King’s Ransom: A Dark Bratva Romance (Ruthless Doms)

by Henry, Jane

  When he touches me, I lose my resolve to outwardly obey but remain detached. Hell, did I ever have that much control? I can’t be angry with him when he touches me like this, his rough hands at the small of my back, pulling me between his legs, as if he’s meant to touch me there. To hold me like this. As if I’m his, like my body’s grooved to fit his touch and when he holds me, we’re one. My throat tightens and my breath hitches. I’m dancing between logic, desire, and a need so desperate my heart is being rent in two.

  Without a word, he dips his head to my shoulder and kisses his way along the slopes to my neck. My head falls to the side, granting him access to the tender skin. I moan when his tongue trails along my collarbone, followed by a sensual suckle I feel straight to my clit. The tenuous hold I had on my resolve crumbles.

  Pulling his mouth away, he groans. “Fucking gorgeous,” he says in a husky voice. “Jesus Christ.” I thrill at the sound of his voice. I love that I affect him like this. I wish this were another place and time. It’s my every single fantasy come true when he runs his hands up and down my back and over my aching ass, palming each cheek in his firm grip, dragging me even closer until the roughness of his clothes scrapes my naked skin. His blue eyes blaze with hunger, his large, muscled body vibrates with energy. I’m no fool. This is no act.

  “Taara,” he says hoarsely. “Ty boginya.”

  “Tell me what that means again?” I whisper. I have a vague recollection but want to hear him say it.

  He drags his hands up my back, pulling me closer, fluttering kisses anointing my bare skin before he groans, “It means you’re a fairy, a mystical, whimsical feature from another world come to steal my heart.”

  “I’m not,” I say, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment just seconds before he squeezes my ass in disapproval.

  “Stop that,” he chides, but the corrective tone of his voice wavers. “Your only response here is yes, sir, or yes, master.”

  “Yes, sir.” I like that better than master, which sounds weird and stilted, but it still doesn’t feel quite right. Something is a little… off with the title. But I push the thought away. This whole situation is off.

  In silence, he holds me to him, kissing the valley between my breasts before he worships the fullness and curves of each one, palming and stroking and weighing them in his hands. I stop breathing when he leans forward and grasps my nipple between his lips.

  I buck and moan when he laps and suckles. I’ve never felt anything like this. He’s working my body like a master should. He’s never even kissed me before this moment and it’s not the kind of kisses I’ve imagined, but I’m not complaining. Of all that’s happened in the past day, this is almost worth it.

  Almost.

  He’s still a fucking jerk, and a little sexy times isn’t changing that.

  “Good girl,” he murmurs in my ear, and the words unexpectedly thrill me. Oh, God, I love when he approves of me like that, his words appealing to a need hidden deep, deep within me. I once again try to remain detached and aloof. I tell myself this is necessary for me to prove my loyalty to him, and this is no more than a job. I’m like a prostitute of sorts or… something. We can’t pretend to be a couple aboard this ship without touching each other. Hell, I may even have to whore myself in obedience to him, so that he knows he can trust me. So that I can convince him we’re on the same team.

  Caroline told me to convince him, and I trust that woman.

  But right now, this is no act. I don’t fabricate the little moans that escape my lips, the way my knees buckle, and I fall sitting onto his lap. The way I lean against him when he cradles me in the crook of his arm and tips me back, granting him access to the most sensitive parts of my body. The way my heart hammers in my chest when he holds me close and dips his mouth closer to mine.

  Our breaths mingle in anticipation. Gentle fingers stroke my chin, then cup my jaw. Blue eyes light with unquenchable fire, holding my gaze for long moments before lowering his mouth to mine and brushing my lips with his. I wish this were real, that he wanted me like I want him.

  But I shouldn’t want that. I know who he is now… who he really is… and it’s too damn dangerous for me to allow myself to even begin to entertain any romantic thoughts.

