by Cole, Jagger
I sizzle as the shower water streams over me. My hands slide over my skin, and I can’t help but follow the map he laid out on my body earlier. I gasp, closing my eyes as my fingers touch me where he touched—everywhere he touched me.
My cheeks burn as tremble. I quickly pull my hands away and groan as I dip my head under the water again.
I mean seriously, what the fuck am I doing? I’m letting myself get pulled into him. I’m letting myself let go of rational thought and caution. Because there is no rational thought or caution when it comes to my dominant, powerful, gorgeous captor.
I shut the water off quickly and pull a towel into the shower stall with me. Cloaked in steam and terrycloth, I cocoon myself in my forbidden thoughts concerning Yuri.
I shouldn’t be doing this. There are a million reasons why I should be repulsed by him, not hopelessly turned on. I frown, listing them on my fingers:
He kidnapped me.
He’s a ruthlessly, violent, notorious bratva kingpin.
He’s what, twenty-five years older than me?
He’s Belle’s dad.
Honestly, the list could go on and on, or have all sorts of sub-lists. But those four are the big ones. Those are the glaring warning flags to stop playing with fucking fire like I have been.
So why the hell does the thought of his mouth and his hands on me make me so hopelessly turned on?
When I’m finished drying off, I step out and wrap myself in a huge fluffy white robe. I walk out into the living area of my lavish quarters, over to the windows overlooking the ocean.
A knock at the door shatters my thoughts though. I turn, wrinkling my brow as I go to answer it. “Yes?”
“Ms. Finn, I’ve been told to bring this to you.”
I recognize Maksim’s voice. So far, he’s the only other person on this entire boat aside from Yuri and Korol, the chef, that I’ve even spoken too. That doesn’t seem by accident, either. Even with free range of roaming the ship, I’ve managed to never cross paths with any of the other men or guards. Again, when it comes to Yuri, I think that’s by design.
Chef Korol is clearly gay. That explains that one. And Maksim is clearly Yuri’s most trusted guy. The fact that he very much never lets his eyes drop lower than my chin supports that.
I unlock the door and swing it open. Sure enough, there’s Maksim’s huge frame filling my doorway, eyes looking nowhere but mine. He’s holding a white garment bag and a black box that must be shoes.
“For this evening’s party,” he grunts. “From Mr. Volkov.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. Well, thanks.”
“It’s next season’s Valentino.”
I grin. “Thank you.”
“And this.”
He passes me the box of shoes and turns to leave.
“Hey Maksim?”
He turns.
“Thanks.”
Yuri’s guard nods with a smile and then disappears down the hallway. I close the door and take the gown and shoes back into my bedroom, where I lay the bag out across the bed. I unzip it and pull out a stunning little black dress—ankle length, but slit all the way up, with a just-shy-of-scandalous plunge in the front and the back.
I blush. Jesus Christ. Forget being “irresistible.” I’m going to be the only thing anyone is talking about at this freaking thing wearing this.
I turn to the shoebox, which is curiously sealed shut with gold seal. I frown as I tear it off and open the lid.
My mouth falls open. My cheeks burn hotly as my eyes land on the contents, which is most certainly not shoes.
“Oh no fucking way.”
“What the fuck is this?!”
Yuri frowns when I barge into his office. But then he slowly smiles at the box in my hand. A smirk crosses his gorgeous face.
“It would appear you have a good idea already what it is, based on your reaction.”
I march over to his desk and slam down the box. The one that doesn’t have shoes in it. The one that has the gleaming silver… my face burns even just thinking of the word.
Butt plug. He’s given me a fucking butt plug. Silver, with a sparkling diamond… handle, or, whatever that part is called.
My face sizzles with heat as I glare at him over the box. Yuri grins.
“Did you try it on?”
I sneer. “Hilarious. I’m not…” I stammer. “No.”
He simply shrugs. “Yes.”
My brows shoot up. “Uh, no, I’m—”
“Yes,” he growls, standing slowly. “You are.”
My mouth purses as I simmer under his fierce gaze.
“Do you need help putting it in?”
