The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva Book 3)

by Renee Rose

  I feel Oleg moving up behind me but don’t acknowledge his presence. Not until his giant ham-hand leans against the door to keep me from opening it.

  “Oh really.” My voice drips with disbelief. “You’re going to stop me?” I’m used to Oleg being a gentleman. Holding me captive feels out of character.

  His hand doesn’t move.

  I whirl to face him, chin up. There’s regret in his expression. His brows are down, his eyes troubled. He shakes his head.

  It occurs to me that the narrative in my head might be a totally different one than his. Is he stopping me because he’s trying to protect me or is he keeping me prisoner? A sobering thought occurs to me. Is he worried I’ll call the police on him?

  “I won’t tell anyone about last night. You know that, right?”

  He nods without hesitation.

  Okay, he does trust me.

  “All right. Good. I really need to get home.”

  He still won’t move his hand.

  “Oleg.” I shove at his chest, which gets me exactly nowhere. “I’m not staying here to be stonewalled by you!”

  His eyes widen in surprise. He takes his hand from the door. I seize the moment and grab the handle to yank the door open.

  It slams in my face. Oleg gives my ass a single smack like I’m an errant child. It stings and tingles, making heat bloom in my core.

  “Oh really? You’re going to spank me?” Now, I’m annoyed and horny. My panties are already damp. I send a challenging look over my shoulder. “Well, you’d better finish that thought, or I’m just going to be pissed.”

  His brows shoot up. He moves slowly, like he’s making sure he understood me correctly, capturing both my wrists in one of his hands and pinning them to the door. When I don’t protest, he smacks my ass with his other hand, harder this time, then squeezes my offended cheek.

  I let out a shaky breath, my pussy contracting. He nudges my feet wider. I arch my back and show him I really want it. He pulls the t-shirt off from my head and flattens my palms on the door. Leaving my hands unattended, he loops his forearm around my waist and yanks my panties down my thighs. Then he lights my ass on fire with swift, hard spanks. Like any time Oleg decides to go forward, he doesn’t hold back.

  I gasp and squeeze my buttcheeks. It’s too much but also so good, so thrilling to me, that I bite my lip to keep from protesting.

  I squirm under the onslaught. It’s right on the line between pain and pleasure. I hate it and love it at the same time. But when he slides the fingers of his other hand between my legs and palms my pussy while he keeps spanking, I flip way over to the side of pleasure. Delirious, erotic pleasure.

  “Yeah,” I whisper-moan when his fingers start to move between my legs. I arch my back, stick my ass out, grind into his palm. It’s incredible.

  The best thing ever.

  “Ow. Oh…Oleg,” I gasp.

  So unexpected. I had no idea I’d like this sort of thing.

  One of his fingers sinks into me while I continue to ride his palm. I’m dancing under the sharp spanks he’s delivering, writhing and bucking. My cheek presses against the door. I don’t even recognize the panting needy woman dripping arousal down Oleg’s fingers as he spanks me hard until I—

  Come.

  Oh God, do I come. Hot, quick bursts of pleasure like popcorn explosions go off in my core. I see stars.

  I reach my hand back to protect my ass from any further spanks, and Oleg instantly folds it behind my back like I’m his prisoner and massages my punished flesh with rough squeezes. His other hand still works between my legs, fingers slowly plunging in and out as I grind down into the cup of his hand.

  Oleg

  I slip my fingers out of Story. My lips find her jaw, drag back to her ear, leaving a trail of hot kisses against her smooth skin. I breathe in her sweet, vanilla scent. My shalun'ya loved her spanking. Her juices coat my fingers, her pulse beneath my lips still hectic. I wish I’d paid more attention to the discussions in the living room about whipping women.

  Ravil met his wife Lucy at some private club in D.C. where he did such a thing to her. And last month, Pavel consensually enslaved a friend of Sasha’s after dominating her at the sister club in Los Angeles. He spends his nights demanding her sexual obedience via videoconference every night and flies out there to tie her up and hurt her in person every weekend. That’s already more than I wanted to know. I didn’t listen to the banter because picturing my roommates having kinky sex isn’t how I want to spend my time.