  I mean, God, I’m a slave on a ship for him. Does it get any worse than that?

  He must feel me tense or perhaps his own inner censor warns him to stop, as quickly as he kissed me, he stops.

  “Let’s go,” he says harshly. He stands, and I tumble to the floor, nearly falling but he grabs my elbow and rights me before I do.

  The spell is broken.

  The clock struck midnight.

  My carriage is turning back into a pumpkin, my riches to rags.

  My ragged breathing stills, and I right myself with a heavy sigh.

  “You listen well to me, little girl,” he warns. The angry, stern taskmaster is back. I clench my fists as I listen.

  Jerk. You’re such a jerk.

  “Yes, sir?” I snap back, not even bothering to mask my anger at this game of cat and mouse. “What is it, sir?”

  “I want nothing but utter obedience from you both inside and outside the walls of this cabin. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” I say with derision, barely refraining from curling my damn lip up at him. “Do what you say,” I parrot. “Obey your every command. Speak to you with respect, let’s see… anything I’m forgetting?”

  He weaves his fingers in my hair so hard and fast I gasp when he tugs my head back. “Respect,” he snaps. “You forgot respect. In your tone, your posture, your actions, and your words.”

  “Only one problem, sir,” I say through clenched teeth. “Respect is earned, not demanded.” I know in my head I shouldn’t mouth off to him, that this isn’t going to end well for me. I can still feel the cut of the cane he wielded on me, and I try to stop my mouth, but I hate how he’s playing with me.

  He isn’t amused. “Perhaps I should school that mouth of yours before we leave this room? Hmm?” And hell, that gives me a little reluctant tingle.

  “Whatever you wish, master,” I drawl so sarcastically, I literally bite my lip after I say it. But I’m too angry with him to obey without question. I’m not sure what type of reaction I’m trying to get out of him, or if I’m just behaving on instinct. You know, it’s a lot easier saying “show him your loyalty” than actually fucking doing it.

  And hell, if it doesn’t turn me on watching the way his brows snap together and his eyes flash at me, the stern clench of his jaw and the way his grip firms on my arm.

  With a rapid, harsh tug, he drags me to my knees and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling me between his legs before he unfastens his zipper.

  My mind flashes, warning.

  What exactly might “school that mouth” mean? I think I’m about to find out, and hell, I’m already wet.

  His hand fists around his cock when he freezes, as if he’s acting on instinct and just realized what he’s doing. My heart stutters in my chest, because I suddenly know what he’s doing. I suspect “schooling that mouth of mine” would mean his cock between my lips in forced submission.

  I really, really need to curb my temper and watch my mouth. Though my anger is justified, it’s not helping this situation.

  I swallow hard, not sure what to do next. Apologize? Push him away?

  Or knock his socks off by giving him the best fucking blow job of his life?

  He must feel what I do, he has to. This exchange of power is electric between us. Dynamite. The air between us fairly sparks with anger and passion, the pungent scent of arousal so strong I nearly moan out loud.

  He works his jaw and reaches for my mouth, grasping my cheeks between his fingers so hard it hurts. “I’m not taking you out there and risking fucking everything up because you don’t know how to obey,” he spits out. “You’re unpredictable and that makes you a goddamn liability. If I can’t trust you to watch your mouth, I can’t trust you out there with me at all.” He looks to the d
oor then back to me. “Is that what you want, Taara? To be cuffed to this bed for hours while I work that floor alone? Take another woman?”

  No. Oh God, no. He knows I don’t want that, and it makes me want to slap his beautiful face for even suggesting such a thing. I hate that he’s playing the jealousy card. It gives him that much more control over me.

  “No,” I tell him, shaking my head, even with his hand still gripping my cheeks. “No, sir.” My words are slurred like this, my voice tight and choked. I close my eyes for one brief moment before I open them again. “I’ll be a good girl.” I let my eyes drop dramatically to his pants and he releases his grip on my face. “I’ll even suck that cock of yours for you if you really want to school my mouth.”

