Ruthless Doms Boxset

by Jane Henry

  There are no easy choices in this.

  I observe everything I can as we load our bags into the car I’ve called for us to take us to the hotel, but there’s nothing out of place. I recognize a few faces, but nothing stands out. Tonight, we’ll stay at the hotel that’s adjacent to the airport so we can easily catch our early morning flight to Russia. But before then, we have work to do.

  We.

  Jesus.

  “Don’t look so happy,” she mutters, when I hold open the door for her. “Your face might freeze that way.”

  “Taara.” My warning is a grumble, and I swear to God I remind myself of my father. My ruthless, asshole of a father, who spoke in grunts or fists, however the mood struck.

  She only sighs and slides into the seat, and when I join her, gives me a little smile. “Yes, daddy?” And if that doesn’t just melt my goddamn heart. She knows it does, too. I reach over and tug a lock of her gorgeous, midnight hair, but don’t let go. I wrap it around my finger and rub my thumb along the strands. She watches me, her eyes bright and beautiful, but she can’t move too far from me.

  “Behave yourself.”

  She opens her mouth to speak, but something out the window catches her eye. I let her hair go and slide my hand to her upper thigh before I give her a little squeeze.

  “That fucking asshole,” she says under her breath. I look where she does and see the woman she talked to and her master from the night before. Her head hung low, and she’s walking as if she’s in pain. He drags her around beside him, careful not to make too much of a scene because we’re in public now, and no longer aboard that godforsaken ship. But he hurt her, and it’s obvious. He says something in her ear which makes her cower and cringe, and I make up my mind right then. It isn’t just about the threat against the brotherhood. I’m no saint. Hell, I’ve earned damnation ten times over the for the shit I’ve done. But I will do whatever the hell I need to, to end this bullshit once and for all.

  “Taara,” I say, this time my warning more meaningful. “Careful, baby. If you’re going to work with me, you have to keep your temper in check.”

  “Says the man who nearly killed that guy last night,” she mutters. “Ow!”

  I tap the leg I just squeezed. “That smart mouth will get you in trouble.”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “It already has. Like many times.”

  We fall into silence as the car begins to drive toward the hotel. The streets of Boston are always teeming with people: pedestrians and bikers, business people, and construction workers. Our ride will be slow through the city streets. For now, though, I’m grateful for the tinted windows on this car, it allows me to get a good, long look as people leave the cruise ship. Many of the men from the private party come out first.

  “That’s funny,” Taara murmurs to herself. “That’s really weird.”

  “What is?”

  “That woman over there,” she says, jerking her chin toward the woman with the violet hair who accompanied Mikahl the night before. “She’s holding someone else’s arm today. It isn’t the man from before.”

  I look, but shrug. “That’s not unusual, sweetheart,” I tell her. “Few in this game are monogamous.”

  “No, I know,” she says, shaking her head from side to side. “But there’s something else off about this. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  But soon we pull too far away to see them as we head toward the hotel. I take a few minutes to make some calls, checking in on my men in Atlanta. All is well, and it pleases me to hear Rafael relay that Nicolai is leading well. Though in my heart of hearts, I’d prefer my son not entangled in the danger of Bratva life, I know how this works, and I know Nicolai. He’s as dedicated to the brotherhood as I am.

  I can’t speak freely to Nicolai in the car, but I give him enough information that he knows things are going as planned. I’ll fill him in on a secure line on a burner phone after tonight, on our way to Russia in our private jet.

  Taara looks at me curiously, her head tipped a bit to the side while she worries her lip.

  “She isn’t a submissive,” she finally says.

  I look at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “The woman. The tall one with the violet hair and dark skin. The beautiful one.”

  “Yes?”

  “She isn’t a submissive.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She seemed out of place, because she was the one giving commands,” she says. “It took me a minute to figure it out, and when she was with a second man, I knew. She’s the one in charge in that relationship.”