  Now, though I wish I knew more nuances. I keep slowly running my middle finger through her plump, slick flesh. Everytime I circle her clit, she comes again—an aftershock that makes her muscles squeeze and lift and her breath catch.

  Does she want my cock? What part of this did she like? The pain or dominance? Maybe not the pain because she covered her ass at the end like it was too much. I test my theory and use her wrists behind her back to maneuver her to the bed.

  She goes easily. Willingly. Docilely. She wants more.

  At least I think so. I sit on the edge of the bed and stand her between my knees. My cock strains to get out of my jeans. I rid her of the panties still tangled around her thighs. Her cheeks are high with color, her eyes glassy.

  I tug downward on her hips, and she follows the command, dropping to her knees. She reaches for my cock, but I catch her hands and place them on top of her head, causing her breasts to lift and separate. Her nipples are hard and thick. I lean forward to use my lips on it. I’m able to make light suction with them. I sweep my finger inside my mouth to gather saliva and paint it around her nipple.

  She lets out a little moan. “This is… hot.” Her voice is rusty. I squeeze her ass and cock my head to the side to ask her to go on. “I like when you go Big Daddy on me. So much.” Her head drops back when I move my mouth to the other nipple. “I didn’t even know what I was missing. But now…” She licks her lips, making my dick leap against the zipper. She drops her gaze to it and lifts to meet mine again. “I think you may have ruined regular sex for me.”

  Aw, fuck. I release my erection.

  She reaches for it, but once again, I stay her hands, this time bending them behind her back again. I cup the back of her head and guide her gorgeous mouth down to slide over my cock.

  I nearly come the minute she takes me. Hot. Wet. Lush. Her mouth is delicious. It’s everything I can do not to thrust my very proportionate cock down her delicate throat.

  She seems to love her position—being held pseudo-captive by me. Being pretend-forced to give me oral. She bobs her head over my cock enthusiastically, using her tongue to sweep up the underside, to lick around the head. She covers her teeth with her lips and bobs up and down over the head in short, quick movements.

  My fingers wrap into her pale champagne blonde hair, tightening with the pleasure.

  It kills me that I don’t have a tongue to return the favor. If I did, I would never let her suck my cock unless she was sitting on my face. I would always want to make her come first. Come hardest. Loudest.

  My sweet lastochka.

  I want to come, but I’d rather save it all for Story’s pleasure, so I stop her, gently tugging her hair back to pull her off me. She licks around her lips, a note of challenge in her eyes.

  She definitely still wants more.

  Thank fuck. I’m humbled beyond belief that she wants something from me. That she’s taking it from me. After what happened last night, and after I just kept her from leaving, she could just as easily be done with me forever. It could’ve gone a million ways but this one, and I’m endlessly grateful that we’re here.

  She stands, and I let her, needing her to show me what she needs. She straddles my waist, gripping my cock and guiding me inside her.

  I let out a groan. I usually try to stifle all sounds from my mouth because I hate hearing the incoherent syllables, but this one sounds like it should. Like pleasure. Like gratitude.

  Story unbuttons my shirt as she slowly rocks h
er hips, taking me a little deeper each time. When she gets the shirt open, I rip it off and reach behind my neck to pull off my undershirt with one hand.

  “Mmm,” Story rumbles. “That’s hot.” Her blue-tipped fingernails scratch through my chest hairs. “I’m so hot for this. For you.” She’s babbling breathlessly.

  I want to hold my breath to make sure I don’t miss a single syllable. That I memorize every word.

  “You’re like a big daddy-bear who spanks and then cuddles. I’m definitely going to be your bad girl.”

  Blyad'. Her words snap the leash on my control. Keeping my cock buried inside her, I flip her onto her back and start pounding inside her. She undulates her hips enthusiastically, bending her knees up to receive me. I catch her wrists and pin them beside her head, fucking her with more force than I should.

