem of the dress. “You look so fucking hot.”

There. That’s what I was hoping for. Why I changed my clothes over a dozen times.

He kisses down my neck as he palms my pussy like he owns it. Which he does. Consensually given, of course. Like always, I’m soft putty in his hands—quivering, ready, awaiting his command.

He doesn’t give one. Instead, he just takes. He slides his fingers inside my panties and strokes over my slit. “Already wet.” His neatly-trimmed beard tickles my ear. His Russian accent is thick—it always grows stronger when he’s turned on. “Such a good girl. Ready to take my cock the moment I want to give it to you.”

A shudder of pleasure goes through me at his dirty talk, and I drink up his praise, even though my state of readiness isn’t something I have control over.

“Yes, sir,” I pant.

“I need to be inside you, blossom,” he says gruffly, rushing to free his erection.

Blossom. I love his pet name. It started because he thought I was too delicate a flower. Too crushable. We were paired by a roll of the roulette wheel at Black Light, and I think he was disappointed to get me. But when he found I took everything he dished—pain and humiliation alike—his disdain for me slowly turned to appreciation. After he broke me, when I humiliatingly lost my shit in a puddle of sub-drop sobs, he declared I belonged to him.

That was five weeks ago.

I don’t help him now because my job is to submit. He drives the train.

He pulls my panties to the side and lines the head of his cock up with my entrance, bending his knees to lower to my height. We don’t use a condom because I’m on the pill, we’re monogamous, and we’ve both been tested and are clean. When he shoves in and up, he lifts me to my toes, sliding my hips up the wall.

I cry out, clutching his bulging biceps for stability.

"Whose pussy is this?" Pavel’s fingers are rough on my ass as he helps lift me to the right height to nail me against the wall.

"Yours, Master!"

He thrusts in hard and fast. My back bangs against the wall. It’s rough and frightening and wonderful. I lift my other leg to wrap around his waist, and he grinds into me, shoving in with each powerful snap of his hips. His teeth score my neck, he sucks and nips as he pounds into me.

I listen to the quickening of his breath. I will come the moment he does—if he allows it. I don’t even think or try—it’s like my body knows its master. It wants to join him in the release.

Pavel’s strokes get harder, driving my body further up the wall. I let out a cry of need. His breath catches, and he slams in deep. “Come.” His command is strangled and guttural as he speaks over his own orgasm.

I relinquish all effort to hold back the squeezing of my muscles around his cock. There is nothing but the sound of his rasping breath, and the sensation of his cock pulsing inside me.

Pavel kisses my temple, my cheekbone, the bridge of my nose. These are the moments I savor. When I’m certain I’ve won his approval. When he’s grateful and gentle and generous with the affection he otherwise holds back. “I needed that.” He squeezes my ass and kisses my neck. “I couldn’t even look at you in that dress when I came in; I knew I’d have the world’s most visible boner walking to the front desk.”

“Ah, that’s what it was.” I almost laugh with relief. “I thought you were playing some mindfuck to keep me off balance.”

Pavel pulls back, easing out of me, and studies my face. He tucks his cock away and straightens my dress. “I hurt your feelings.”

I shrug. He’s great at reading me when he seeks an answer but is sometimes clueless about what to ask. My friend Sasha, who hooked us up, thinks I’m the first and only girlfriend he’s ever had.

And I don’t even consider myself his girlfriend.

What we have is something else.

I nod, and he strokes his thumb down my cheek.

“I’m into delivering physical pain not emotional, Kayla. I don’t do mindfucks. I don’t want you off-balance, I want you sure of me. Otherwise, how will you trust me with this fuck-hot body of yours?”

The flutters in my belly tumble once then settle down.

Pavel holds my jaw and hovers his lips above mine. “I’m sorry, blossom. I’m a selfish prick. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He kisses me so softly it almost makes me weep. It’s the opposite of the hard, claiming kisses of the elevator. Something different. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t leave you hanging again.”