  I shrug. “So? That doesn’t mean anything. It’s not uncommon for women to be dominant, sweetheart.”

  “I know,” she says, shaking her head. “But it isn’t that. I don’t know. I can’t really explain it, I just—” she sighs. “Last night, when I spoke with the other slave, that woman came into the bathroom behind us. And I don’t think it was an accident. I think she was either spying on us or wanted us to know that she didn’t miss a thing.”

  “Did she?” That is a little curious, given what happened last night, but still nothing I’m overly concerned with.

  She shakes her head. “I have good instincts, Stefan,” she tells me, as if defending herself.

  I smile at her. “No doubt.”

  “And my instincts say we should watch her.”

  “Noted.”

  She huffs out an irritated breath. “You don’t believe me!”

  I shake my head. “I do. But I need more than ‘she was in the room with us,’ and ‘she’s not a submissive,’ to go on.”

  We pull up in front of the wide, circular entryway to the Boston Harbor hotel. I pay our driver and take our bags to check in. Our check-in is quick and painless, and within a short time, we’re in our room. I toss our bags in the closet and make a few more phone calls.

  “Wow,” Taara breathes, looking through the pamphlets on the bedside table.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s like a spa here, a pool, a cocktail bar, and restaurants.” She flips through the pages. “They have a valet service, and there’s even this option to book a private appointment to get a haircut.” She laughs. “Oh, the lives of the rich and famous.”

  But I’m not paying close attention, because I’m mapping out where we’ll be tonight at the Wharf. There’s an outside bar that overlooks everything, and I’m confident that if we get there at the right time, we can blend in with the crowd before we observe what happens. I have no doubt the finer details of the trade will be well hidden, but we can at least have a good reason to be there.

  What if nothing happens? What if we show up and no one else does? What if the information she got from the girl is incorrect? I suppose we get our flight to Moscow in the morning and take it from there.

  “They will even come to your bedroom just to paint your nails!” Taara is still leafing through the pamphlets.

  “I’ll paint your nails,” I say, suddenly realizing that I have her alone in this room and there are several hours before we need to leave. After tonight we need to get some rest before our ten-hour plane ride to Russia, and we won’t have the luxury of being alone together for probably another twenty-four hours.

  And I want this woman. I want her so badly my mouth’s dry at the prospect, at the knowledge that she’s just mine for this short time, that we’re sharing this luxurious room, and that what we have together is special.

  She smiles at me. “Actually, I could totally picture that,” she says, sticking out a foot and kicking off her black flat. She peers at her toenails. “I could use a little attention in that area, too.”

  I sit beside her and take her foot in my hand. “Could you?” I ask massaging my thumbs along her graceful foot. “A little attention, you say?” It feels nice to hold her slender foot in hand. I rub my thumb along her insole, and she groans. I smile at her. Damn, she’s cute.

  “Oh, wow, that feels super good,” she says, putti
ng her head back on the pillow. “Continue, please.”

  I pause the massaging. “Ask the right way.”

  “Please, sir,” she says, but the teasing glint in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what I’m aiming for, and she wants to string me along a little.

  I tug her little toe. “Taara.”

  Her face lights up and she grins at me, so lovely and winsome my heart squeezes. Holding my gaze, a few seconds pass between us before she lowers her voice and whispers, “Please, daddy?”

  “Of course, baby,” I tell her. I won’t admit it to her, but when she asks me like that, her eyes all lit up and sparkling, in that sweet voice of hers, I’d give her damn near anything.

  After a few moments, she sighs and closes her eyes. I lay her foot gently down on the bed and take her other foot in hand, remove the shoe, and begin massaging that one as well. Between her soft skin beneath my fingers and the little sighs she lets out, I’m getting hard just watching her.

  Her head falls to the side and I wonder at first if she’s sleeping, she’s so at rest and comfortable, until she speaks.

  “Isn’t this a contradiction?”

  “Contradiction?” I ask, rubbing my thumb in a circular motion, covering every inch of her skin.