  “Oh God,” she moans. “You’re so big. It’s so good.”

  I change the strokes up to short and fast, jackhammering into her. Her tits bounce. Her eyes roll back in her head. The sight of her expression of ecstasy nearly makes me come, and I want to make sure I give it to her right, so I pull out and roll her to her belly.

  “Oh God, yes,” she encourages, spreading her legs wide. Her ass is red from my hand—redder than I expected, but any guilt I might feel is erased when she looks over her shoulder at me.

  She wants it.

  It’s the first time I’ve really believed there is a God in this world.

  The first time I’ve felt blessed.

  I enter her from behind, shuddering with pleasure at the angle.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Story chants. “That’s so good. Hello G-spot-love.”

  I arc in and out of her, slapping her cute ass with my loins each time I slam in.

  She braces her hands against the wall and arches her ass up for me, making the hottest picture I’ve ever seen in my life.

  I want to tell her how gorgeous she is. How incredibly hot and beautiful and mind-blowing, but I can’t. So I settle for fucking her with every bit of passion in my heart. Time slows. Or maybe speeds up. I can’t be sure. My mind slips away. My body and Story’s join, my spirit and Story’s commune.

  I offer up everything I have to her—my strength, my dominance, my protection, but with it also comes every weakness—the stains of my sins, my disfigurement, my obsessive need for her. She receives it all. Like the goddess who knows it is all hers to have. To receive and transmute and return. She is love, itself. Or maybe that’s me. What I feel for her. I can’t tell because it all rolls into one magnificent outpouring of energy.

  She comes first, but the moment she does—one squeeze of her muscles—and I come, too. I roar—forgetting to stifle, to censor my noises. I roar and slam home, my cum leaving me in hot ribbons of ecstasy.

  I squeeze my eyes closed because the room spins. I forgot about my injuries—far too absorbed with my little minx.

  I pull out and roll her over, then push back in for three more delicious strokes. I wring another orgasm out of my little swallow. She holds my gaze as she arches and comes beneath me.

  I hum softly. Ya lyublyu tebya.

  She goes still and blinks at me, almost as if she heard my thoughts.

  My lastochka reads minds. Or I projected my feelings so clearly I didn’t need to speak. I bury my face in her neck, kissing her soft skin down the side, then across her throat. Worshipping my glorious swallow.

  It was way too early for I love you. And Story is a flighty bird.

  Story sucks on her cheek. “Oleg, I don’t—” I put a finger to her lips. Of course, she doesn’t love me. She barely knows me. It’s not something I would’ve said out loud if I could have.

  She wraps her legs around my back to pull my body the rest of the way down onto hers like eye contact was too intense for her. I roll us both to the side to keep from crushing her.

  She hides her face against my chest. “I don’t really do relationships.” Her words are muffled against my skin. Her breath moves the hairs on my chest. “That’s why I never asked you to take me home. Relationships always end quickly for me. I don’t do the love thing. My mom ruined her life chasing love.” She nuzzles her cheek against my chest, almost like a cat would. “And I didn’t really want us to end. I like what we had. You coming to my shows. Watching me. Supporting me. I liked it, and I didn’t want it to end.”

  She sounds shaken.

  I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight and hum again. Ya lyublyu tebya.

  I don’t mean to project it. I didn’t even mean to think it, but it’s the truth. I love her. I don’t care if she doesn’t love me. Even if she won’t have me, I will never stop going to her shows.

  Chapter 7

  Story

  I curl into Oleg on the low bed and rub my ass, which still stings from Oleg’s large palm.

  "You spanked me.” There’s amusement in my tone. A tinge of wonder. “Is that like… your thing?” I definitely think it’s my new thing. “Do you do that with every girl you’re with?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Dude.” I pinch his nipple, and he gently catches my hand. “I asked you a question. Just because you can’t speak doesn’t mean you don’t try to communicate.”

  He pulls me back in to snuggle closer against his warm chest and shakes his head.

  “No? You don’t do that with every girl?”

  Another shake. His hand slides down to grip my ass possessively. It makes my belly flip with excitement.