  God, I will. I swallow hard and lick my lips. I want this. My voice drops to a low whisper, but I’m not manipulating him. I mean this. “Perhaps I can prove my loyalty on my knees rather than in a crowded room of men.”

  “Perhaps,” he says, his voice hoarse and ragged.

  I watch as he strokes himself, his eyes boring into me. “Would you, babygirl?” he whispers. “Show me your loyalty on your knees?”

  Babygirl.

  Oh, God. Oh, I like that. I like that a lot.

  I nod eagerly, “Yes, sir,” I say, but once again it doesn’t feel right. Something about this moment is off. I nearly shake my head, because the truth is, everything about this moment is off, everything except the palpable need and want and longing that’s growing between us.

  We are both using our circumstances as an excuse. I’m on my knees before him as his supposed “slave.” He’s got me in his grip as my supposed “master.”

  But neither of us are immune to the erotic pull between us.

  There’s more than role play here.

  But before we can take any steps to further this, before either of us does something we regret, he pushes his cock back in his pants and tugs his zipper up. I breathe out a sigh of relief even as my heart sinks.

  “I’ll tell you only once, Taara. Watch that smart mouth of yours or the next lesson you’ll get will be on your knees in front of all of them.”

  And I know he means it. This is no idle threat.

  But worse? I want that.

  Then we’re walking to the door, his face angry and impassive, my steps quick and hurried to keep up with him.

  What the hell just happened in there?

  We exit to the hallway, and I’m pleased to see we’re alone for a few moments. I need to get myself together before we reach the crowd. We don’t speak, though he doesn’t take his hands off of me, not for a moment. His large, rough hand holds mine to him protectively, tucking our folded hands by his side, as we walk toward the main meeting area. I don’t know what to expect when we reach the crowd, but I know that I have to stop fighting him. At least for now.

  Not only do I get a chance to prove my loyalty and thereby my innocence, but he mentioned something else as well. Something about Afghani refugees and my ability to help them. What wicked things do the owners of this ship do? And how can I really help? But it stands to reason that it’s in my best interest to observe and not cause any disturbance. I’m hoping all this will become clear soon.

  He doesn’t lead me to the main welcome area, though, but to another room. My steps instinctively slow when I see the darkened doorway ahead of us, and the crowd of people walking toward the doorway en masse. Couples with an obvious, decided power difference: the men fully clothed and in charge, the women submissive. The slaves.

  But something tells me this is no consensual arrangement. There’s an air of desperation that warns me this is not a little jaunt to a BDSM club, no consensual rendezvous among friends. These men are possessive but lethal, the women under their absolute control.

  A large portion of them have my dark skin and hair, and I could imagine them on the streets of my mother’s homeland, dressed in tunbaan and chadoors, the dresses and head scarves that serve as traditional Afghani wear, and it fuels my decision. I may find it near impossible to do

  as he says on principle. But I have a choice. I’m not merely a victim in this. If I play this right… I’m undercover, and my job with him has the potential of helping my people.

  This I can do.

  I think.

  Chapter 9

  Stefan

  I hate having her here, exposed in her too-short dress, but worse, in the presence of people I don’t trust. The majority of these men are part of the underground slave trade. The few that aren’t only function as paid staff. She knows very little of what is really going on. We’ve discussed some, but she doesn’t know how badly the infiltration permeates all of America.

  Sworn to secrecy, with iron-clad non-disclosure agreements, the staff here welcomes politicians, military, and every form of leadership in our country. They revel in lewd acts and debauchery, and if I’m honest, my brotherhood is no exception. Until my son Nicolai interfered, Tomas demanded payment to his Bratva in the form of a virgin bride from auction. He no longer does so and is happy they’ve cut off ties to the auction now that he knows the Thieves are behind the human trafficking in America, and the ties to the slavery ring among my brotherhood run deep.