  “You’re the master,” she whispers, her voice pitching off into a yawn. “And I’m the slave. Yet you’re the one massaging my feet. Serving me.”

  “Ahh. No, it’s not a contradiction. Not at all. Masters can serve their slaves. In fact, the sign of a good leader is the ability to be meek. To serve.”

  Her eyes flutter open and she smiles softly at me. “Then you’re a good leader,” she whispers.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re here,” she explains. “Serving your brotherhood by finding out who’s behind all this.”

  I shrug. I haven’t done anything for them until I’ve actually accomplished what I’ve set out to do. But she isn’t finished.

  “Because you treat them all with this… paternal care or something. You watch out for them, instruct them, set a good example. They respect you, and that’s because you’ve earned that respect.” I don’t deserve her praise, and I shrug it off, but then she smiles at me. “You’re a good daddy, too.”

  My already-hard dick tightens. Holding her gaze, I let my hands travel from her foot to her ankle. Pushing aside the fabric, I caress her bare skin. I love how her mouth parts and her breathing grows heavier. I’m impatient to have her again, to be inside her, to feel her hot, wet cunt and hear her moan in climax.

  “Take ‘em off,” I say in a low, rumbling whisper.

  “What? Take what off?”

  “Everything.”

  Her cheeks flush pink and she bites her lip, but she doesn’t hesitate to comply.

  “Yes, daddy.”

  As if she’s as eager as I am for this, her movements are frenzied, but my cock aches and I long to be balls-deep in her so badly I can’t wait for her. My hands dwarf hers as I yank off her clothes. We toss them in a tumbled heap onto the floor.

  “Stay right here,” I instruct. Kneeling one knee beside her, I yank the bottom of my t-shirt and pull it off my hand, roll the fabric into a rope, lean down and twist it over her wrists. I pull it taut, then take a moment to admire her stunning, naked body on display before me. Her perfect dark skin, full breasts studded with hardened nipples, her rounded belly, and trim waist that give way to voluptuously curved hips. Her pretty tapered fingers fold above her head as if in prayer, her eyes meeting mine in challenge.

  “You know, daddy,” she says thoughtfully, shooting me a teasing look. “I’d love to lick my way up and down that body of yours.” She swallows hard, her voice shaky and affected. “Those tats. Those muscles. I want to touch every inch of you and worship you with my mouth.”

  She’s grown bold, and I have to admit. I love it. Taara owns what she wants. So brazen.

  “Do you?” I ask, tracing my finger along the very edge of first one nipple, then the other. She moans and squirms, but the t-shirt holds fast. “I’m the one that’s supposed to do that.”

  “Oh?” she says in a breathy whisper. “And why’s that, daddy?”

  This girl knows how to play me like no one ever has.

  I lean down and kiss her cheek, then take her earlobe between my teeth and bite, reveling in the way she bucks beneath me. “Because, baby,” I whisper in her ear, and though my words are a seductive whisper, I mean every one of them. “Daddy’s the one in charge.”

  “Clearly,” she moans. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

  I chuckle, while working her nipples between my fingers. “Of course. Someday, I’ll let you. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she manages to croak out. I work my way from her ear to her cheek, kissing down her jaw to her neckline. When I reach the very top of her breasts, I drag my tongue lazily along her naked skin. She’s sweet and salty, and I can’t get enough of her.

  “Do I taste good, daddy?” she whispers.

  “I don’t know,” I respond, holding her eyes as I bring my lips further down her belly to her naval, where I lazily lap and suckle. “I haven’t tasted you yet.”

  “Stefan.” My name is a garbled, ardent plea I feel straight to my cock, but a quick pinch to her ass makes her amend herself. “Daddy.”

  I move lower, until my mouth hovers over her pussy. I breathe hot air over her, and she shivers and moans. I brace myself on my elbows on either side of her, cupping her ass in my hands to raise her pussy to me.

  “Oh, fuck,” she whispers. I draw the very tip of my tongue to the top of her pussy.