I blush deeply. “No, because I’m not—”
“You are,” he says thinly. I tremble. He’s just said the two words without any edge or anger. And yet I know instantly it’s a command that will not be followed.
I swallow, raking my teeth over my bottom lip as I glare back at him.
“Is this some fucking power game?”
He smiles.
“And this party?” I snap.
“Neutral ground. A man both Semyon and I do business with is throwing it and would like for it to be a neutral ground where we can discuss our… arrangement.”
“You mean me,” I mutter.
Yuri’s jaw clenches. But he says nothing.
“And this?” I shove a hand at the black box on the desk. “Is this part of your fucking power game? Part of your arrangement?” I snap. “Because if you think for one fucking second that I’m going to wear that and, what, bend over for that fucking creep to—”
“I wouldn’t let him see you like that in a million fucking years,” Yuri barks, making me jump at the ferocity in his voice. His eyes blaze with heat, and I gasp as he suddenly storms around the desk towards me.
“This,” he hisses, holding up the gleaming little plug between us. “This is because I know you crave this. Because I know the idea of wearing this for me, because I have said so, makes you wet, kiska.”
I gasp when he draws close to me. His hand slips to my jaw, cupping my chin possessively as I tremble against him. His other hand drops to my hip. He traces the little plug down the side of my thigh, and my breath catches sharply.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he growls quietly.
I swallow, shaking my head.
“River,” he purrs. The hand holding the plug drags it over my hip and down the curve of my ass. It hooks under the hem of my skirt, and I shiver as he drags it up the bare skin of my ass underneath. The cool metal slips between my thighs and brushes my panties, and I can’t help it. I moan.
My face burns when I do. My eyes snap up to see him smiling hungrily, and I tremble. My lip sucks between my teeth.
I have no idea how the hell he has this power over me. But he does. And shamefully, I like it.
“I’d check,” he growls quietly. I tremble. “But we must get ready.”
He pulls the plug away from me and steps back, leaving me shaking and aching for him. For more.
“Be ready in an hour.”
I drag my teeth over my lip, glaring up at him. But the defiance I marched in here with has been replaced with something far more… sultry. Scandalous. Something that makes my core tighten and throb.
“Fine,” I murmur. But the sass is gone from my voice. Right now, all I’m doing is trying not to moan again for him.
Yuri places the plug back into the box and hands it to me. “Don’t forget this,” he growls with a smirk.
I blush when I take it and turn to leave.
“Oh, and this.”
I turn back. My face somehow learns a new level of heat when he passes me a little bottle of lube.
“You know where to find me if you need any help,” he murmurs.
I turn and all but run out of the room as my whole body burns with an aching, filthy heat.
Back in my own quarters, I stare at the little silver plug lying in its box on my bed. It’s smooth and bulbous—not too thick, but no
t exactly thin either. And the hilt, or whatever the hell you call that part of something like this, is glimmering with smooth, shimmering diamonds.
I mean who the fuck even makes diamond-studded butt plugs?
Slowly, I strip. My body tingles and my pulse thuds. I pick it up, holding and twisting it in my hand. Heat throbs in my core.
I pop the top on the lube, hold it up, and then drip it over the bulbous end of the plug.
I shiver, my pulse racing. I’ve never done anything even close to this. But I want to. But I’m going to.
For him.
12
River
We’re rushed as we take off from the yacht in the helicopter. Yuri ended up getting a last-minute call on bratva business from the US right before we had to leave. So it’s closer to eight than seven when we finally lift off and start cruising over the dark Black Sea.
Every single nerve in my body is vibrating. Every single pore on my skin is throbbing and prickling with an electric hum. It’s exhilarating. It’s like a filthy, dirty little secret that only I know. It makes me feel like this sultry, naughty temptress.
I’m talking about the fact that under my gown and lace panties, I’m wearing a gleaming silver and diamond butt plug in my ass. It is without a single hesitation the wildest, dirtiest thing I’ve ever done.
And Yuri knows.
