by D STEP
He groaned in satisfaction as he released. Gradually, his body relaxed and his breathing slowed. She rubbed his thighs, her palms sliding over the soft hairs as he kept her pinned to his groin. His silvery cum continued to trickle down her neck, and his muscled abdomen lay covered in it, the soft light in the room reflecting off its shiny surface. He released his grip on her head and his hands slid limply to his sides. Sophie dared not move, for fear of disturbing him or angering him.
In a moment she heard him snoring.
She breathed a sigh of relief. As gently as possible she lifted away from him, scooting backward to the foot of the bed and sliding noiselessly off the end. She wiped at the starchy-smelling liquid that covered her face and throat with a corner of the bedspread as she crouched on the floor. The torn gypsy dress still clung to her midsection, and she slipped the material off and stuffed the remains under the bed. On shaky limbs, she crawled around the side of the bed and found Yuri’s discarded jacket.
Gathering it up, she tiptoed into the outer room and huddled in an overstuffed chair near the huge windows. Moonlight shone on the placid surface of a lake far below the house. He’d called it Lake Nero, but that didn’t exactly pinpoint her location. ‘Goragavan’ translated to “Mountain Haven.” The view from the window, even at night, bespoke of a large elegant estate. Surely it must be visible from miles around.
She fumbled through the folds of Yuri’s jacket until her fingers closed around the cell phone’s rectangular casing, her heart leaping in excitement. Its screen glowed to life, but with next to zero battery life. She hammered out two texts, intending to delete both as soon as the send confirmed. To the ministry she identified herself with her employee number, gave a physical description of her location along with a screen capture of the device’s GPS marker, and names. Names of every loathsome bastard associated with this Byzantine haunted house named Goragavan. Phone monitored—no replies, she insisted. Then for Andrew—I am ok. Leave the country as soon as u can. 4 ur own safety DNR or contact. Pls know I love u.
The tiny screen went dark as the battery expended the last of its failing charge.
Chapter Seven
Quiet shrouded the room like a down-filled quilt. Sophie’s naked body lay stiffly next to Yuri, still unconscious from his liquor-induced coma. Her dead phone was back in the pocket of his jacket that she’d returned to its heap on the floor. She might have dozed off once or twice, but sleep had been out of the question. Her nerves were on high alert as pale pre-dawn light filtered weakly through the windows.
She allowed her eyes to close, but a sudden, deep thud from somewhere in the bowels of the mansion snapped them open again. A few seconds of silence, and the sound repeated. The bed shook slightly from the vibration, but Yuri did not stir. She could hear heavy footsteps moving quickly along the hallways, fading away then returning.
A string of popping sounds echoed outside, rebounding against the stone walls of the building. Gunfire? Her heart filled with dread. More footsteps thundered in the hallway, and then a pounding on the outer door to Yuri’s suite. At the same time a pager went off, relentless beeps issuing from somewhere near the nightstand. Yuri woke up, rolling over to silence the alarm.
“Der’mo,” he cursed, rousing his half-dressed self from the bed. Sophie cowered under the covers as he opened the door to the outer suite, but sat upright when she heard angry, rapid-fire shouts from the hallway. “Stay here,” he growled as he left the bedroom.
Sophie nearly stopped breathing as she strained to listen. People entered the suite. “The military is here,” she understood from the cacophony of voices. “Snipers….gate,” and “Security needs you down there, now.”
They all left, including Yuri. Sophie’s mind raced, feeling utterly helpless wound up in Yuri’s bedsheets with no clothing or personal effects. Stay here. What else could she do? She didn’t even know where to go if she did leave the room. Minutes passed. More gunfire from outside. She heard the door to the suite open and footsteps approach the bedroom.
“Miss?” she heard a woman’s voice call softly. Nadia’s small figure brushed inside. “For you,” she whispered, setting a bundle of clothing and toiletries down on a chair. “Dress quickly. I wait for you.”
Her tone seemed nervous and rushed, so Sophie set aside her questions and did as requested. She washed quickly with the items Nadia had brought—scented soap, deodorant, toothpaste and toothbrush. The clothes consisted of a pair of jeans, a blouse and hooded jacket. Her sandals from yesterday would have to do for footwear. When she’d finished, Sophie felt more human than she had in days.
Nadia stood waiting for her in the outer room. “What is going on?” Sophie asked.
Nadia waved her hands in a gesture of denial. “Hurry. Leave now.”
A horrific clap of thunder shook the room, and Sophie covered her ears, nearly losing her balance. Yet it didn’t feel like thunder; at least not the kind from the clouds. The two women hurried from the room, an ominous quiet settling in the hallway and staircase as they scurried down to the main floor. Nadia led her past a kitchen and down a corridor to more stairs.
These led down to another level of storage rooms and workshops. At the very end were steel doors secured with an electronic lock. “Go inside,” Nadia said, swiping a card in the device and stepping back as the doors opened.
“Thank you,” Sophie said, unable to think of what other gratitude she could show the woman.
“Proshchay,” Nadia said, and retreated back the way they had come.