  “Not yet,” I counter.

  “Stefannnn,” she moans.

  “Quiet now,” I instruct. I push the tip of my tongue to where she pulses and groan. She tastes sweet and sultry and I need more.

  I meet her eyes. “Don’t move,” I whisper. “Don’t talk, until you’re ready to come. And the only word I want to hear then is please.”

  Biting her lip, her vibrant eyes wide and eager, she nods. With a sigh of deep contentment, I lower my mouth and drag my tongue along her slit. Her legs part further and her eyes flutter shut, as I lose myself to this, licking and sucking until her hips buck and she breathes the word I’m longing to hear.

  “Please.”

  Chapter 14

  Taara

  Oh, hell, this is good. His hot, wet, expert mouth on my pussy works me so perfectly to the edge of climax, I’m losing my mind.

  “Wait, baby,” he says when I beg for him to let him come, his hands traveling the length of my body until he reaches my nipples. I thought I was going to lose my mind before, but God this is even better. I lift my hips to meet his mouth when he tweaks my nipples and laps my pussy.

  “Please,” I repeat.

  He lifts his mouth just enough to whisper, “Come, baby,” before his tongue returns to its wicked assault. He flicks my nipple, sucks my clit, and I sail headlong into euphoria. I moan as my body pulses and he works my orgasm to utter perfection. My breath hitches, and I curl my fingers above my head as spasms of ecstasy rock my body. I’m moaning and whimpering while he suckles and laps, and I’ve never felt anything like this before, so intense, so wickedly delicious, stars dance behind my eyes.

  And then he’s on me, his large, muscular body dwarfing mine. He gathers my secured wrists in his hands and kisses my temple.

  “I want in you,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Go for it,” I manage to croak out, and that makes him grin, actually grin, something I hardly ever see him do. And then he’s pushing off his pants and rolling on a condom and joining me on the bed, his hot, swollen cock between my legs.

  “Open,” he commands in my ear. My legs fall open. I’m pinned beneath him, still hot and tingly from coming so hard on his mouth, when he lines his cock up and thrusts deep inside me. Oh, God, this is better, even more satisfying than his tongue on me. Because this is Stefan, and I love him. And there’s nothing I need or want more than to be
joined with him like this.

  He works a blissful rhythm while holding my pinned wrists down.

  “Fuck, that cunt’s so tight,” he groans in my ear. “Fuck, baby.”

  And then he trails off in Russian, probably saying something ridiculously filthy and hot, but I have no clue what he says and I don’t care because the only thing I care about right now is his cock between my legs, the way his powerful hips thrust, the way my pussy clenches around him, and the fact that I know I’m going to come a second time, and soon. I’m getting closer and closer to the precipice of orgasm a second time while he moves in perfect rhythm inside me.

  “Baby,” he groans, pulling himself nearly out of me then thrusting in again to the hilt. “Christ, Taara.”

  And then I shatter. I fragment. I push my wrists against his impenetrable grip as bliss devours me. He pumps in me and groans, and I relish his every sound as his own pleasure overtakes him while I’m still rocking from my own orgasm. He milks every drop out of me, thrusting and gliding while I lift my hips to meet him.

  It’s perfect and lovely and painfully sweet and lasts longer than I could’ve imagined but not long enough.

  And then he’s whispering things in Russian and weaving his fingers through my hair, kissing along my forehead and cheek and chin then mouth, his soft lips in such contrast to the roughness of his beard it gives me a happy shiver.

  I love this man.

  Will he ever love me back?

  It’s easy to love someone when you’re wrapped in the throes of ecstasy like this, but I know this is more, so much more, than sex-driven. Our lovemaking is only a culmination of what had to happen, a declaration of truth that needed to be said. He’s claimed me as his own, and I’ve claimed him, and it’s like we both think this at the same time, because he holds me tighter to him, and I return the embrace. His cock still hot between my legs, my body molded to him, we’re one in this.