Vassily: Perfect Pain - a Bad Boy Mafia Dark Romance

by Alice May Ball

  With the back of his finger, he strokes my cheek. He lifts my chin. My lips part. I’m aching. The sweater feels harsh on my skin. I’m hot in the loose jeans.

  He looks into my eyes. Searching. His breath tastes sweet and dark at the same time. His body has the scent of exertion. The smell of heat. My breath catches. I want to take him. Take his face in my hands. Take a kiss from his mouth. I would, but I want even more for him to want it. I want to know. I want him to take me.

  And he will.

  I can see in his eyes that he will. He’s just making me wait. Or making sure. Or maybe he’s just playing with me. Inside, I’m starting to shake.

  He holds my head with his hand. I want to lean against it, like a cat. but I wait. I can play that game, too.

  His eyes and mine are locked in a grip. He touches my lip. When his hand slides around my waist and he pulls me to him, I’m ready. I was impatient, thinking he was taking too long, but he was right. I’m so ready. He leans down as he pulls me to him. And I’ve never been so ready in all my life.

  His voice, deep and strong, shakes me. “I was worried I was going to lose you.”

  My words are like a whisper, “But you came after me,” and his arms wrap around me.

  “I couldn’t lose you,” and his lips take mine. His heartbeat bangs against my chest and the strength of his body sets me alight. His arms pull me tight against his hard ridges. I come to life as our breath combines, like an animal inside me has been set free. My arms wrap around him and I run my hands over his neck, his back, and his ribs. Rolling, his hips rock and sway. My pelvis drags me up along the rigid length of the pulsing in his pants.

  Our mouths are fastened together. My arms wrap around him and the swell of his chest releases cascades of fluttering tingles in my stomach. My thighs clamp around the top of his leg. I’m gripping him, hard. His massive thigh muscle takes my breath away as it clenches. Moans vibrate in my chest as we clamor at each other. Dragging my fingernails down the front of his shirt, my hips flex and grind on his leg.

  His strong hand presses the small of my back. I hook my leg around his back. He pulls his face back. Only far enough to whisper, “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”

  My mouth clamps back on his. My other foot leaves the floor and my ankles lock behind his back. As we kiss, I’m nodding. Urgently I claw at him. I tug on his shirt. I want his skin. I want to taste him. My mound rides his hard bone, bruising my lips against him through the fabric.

  He says, “If you’re sure,” and he carries me to a thick, white rug.

  His voice sets off fireworks in my thighs and melts my knees. “I was worried about you,” he says as he slides my sweater off. His eyes gleam. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  His strong hands caress my stomach and his head bows as his lips kiss greedily on my neck, under my ear, down my throat to my breasts.

  “God, Vassily, fuck me. Will you?”

  He looks up. He’s like a savage, caught ripping into a stolen steak. His hands are pulling my jeans open. “Oh, yes.” and he scoops my breasts out of the black bra as his other hand slips into the opening in the front of my panties. The tender strength of his fingers makes me quake and shake as the tips stroke along my swollen wet lips.

  Expertly, like a surgeon, his fingers find the base of my clit. It’s like he knows me better than I know myself. With only a few neat, delving strokes he has me wet and legless. He parts me and slips off my jeans.

  I tug his shirt free and use it to pull him to me. “I need a kiss.”

  “Try this one.” My stomach flips and wheels as he kisses me. At the same time, his fingers find and work all of my folds. I can smell myself as he raises a hand to unhook and discard my bra. I take his hand in mine. Lift it. Breathe in the scent and the taste. He waits, smiling.

  My panties slide like a soft breeze over my tightening ass and down my shuddering thighs. And he has me naked. Plunging my lips into his open shirt and onto his bare chest, my lips trace over the contours of his hard pecs, following the lines of his tattoos. Inked insignias. I know some of these are the marks of Russian gangs. I even know which gangs one or two of them are. Others are from prison. But the huge snake that stretches from his navel almost to his shoulder, that’s his. I want to know about it. But not now.

  His hands take my naked skin and he lays me in the pile of the deep rug.

  He slips off his coat and then the shirt, folding them neatly in a single move as they drop onto the couch.

  ~~

  He pulls my thighs open then he strokes my stomach. His hands slide under my ass. He cups it and holds it. His eyes gleam as he lifts my pelvis. Seeing him kneel between my thighs, a swell of emotion washes over me. Pours through me. From my core, raised in his strong hands, the spills of sensation run to my chest and down my thighs. The ache makes my hips twitch. His huge erection pokes like a steeple in front of my mound. Angry on the underside, it vibrates. The sight of it makes me tremble. My teeth pull at the inside of my lip.

  The heat of the underside is so close. It warms the tops of both of my thighs. My opening aches and weeps for it. My nipples harden and sting.