“Goodbye,” Sophie echoed, and stepped through the open doors into a cavernous parking garage. Vehicles of every make and size lined the stalls, including several motorcycles parked in a perfectly angled row at one end. Please God, not another motorcycle ride.
“Good morning Lara.”
Sophie whirled to see Pasha Svelski leaning on his trusty cane, his wispy white hair sticking up more wildly than usual. “Where’s Yuri?” she asked, not so much out of concern for him, but for herself.
“He is busy right now.” Pasha’s expression turned sour, but spoke as though amused. “For some reason, the military has attempted a strike on this estate.” He paused for effect, his hooded eyes full of accusation. “Could it be our mutual friend Mr. Borovski has learned of your whereabouts?”
Sophie wanted to back away, but there was really nowhere to go. “How could he?” she answered, standing her ground.
“How indeed,” Pasha said, his wrinkled lips working into a sarcastic grin. “He is going to be disappointed in any case.” She heard an engine start somewhere down the row of cars, and saw a black vehicle ease out of its stall and turn toward them, headlights off.
As it cruised to a stop where they stood, Sophie recognized the Mercedes hood ornament, but didn’t know the model. A driver emerged from behind the wheel and ushered her forcefully into the back seat, slamming the door closed. The locks engaged with a click of finality. She looked out the window to see the councilor turn away and limp toward the exit.
The Mercedes proceeded to a ramp that led downward into a tunnel. Tiny lights on the walls clicked by as the car rolled through. Sophie’s heart accelerated, the idea she could be heading somewhere even worse than Goragavan overshadowing her relief at leaving it.
At the end of the tunnel an overhead door began its mechanical rise as the Mercedes drew near, then daylight flooded the vehicle as they passed underneath. She squinted against the light for a moment. The car moved ahead along a narrow path surrounded by heavy woods. The driver concentrated on his task, silent as a stone.
“Where are you taking me,” she asked, her voice dull. The passing trees began to thin, the terrain changing to scrub brush and grain fields. The sun burst over the horizon to the right. They were heading north.
“You are being sent to the Kassir,” the driver said, tight-lipped.
“Is that a jail?” she asked, black humor coming to the fore.
“No. A man. He is Kassir to the Pakhan.”
&nb
sp; Kassir. She wasn’t familiar with that word; it sounded middle-eastern, like a Sheik. A sick fear birthed in the pit of Sophie’s stomach. Perhaps she was to become a whore after all.
- End of Book One-
RUSSIAN MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL
CAPTIVE FORCED INTO WIFE 2
(A Rough Erotic Bad Boy Story)
Lucy Blake
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2016 Hardcore Erotica Stories
Published by Hardcore Erotica Stories
License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
First HARDCORE EROTICA STORIES Printing July 2016
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
~
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure inventions of fiction.
Table of Content
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
“She is here.”
Valeri Kovalenko looked up from his computer to acknowledge Taras, his personal aide and secretary. “Already?” he asked in minor annoyance. He removed his stylish eyeglasses that he only wore while working and placed them on his desk. “Der'mo. I was hoping to finish these financial projections before taking on babysitting duties.”
Taras smiled in agreement with his boss, the Kassir of the Kovalenko Bratva. “Yes, I’m sure; but business before pleasure, eh? I know nothing gives you more pleasure than big numbers, my friend.”
Valeri inhaled thoughtfully. “That they do,” he confirmed, a frown forming on his clean-shaven face. “I only hope the cost of my brother’s little war are only numbers, and not lives. It’s unfortunate that Goragavan is under siege.”
“Have you heard from Yuri or Pasha in the last hour?” Taras asked.
“No. Only that this woman they wish me to protect is important to the business; as leverage in this battle with Borovski.”
Taras nodded in mute understanding. “Shall I have her brought here, to your office?”
“No. Escort her to one of the suites on the floor below us. It’s still early; offer her some breakfast. I’ll meet with her in a few hours. See what she knows.”
“Very good, Sir. Aren’t you curious about her?”
Valeri gave a dismissive smirk. “I’m curious why Yuri seems obsessed with her. My brother generally has no use for women other than as inventory.”
“As you said, she is leverage. Perhaps he intends to do away with her once she’s served her purpose,” Taras supplied helpfully.
“If so, he’d better do his own dirty work,” Valeri said, admiring his manicured fingers. “Murder is very messy, and I abhor mess. Numbers are so much tidier.”
Taras chuckled. “That is why you control the Bratva’s assets, Kassir. You are the tidiest person I know.”
*
Sophie jolted awake as the car navigated a speed bump. Exhausted from stress and lack of sleep, she’d dozed off in the quiet comfort of the Mercedes shortly after leaving Goragavan. Blackout shades obscured any view from the car’s windows. She had no clue to where they were or how long it had taken to get there, but sensed they had arrived at their destination.
The driver slowed to a stop and cut the engine. As Sophie straightened into a sitting position, her door pulled open from outside. A short man in a gray suit peered into the back seat. “Hello,” he said in English, offering his hand. “I am Taras. Come with me please.”
She climbed out of the car on stiff legs. Her foot had gone numb, and Taras cradled her elbow as she stumbled. “I’m sure you had a long drive. Would you like some breakfast?”