  “Only me? Am I the first?”

  Shrugs and nods. He strokes up and down my thighs, over the place where the buttock meets thigh.

  “You were so reserved about making any moves with me for all those months. You just came and sat and watched. Now I find out you’re rough and passionate.” I lean up on one elbow to look at his face. He has light scars running beneath the stubble on his face. The guy has been in lots of fights.

  “Hey, we need to figure out a way to talk to each other.”

  He nods and reaches for the bedside table. I see he’s written out a list of the Roman alphabet letters with the Cyrillic alphabet symbols beside each one.

  “You’re learning our alphabet.” My heart lurches a bit. “For me?”

  His brows come down as he nods, which I interpret to mean, of course, for you.

  I push up to lean on my hand, sitting up more. “We should learn sign language.”

  Oleg blinks at me.

  “I’ll bet they teach it at the community college. We can both learn it. Your friends can learn it, too.” I’m pretty excited about my idea although I don’t know why I’m making long-term plans with this guy. It scares the hell out of me.

  Oleg nods, watching my face like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he looks away.

  “Yeah? I’ll look into it, then.”

  Maybe I’ll even break down and finally get a smartphone, so we can text translate.

  I get my guitar out and sit cross-legged on his bed. Oleg stays where he is, watching me with the same intensity he watches me perform. I watch him watch me, and try out the song I’ve been working on. The one about sex. With him. I have a chorus, but not the verses yet. Not the hook.

  I don’t sing the words, but they play in my head as I try out the notes.

  I’m up against the wall / your hands tangled in my clothes

  I’m kissing, I’m biting, I’m begging for more

  Knowing once this rocket’s launched, it will never be restored

  Knowing once this rocket’s launched, you’ll never bring me more.

  Inspiration isn’t mine at the moment, though. I’m too clogged up with the intensity of last night and this morning. The fuzzy-headedness of my on-going denial about it all. I’m very good at compartmentalizing.

  Instead, I pick out the tune to Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl.” I don’t know why that particular song came out—it’s a song my dad used to play for me when I was little. He said it was my song because my eyes are brown. I think it always made me fee
l loved.

  And that’s how I feel right now, playing under Oleg’s smoldering gaze. If only I could string together all the little moments of feeling loved in my life. Weave them into a tapestry that stays.

  But it doesn’t. I know better than to believe it would.

  I close my eyes and sing the words softly, sinking into the melody. My fingers slide over the frets by memory, knowing the notes by feel. By heart.

  Oleg can’t sing along, and yet I swear, I feel him listening. Drinking in every note. Every word. Weaving the same sense of pleasure I feel into the music. My pleasure, his. His, mine.

  When I stop playing, I open my eyes and look at him.

  My phone rings from my bag by the door. Oleg gets up and fastens his pants. He retrieves my phone and looks at the screen. Flynn’s photo flashes on the front. For a moment, I think he might not let me answer it, but he hands it to me.

  “Hey,” I answer, looking up at Oleg. My stomach contracts as reality barrels back in.

  “Hey.” Flynn’s voice sounds froggy with sleep. “I was just making sure you’re all right. I tried calling last night when I saw your car was still there.”

  “You did? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear it,” I lie. I’m actually touched that party-boy brother is checking up on me. It’s almost always the other way around. I’m freaking out about him the next day because I left a party at 4 a.m., and he was still there, tripping his balls off.

  “Well, you’re fine, I just wanted to check. I don’t need the details.”

  “Yeah, everything’s cool.” I don’t know why I check Oleg’s face again. Is it cool? Are things going to be cool for him? I actually don’t know the real answer. I do know when I tried to leave, he stopped me. But then I quickly forgot because he made me come twice.

  “Okay. See ya later.”

  “Yep. Bye.” I hang up.

  Oleg nods like he approves. Whether he approves that Flynn’s checking up on me or whether he approves of my answer, I can’t be sure.

  I get up and walk to the bathroom. “I’m going to take another shower,” I tell Oleg.