  His evil grin as he watches me writhe and squirm makes the feelings inside me heat up and crackle. I’m helpless as he pulls me wider. His hands grip me. He works his thumbs in the crease under my ass, pulling at the flesh around my weeping lips.

  My thighs shake, and I moan, wriggling with impatience. He leans down. Puts his hand on the back of my neck. Pulls me toward him as he leans over me. He looks in my eyes as he kisses me. Fully. Softly. Firmly.

  And the sardonic grin falls away. Now we’re connected. He says, “I have protection.”

  I bite my lip as I shake my head.

  “Are you sure?”

  My voice almost cracks. “Can I trust you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then you’re all the protection I need.”

  His kiss is sudden and passionate. Our tongues dance. His bare chest presses on mine and the hard ridges of his abs thrill my quaking stomach. His hard pelvis slides against mine as I grip his hips with the insides of my thighs. My legs fall open as the hard, slick nose of his massive cock slides between my wet lips.

  He moves up. Fills my opening. My legs tremble and shudder. In my shaking chest, my breath patters and heaves. I fling my arms around him. Pull him tight. Tipping my pelvis, I try to draw him in.

  He says, “Shall I be gentle?”

  I can’t speak. I look in his eye as shake my head, No! Please, No!

  As he breaks me open and plunges the length of his fat, hard cock deep inside me, it stretches every part of me. For a moment the pain is sharp, but it’s gone. Too soon. I feel like crying for it. I know I’ll never feel it again. He kisses me and strokes his fingers through my hair as he pierces me, reaming me wide with his shaft. I cry out. My long moan startles me. The size of him inside me shocks me more.

  He rocks and hammers into me. Looking for his rhythm, I roll my spine to meet him. To pull him deeper. Higher.

  His hard, gleaming eyes are on mine. Our breath is like the panting of a single creature. A wild and savage beast, clawing and raging for food. Or an even deeper need.

  I never felt the electric thrill of a man, another human, so deep inside me. All of my muscles and sinews tighten and flex. Rising waves of tingles and buzzes lash through my core from the grip of my walls on his cock as it drills and pummels me.

  My hands claw down his back and my thighs clamp around his waist. Vassily’s hips drive him deeper. Gasping I grab in his hair. My toes curl and a cry rips out of my throat. I shout his name and he speeds up.

  Soaring, spinning in desperate ecstasy, I cling to him and bang on his shoulders. His hands hold and caress me. Tender, caring touches, explore and support me while his rod cannons through me. I’m brimming, unable to holds on. Teetering on a high ledge. then like a spinning fall, but falling up, I lose all my senses in a screaming cascade of shattering explosions. Strings of intense bur
sting splashes detonate inside me, one after another.

  I hear my name. It’s Vassily, growling like a bear in my ear. I lost count of how many times I went over. I’m wrapped around him so tight, bound to him and on him while he drills me and fills me. I’m shouting so loud, I lost track of how high I am.

  He holds my face in his hands and his eyes are ablaze. He plays me like an orchestra, up, down, crescendo, climax. He conducts me, helpless on his cock as his beat drives me on. He spears me from one gush of sensation to the next, merciless. An expert killer.

  I’m water, rippling and sloshing. I’m a ragdoll. He holds me, kisses me, hugs me and soothes me. His lips flutter on my face and my neck. His voice breathes my name in my ear. He cradles me.

  I’m filled and spent. He rocks me. The enfolding warmth of his voice is the last thing I hear as I’m drifting off to sleep.

  “I’ll protect you.” I feel something for him. A thing I can’t name. Something that fills me. And I fear it.

  he sleeps like a kitten. I carry her into a bedroom and I put her into the bed. I want to climb in and sleep by her side. Wrapped around her. But I can’t. Not yet. I need to process some of what’s happened. I’ll find a cold beer or a bottle of bourbon. Sit on the deck and watch the ocean.

  Then I find that I really don’t want to leave her. So, I carry her, draped in the comforter. I won’t take her outside. The sounds or the breeze might wake her. I lay her gently on the soft couch that faces the window. As her nose wrinkles, I feel a pang.

  I find a bottle and pull on my pants. I always liked to think I would be the kind of a guy who would sit around naked. But I’m not. With a glass and a bottle of Woodford Reserve, I turn down the lights before I unshade the windows.

  Now I can sit with her head in my lap and a whiskey, and watch the moonlit breakers under the blue velvet sky. Reflections of the moonlight shimmer and drift on the waves. A red and a green light slowly bob about halfway out to the horizon.

  Something has changed. I feel different. Not just from the adrenaline storms and the chaos of the day. There has been a shift inside me. I have no idea what it means but it feels as if I have shed a skin, emerged from a phase. Stepped up.

  Stroking her hair, I’m careful not to disturb her but I’m aware of a pang, an ache that’s rising. I may wake her in a moment.

  The little red and green lights go out.