Sophie looked at the man with curiosity. He had a round, smiling face with dark-toned skin and black hair. His question surprised her; such courtesy had not been shown to her at Goragavan. Was this the Kassir her driver had mentioned? He seemed very unimposing for someone of such implied importance.
“Yes, please.”
Taras smiled wider and nodded with satisfaction. “This way.” Again they were in some sort of underground parkade. He closed the car door and led them both to an elevator a few meters away. Its doors slid open at a flash of Taras’ security fob and they stepped in. The cab began to rise.
“Where are we?” Sophie asked.
“You are in a safe place,” Taras answered noncommittally. “Breakfast first. Then the Kassir will see you. You can ask all your questions then.”
Sophie’s stomach rumbled. So this Taras was not the fabled Kassir. His tone of voice, though pleasant, indicated the conversation was over. Did her location really matter? The Minister would never find her now. She would never return to her former life, and that realization settled over her like a shroud. At the moment the best she could hope for was a hot breakfast.
The elevator slowed and opened into a carpeted hallway. Taras escorted her to a door at one end of it and again swiped his fob for entry. The room inside looked like an office. They walked past a reception area and into an open lounge with two long couches facing each other across a glass coffee table. Beyond that, a wall of windows opened onto a spectacular cityscape. Morning light glinted off church domes and the spires of stoic period buildings. Clouds of mist in the air cast a ghostly effect over the whole scene.
The city could have been one of any in Russia. They had driven north, but how far? They could be in Finland by now for all she knew—or Siberia. She heard the electronic lock buzz from behind them. A serving cart wheeled into view driven by a thin, plain-looking girl. “Spasibo, Irina.” Taras said. He turned to Sophie. “Sit, please. Breakfast has arrived.”
Sophie sank down onto one of the couches as Taras left the room. The girl named Irina began to unload dishes from her cart. Dressed in a gray shift dress and beige cardigan, she looked no more than eighteen. Sophie wondered if perhaps she’d been destined for the brothels too, until someone decided she wasn’t pretty enough. The plates held sweet-looking pastries, hardboiled eggs, fillets of pickled herring, cheese and grapes. A glass of orange juice and a silver pot of coffee followed, along with a dish of butter and small pitcher of cream.
“Spasibo,” Sophie repeated Taras’ thanks. Irina nodded and disappeared with her cart. The smell of strong coffee floated deliciously to Sophie’s nose. She hadn’t even had a damned coffee since she’d landed in this cruel country, and quickly poured herself a cup. The first sips were like heaven. She curled up in a corner of the couch with her fingers wrapped around the warm mug and felt safe and comfortable for the first time in days. With her second cup she helped herself to the rest of the food.
After eating, she felt ready to doze off again when she heard the door lock buzz once more. Irina must want her dishes back, she thought. Footsteps approached through the reception area, but without the accompaniment of cart wheels. Sophie turned to face whoever had entered, and nearly dropped her coffee cup.
The tall man wore a tailored dark navy suit with a red necktie and white shirt. His light brown hair was stylishly trimmed and his face clean shaven—a face that belonged to someone else. Someone Sophie had hoped to never see again.
“Good morning,” he greeted her, his deep voice hauntingly familiar.
“Yuri,” she whispered, her eyes wide. But it couldn’t be Yuri. Though of similar height, this man was trim and at least fifty pounds lighter. When he smiled, the hairs on her neck stood on end. He looked like a makeover version of th
e burly, rough biker that until yesterday held her prisoner, and the improvement was not unwelcome.
“I see you’ve met my twin brother,” the man said in a patronizing tone, as though hearing an old joke he was tired of. “Sorry to disappoint you. I am Valeri Kovalenko.” He settled himself onto the sofa opposite her, with one arm draped over the seat back and his legs stretched casually under the coffee table between them. “And you are?”
Sophie froze at this question, remembering the harsh punishment reserved for the wrong answer. His brother! The resemblance bordered on freakish, but this Valeri didn’t appear as though he would care either way. “It depends who you ask.”
Valeri looked at her dumbly. “I’m asking you. Who else would I ask?”
“I’m Sophie Brant.” She saw no purpose in adding on her title or position, since all that was beyond reclaiming now. “But if you asked your brother, I am Lara. Lara Kovalenko.”
“Lara?” he repeated, then broke into a guffaw. “Oh, you are joking.”
“I’m not. Why is that funny?”
“I wouldn’t call Yuri overly sentimental,” Valeri said, calming his laughter. “But he’s very fond of a particular movie. Doctor Zhivago.”
Sophie gave a blank stare. “What’s that got to do with me?”
Valeri chuckled some more. “I suppose you’re a bit young to know that one. In it, the main character’s illicit lover is named Lara. But the Kovalenko part? What’s that all about?”
It appeared Valeri and his brother were not very close, Sophie thought. She tore her vision away from the handsome face across from her, suddenly feeling like used goods. She looked out the window instead. “He plans to make me his wife.”
An uncomfortable silence hung between them for a long moment. “How ungracious of my brother to not invite me to the wedding,” Valeri said, dry humor in his voice. “How long have you been engaged?”