He’s talking a mile a minute, in Russian, English, and French as well into three different phones. He’s clearly in the thick of it with business. But every so often, he raises his eyes and lets them just hover on me. They just burn deep into my soul, like he’s looking right through me.
And he knows I’m wearing it. Somehow, I just know that he knows; that he can tell. That he knows I’m wearing this filthy, slutty little accessory, and that I’m wearing it for him.
I squirm, blushing as I whip my head around to look out the window at the dark sea beneath us. But suddenly, it occurs to me that I have no idea where we’re even going. I turn and glance at Maksim.
“Are we going back to Odesa?”
He shakes his head. “Nyet.”
“So, where?”
Maksim glances at Yuri, who’s still on a phone call. But he gives Maksim a brief nod before barking more orders into the cell phone.
“Nessebar.”
I wrinkle my brow, trying to place where that is. But then it rings a bell from a map I remember from the first yacht where we were shooting.
“Bulgaria?”
He nods and then turns to look out the window. I nervously do the same on my side. Yeah, I’m just hopping around to all sorts of different Balkan countries in a billionaire criminal’s helicopter without a passport. No big deal…
Slowly, I’m aware of Yuri no longer growling into different phones. I look up and blush deeply. He’s looking right at me, those piercing blue eyes sizzling through me. Slowly, his lips curl just a little at the corners—like a hungry, wicked smile. His brow cocks just a smidge, and my face burns hotly.
Yeah, he knows. And he knows I know that he knows. I squirm in my seat, sizzling and marinating in the dirty little secret.
Out over the dark sea, suddenly, there’s a tiara of lights. We get closer, and I gaze out at a seaside town that looks like an old Roman city sitting along the coastline. The helicopter banks and lowers as it moves towards the far end of the small city. Up on a cliff sits a huge stone villa with lush gardens lit by flickering firelight. A man with two glowing sticks directs the chopper down to a waiting helipad, and we touch down softly.
Maksim and Yuri’s small ensemble of guards step out first. They’re all dressed in black suits like Secret Service agents, complete with earpieces and everything. Yuri steps down next, in his black suit with black dress shirt open at the collar. He looks back to me and raises a hand to help me down.
We’re escorted by a host of some kind down a gravel path lit by hidden lights throughs a stunning, torch-lit garden. Up ahead, the sprawling Roman villa thuds with club music. Gorgeous guests in stunning gowns and suits mingle in the gardens and on the veranda, sipping champagne.
But before we hit the main villa, suddenly Yuri’s hand tightens on mine. He pulls me back, spinning me. I gasp as I fall against his chest, my heart thudding in mine. His blue eyes burn hotly as they look down at me.
“Do I need to check?” he grunts quietly.
I blush, heat pooling between my legs. I know what he’s talking about. We both know what he’s talking about. But when I say nothing, because I’m blushing and trembling too much to even speak, his face shadows. He pulls closer to me, making me gasp.
“Do I need to check?” he growls through a clenched jaw.
I shiver.
“It never hurts to.”
The second I say it, I can feel my face roaring with heat. I can’t believe I’ve just said that—to him.
Slowly, Yuri’s lips curl into a hungry smile. I gasp as his hands slide to my waist, pushing me back off the path into the shadow of an olive tree. I whimper when his hand slips over my ass, cupping it through the silky black gown. He caresses me before his hand slides to the side and finds the scandalous slit that goes all the way up to my hip.
When his fingers slip inside, I stiffen. My heart thuds. My skin tingles like it’s been set ablaze as his hand slides under the dress and across my bare ass. His fingers tease down the back of my thong as it delves between my ass cheeks.
I moan with halted breath, my eyes closing as he traces one finger down the lace until he finds what he’s been seeking: the little diamond-studded hilt of the plug. When his fingers brush over it, a spark of excitement sizzling into me. His finger pushes on the hilt, and I gasp as the nerve endings in my most secret place tingle eagerly.
“Good girl,” he purrs into my ear. I gasp when I feel his thick erection throb against me. His finger pushes the hilt of the plug again, making me moan softly.