  That’s not a fishing boat.

  As I stiffen, she awakes immediately. “What is it?” There’s no trace of drowsiness in her voice.

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  She sits up. “You want to protect me, boy soldier. I love that.” She kisses me. Then she reaches for her sweater and jeans. “But I want to protect you, too.“ In that moment, I know what it is that’s changed inside of me. Her eyes gleam. She looks out at the sea. Then she says, “Now. Tell me.”

  ~~

  I couldn’t persuade Katya to hide in the basement. I didn’t waste too long trying. We wait outside at the back of the house. Me on one side, Katya on the other.

  I’m at the side nearest the sliding door. Gas bottles for the barbecue give me cover. I have a nine-millimeter out, safety off. A tiny Beretta in my pocket.

  Katya is too far away for my liking. I know she’s crouched by the opposite corner of the house. She’s under the boardwalk but it grinds me up that I can’t see her.

  Over the steady rush of the waves is the quiet scrape of the inflatable boat beaching. Two men jump out and their splashes are almost inaudible. They are trained and experienced. Their helmets and visors look like night-sights.

  I hope that Katya got behind something solid or they’ll spot her heat signature. I can’t see her. The third man waits in the boat as they drag it up the beach by a few lengths. He is short, stocky and bald. Kursk.

  They move with coordination. A beetle on each side, Kursk front and center. Keeping low, moving almost silently, they aim pistols outward. Where they’re sighting and pointing their guns tells me what they’re seeing.

  My plan is to wait until the three of them are inside the house. That way they’re contained. I can approach them from behind. Most important, they’ll be out of sight and range of Katya.

  It’s hard to see them. I sight along the gun and point it forward, but I have to stay behind the gas bottles. They’re dense enough to hide me from an infra-red night-sight. But it’s a high-risk hiding place. The bottles are very explosive.

  As they move, synchronized as a unit, the two on the outside aim together at a spot on the far side. I have to hold down the impulse to shoot. If I make a move too soon, I’ll be fucked. And then they’ll get Katya for sure. They switch their aim. They haven’t spotted her. Now all three of them point right at me.

  Only for a moment. They move to the door in classic formation. One beetle goes into the house. Kursk follows him while the other stays out, pointing his gun outward.

  Then he slips in. I’m too jangled. But it has to be now. I’ve thought this through. I have a plan and I need to control my reactions and reflexes.

  I vault onto the deck. Move to the doorway. Reach the lighting control. It means I have to use the gun in my left. I’m glad of all the practice I’ve put in, shooting with both hands.

  I turn all of the lights inside the house up to full. The dazzling light will blind all three of the intruders. Kursk doesn’t have night-sights. He will recover fastest. I’ve memorized the positions in the room of all three men. I shoot Kursk first. As my vision is recovering, I see he’s down.

  I shoot the beetle in the middle of the room. He crumples. I turn for the third man. His visor and helmet are on the floor. As I turn, I dive to the ground and roll. He’s slipped behind me. He’s between me and the door now. I shoot but he’s moving. He fires. A burn like hot bar wire rips along my calf. I roll behind the couch and come up. Aiming. He’s moved. I keep moving along the back of the couch as I’m looking for him.

  He’s crouched by a chair. My leg hurts as I rise to stand. Carefully, deliberately, I put two shots through the chair. Nothing moves. I fire one more. There’s a groan. I stand and put another two shots in the same place. He rolls slowly out the other side. I fire three more rounds into him.

  The sting in my calf is distracting as I run across the room to where Kursk fell. It was by the door to the downstairs bedroom. He’s not there. The door is open. I have one shot left in the magazine. I take out the Beretta and put two rounds into the room, one left, one right, and I slip low to the other side of the door. Then I realize.

  He’s not in there. He opened the door to sucker me. I look around fast. I hold the gun out with my arms extended. Sweeping. Either he went up the stairs or he took cover in the kitchen area.

  Looking around, moving the gun quickly – stairs, kitchen, stairs, kitchen — I back away across the room. Trying to think it through. I work it out, but a fraction of a second too late.

  I’m turning as he jumps from behind the couch. It’s all in slow motion as he swings the huge knife down in an arc. It’s aimed at the side of my neck. All I have time to do is to roll. I swing my shoulder into his stomach.

  He goes over the top of me. I land awkwardly on the couch. He’s dropped the knife. I have the gun on him. With both hands, he swings at my wrist. I lose the gun. He holds out my arm as his other hand goes for my throat. He’s on top of me.

  He drops on my chest and knocks out my wind. Cracked one or two ribs. My ass is on the couch. My head and shoulders are on the floor. Both his hands are on my throat. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Vision fades like dropping backward into a tunnel. Falling down a well. His hands jerk. His weight rolls off me. He tumbles to the floor. A big kitchen knife sticks out between his shoulder blades.