  “Stefan.” I look up to see a tall, bearded man with his arm around a woman with vibrant violet hair. Her skin is black as night, her eyes exotic and beautiful.

  I nod. “Mikahl.” I know him to be a former brother in San Diego, and further know that Tomas’ dealings with the San Diego contingents eradicated corrupt leadership there. I’ve kept Atlanta neutral, loyal to neither San Diego nor Boston, and in the past year that decision has paid off.

  His eyes go to Taara before traveling back to me. He looks at me questioningly, but I don’t answer the implied question. Have I bought her at auction? The less I say, the easier it is to stay consistent with my story.

  “What brings you here?”

  I shrug. “Same reasons as anyone else. You?”

  “Same.”

  Taara grips my arm tighter when a couple engages in a scene to our right. I hold her close to me, watching myself, as the man ties the woman to a bench and lifts a stout leather strap from a peg on the wall. She flinches when the leather makes contact with the woman, then turns back to me. Her eyes look questioningly into mine.

  Would you?

  I nod. Yes. I have no qualms about such a scene if she gave me reason. Or hell, even if I just felt like I wanted to or needed to. Did she forget her caning?

  “Good to see you, brother,” Mikahl says, shaking my hand, before turning away and taking his woman further into the crowd. I’m not sure if I like that I know people here. I’d prefer anonymity. But Mikahl has already moved on, and I hope he forgets me. Though I’m not hiding the fact that I’m here, it’s best if I keep my own counsel. For now.

  “Oh, God.” Taara mutters beside me. I look to where she does, and see a woman tied to an exam table, spread-eagled and stark naked. Her eyes are wide, her mouth parted, and she makes a little squeaking noise.

  “Not your kink?” I ask her, my lips twitching. I can’t keep the humor out of my tone, because her reaction amuses me. She’s either horrified or turned on, and I can’t tell which until her nose crinkles in disgust. The brothers I know revel in the power exchange. Men like us enjoy the release it gives us to have a strong woman under our control. I like to dominate and master.

  “Um, no,” she says. “I honestly didn’t know that was anyone’s kink.”

  “Taara, this ship is a sex club on water. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Well I… yes, but I… oh, God.” She pinches the bridge of her nose as if she doesn’t know how to respond. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  Oh, she has no fucking idea. We’ve only scratched the very surface of what this world we’ve delved into holds. Our purpose here isn’t play, though.

  We watch couple after couple, electric play and impact play, chained slaves on hands and knees beside whip-wielding masters, a fours
ome bringing a woman to orgasm over and over again until her voice grows hoarse. Some is consensual and some clearly is not.

  And I’m curious. Every time we witness a new scene, I whisper in Taara’s ear. “That?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted in astonishment.

  Then a pretty blonde woman wearing a light pink dress walks in front of us. I know without asking them that this is not one purchased from the auction, but the partner of one of the members.

  “Oooh,” the woman says, and they’re close enough we both watch as he takes her hand in his and leads her to a nearby bench. “Daddy, this is something I’ve always wanted to try. Will you, daddy?”

  My chest tightens. How will Taara react?

  Taara’s eyes widen, and she looks up at me curiously.

  “Daddy?” she mouths. I give her a slight shake of my head with a finger to her lips to tell her to be quiet, when the man sits on the bench and draws his woman on his lap.

  “If you’re a good little girl for daddy,” he says, tucking her up against his chest.

  “That,” Taara whispers, but right after she does, she clamps her hand on her mouth as if she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

  I look at her in surprise, not sure at first what she’s talking about.

  “That what?”

  She jerks her chin toward the daddy and girl and her cheeks flame, but she doesn’t lose her resolve. “That.”

  And then it dawns on me.

  I’m decades Taara’s senior, the oldest member of the Atlanta brotherhood. And she’s known me for years. I don’t think I imagined her feelings for me, however distant they may be right now.