But then, his hand slips away and out from under my dress. I groan, feeling cheated, or toyed with. But also feeling like he’s flipped a switch in me, leaving me “on.” He pulls back, smirking dangerously at me.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
He takes my hand and wordlessly pulls me back onto the path. We follow the lights and step out on the gorgeous veranda strung with lights. Tuxedoed waiters carry trays of champagne, and three gorgeous girls in silver miniskirts, bikini tops, and knee-high boots gyrate slowly on a stage above the DJ booth to one side.
People turn to see us. Many of them seem to stiffen with both fear and respect when they spot Yuri. Most of them make attempts at either nodding or coming right over to say hello to him. It’s weird, because I’ve been on his massive yacht for days, seeing the power he wields there. But this is bigger. And for the first time, I’m really seeing him as the bratva King he is, with the power that comes with that.
People approach to smile and even bow, like they’re all here to show fealty to an actual monarch. Yuri is cordial if not short with most of them… gruffer to some and warmer to others. But the whole time, he keeps his arm firmly around my waist.
It’s possessive. And it sends a message. A few other bratva-type men who come to speak with him let their eyes drop to his hand on my hip. No one says anything. But even I get that it’s an unspoken thing. It’s a claim he’s publicly laying on me.
Maybe that should annoy me. It’s barbarically patriarchal in a way. And yet, it also makes me tremble with heat. I like his hand firmly on me, making this statement. I like the possessive feel of his arm around my waist.
I’ve been desired my whole life. But this feels different. This feels like protection and warmth. I sure as hell feel desired, but it’s not just lusted after. It’s like a claimed sort of desire, which feels… different, somehow.
“Ty prishel, yy sukin syn,” a wheezy, familiar voice sneers from behind us. As we turn, instantly, a big shape is shoving his way through the crowd to lurch between us and the man who just grunted at us. The shape is Maksim. The man with the sneering
familiar voice is Semyon Belksy.
But Yuri just smiles. He puts a hand on Maksim’s shoulder and grunts something in Russian. The big guard turns and arches a brow, as if saying “are you sure?”. Yuri nods again. His eyes slide to his rival.
“Da, it is fine, Maksim,” he growls in English. “Despite this little piggy’s poor manners, this is a party.” His smile thins. “On neutral territory. Isn’t that right, Semyon?” He pats Maksim on the shoulder again and gestures with his chin. With a final glare at Semyon, Maksim moves away back into the edges of the party.
The older, rotund man glares at Yuri. But then his beady eyes swivel to me. He smiles lecherously, and my skin crawls as he shamelessly checks me out.
“Oh good, you’ve brought what is mine for me. Thank you, my friend. Bring her to my room, and then you may go—”
“My good humor has limits, Semyon,” Yuri hisses dangerously. He steps towards Semyon, who bristles and starts to reach into his jacket.
“Khvatit etogo!” A voice barks sharply. An older, silver-haired man with a Stalin-esque mustache smiles thinly as he shoves his way between the two Bratva bosses. “Enough of that, gentleman,” he mutters in English, clearly for my benefit. He glances at me, and then to Yuri, but then back to me.
“Ahh, so this is your Helen of Troy.” He smiles at me. “Welcome to my home, Ms. Finn. My name is Petya Gagarina, and I’m a big fan of yours.”
I smile awkwardly. “Oh, uh, thank you.”
“Though you have as of late made doing business with the two of these men…” he shrugs. “Difficult.”
I blush, but Petya just chuckles. He turns to smile thinly at both Semyon and Yuri. “Well, gentleman. Shall we go somewhere and talk? We must settle this little…” he turns to smile thinly at me. “This little disagreement.”
Semyon hisses something at Yuri. But Petya glares at him and barks something back. Semyon nods begrudgingly.
“Please, Ms. Finn, enjoy the party. Whatever you need, please simply ask my staff.” He glances at the two bratva bosses. “Come, gentleman.”
Yuri glances back at me. His eyes burn hotly, piercing mine. I see a flickering tendril of the heat from earlier in the shadow of the olive tree. Then his jaw grits, and he whirls to follow the two other men into the crowd.
