Darker Than Love

by Charmaine Pauls

  His voice is commanding. “Not a sound.”

  Yes, I’ll swallow them for him. Anything to have his mouth on me.

  This time, he doesn’t watch my face. All his attention is focused between my legs. My face heats as he opens me with two fingers, exposing my clit.

  “Such a pretty little flower.”

  My cheeks grow even hotter at his sweet, roughly murmured words. No one has ever been sweet with me.

  At the first sweep of his tongue, I forget everything. I forget why I’m here and that I’m not going anywhere. I give up on the control I always fight for so hard. I simply feel. And it’s amazing. He bites down softly on my clit while flicking his tongue over the engorged flesh. My toes curl from the pleasure when he dips his tongue inside, fucking me with shallow strokes. I cling to his shoulders and whisper his name, not daring to scream it. When he sucks hard on my clit, sparks sizzle in my lower body, and another orgasm starts to build. It’s not going to be slow-detonating like the first one. This one is going to wreck me. My legs start to shake.

  His fingers tighten on my waist, and he holds me up when the pleasure explodes, eating me out throughout my climax as I bite down on my lip to keep in the sounds. I’m both depleted and strangely energized when he finally lets me go. Folding my arms around his neck to keep my balance, I sit back on my heels and watch, transfixed, as he frees his cock. He’s as big as I remember. The skin is smooth like velvet and embossed with masculine veins. Tracing a finger along the slit, I catch a drop of pre-cum. His cock twitches.

  He watches me, waiting.

  He’s giving me a choice. I take it gladly, climbing from the chair and kneeling between his legs. I fold my hand around him and angle the shaft toward my lips. When I lick the head, he hisses. I like the sound. I like knowing I have power, too. I want more.

  A gruff sound of pleasure tears from his chest as I close my lips around his cock. I can’t take all of him—he’s too big—but I trace his length and girth until I’ve covered every inch with my tongue. His hands rest in my hair, guiding my tempo as I fold my lips over the thick head and take him as deep as I can.

  “Enough,” he finally grits out, forcing me back to take a condom from the front pocket of his pants.

  He tears the packet open with his teeth and makes quick work of fitting the condom, then helps me to my feet. Turning me to face away from him, he pulls me into his lap. I tense a little, remembering how hard it was to take him.

  He kisses my neck. “Just relax.”

  Whispering encouraging words in my ear, he lifts me higher and positions his cock at my entrance. Slowly, he starts lowering me. I grip the armrests for support. Even wet and with my muscles supple from two orgasms, I still battle to take his size. He’s patient, working himself deeper little by little.

  It feels like forever until he’s fully seated. It burns, but I embrace it. The discomfort rekindles the fire, making my need climb again.

  He presses a question against my ear. “Still good?”

  “Mm-mm.” I barely manage a nod.

  He takes me with shallow strokes until I’ve adjusted enough to take more. Then he shoves a little harder, making me whimper.

  Oh, God. I’m going to come again.

  His movements turn more urgent. I try to match his pace, bearing down when he slams up, but he curls an arm around my waist and holds me still. The rhythm becomes demanding. I hold on to his arm, my nails digging into his skin as I swallow a scream. Just as I’m about to float away from reality again, a hard voice calls through the door.

  “Open up, Yan. Peter wants to see her work.”

  Ilya.

  “Fuck,” Yan mumbles, not breaking his pace.

  “Mina?” Ilya says. “Are you all right?”

  “We’re not done,” Yan calls back, the irritation evident in his voice.

  My cheeks flame. Ilya must know what we’re doing. I try to push away, but Yan holds me tighter.

  “Ignore him.” He gently bites the skin where my neck and shoulder meet. “Finish with me.”

  “Open the fucking door, Yan.”

  “Go the fuck away, Ilya.”

  “Fuck you.”

  It’s impossible. The moment is gone. “Yan.”

  He uses his free hand to rub my clit. “Just one more time.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You will.”

  He gets rougher, moving faster and pivoting his hips harder until I’m at the limits of what I can take. Despite my self-consciousness, the need Yan creates continues to climb. It rises inside me like a tide, until I’m trapped in the foaming waves of a violent ocean, and the drumming of my heart in my ears washes out the persistent tapping on the door.

  My pleasure explodes. I let out a raw sound. Yan goes rigid. His cock grows thicker inside me, and then his whole body jerks.

  “Mater’ Bozh’ya,” he grunts.

  We come together. In a dirty shed with witnesses outside, I find release in the arms of my soon-to-be killer. I don’t reflect on how ironic that is. I barely have time to find my breath before Yan pulls out, leaving me strangely empty and cold. Lifting me to my feet, he tests my balance before letting go. In an instant, he’s gone from hot to cold, his face a stoic mask as he removes the condom and discards it in the bin.

  “Yan,” Ilya calls from outside, “I’ll break down this door. I’m not joking, motherfucker.”

  Yan calmly adjusts his clothes, looking at me with stony eyes. “Cover yourself up.”

  I glance down at the open shirt. There are smudges of foundation over the front. Yan’s collar carries the same marks. My hands tremble as I fasten the buttons. Yan waits until I’ve finished, then trails his gaze over me. He frowns. Bending down, he brushes the dirt from my knees. I stand there like a puppet, for the first time in my life uncertain how to act.

  When he straightens, there’s ice in his tone. It’s as if the heat we’ve created not seconds ago has frozen over. “Time to get back to work.”

  He walks to the door, takes the key from his pocket, and unlocks it.

  Ilya all but falls through it. The bulkier of the twins looks between Yan and me, and back at Yan. Accusation burns in his eyes. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Nothing,” Yan says with much irritation. He locks the door and comes back to the chair, lowering his big frame without a hint of emotion. “You heard me, princess. Show us what you’re worth.”

  I glance at Ilya, who stands there with balled fists and flaring nostrils.

  “Don’t mind him,” Yan says. “Now, where were we?”

  Yes, where were we? I was about to demonstrate my guilt with the swipe of a makeup brush.

  “I go first,” Ilya says with an obstinate lift of his chin.

  Yan fixes him with a look. “You go nowhere.”

  “What’s your fucking problem?”

  “Now’s a good time to shut up.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  I clear my throat. “Cut it out, you two.”

  “You,” Yan says flatly, “don’t get to tell us what to do.”

  Fine. Let them tear into each other. What do I care? A small voice says I do, but it’s a silly notion. Nothing I care about matters now, anyway.

  With a brooding Ilya watching, I get to work. I use the skills Gergo taught me, transforming Yan into a different man. When I’m done, I step back to evaluate the result.

  “Fuck,” Ilya says behind me.

  Yan’s instruction is harsh. “Give me a mirror.”

  I hand him the one from the makeup case.

  If it was possible for the glittery gemstone color of his eyes to turn dull, they would’ve. “Well,” he says, turning his face from side to side, “at least this is one thing you didn’t lie about.”

  There can be no bigger lie between us. How’s that for irony?

  “We better go tell Peter,” Ilya says in a surly tone.

  “Yes.” Yan gets to his feet, retrieving his phone from the ben
ch. “We better.”

  “Yan.” I take his arm. “I’m sorry it’s like this.”

  He shakes off my touch. “I’m sure you are.” He brings his face close to mine. “You’re going to be much sorrier before this is over.”

  With those prophetic words, he steers me back to the bench, makes me lie down, and ties my arms to a hook on the wall above my head. Then he and his brother leave, this time flicking off the light when they go.

  Darkness prevails.

  In some lone corner, a cricket chirps out of tune.

  12

  Yan

  All I want is to get rid of the disguise. It goes deeper than washing the makeup from my face. I want to scrub the proof of Mina’s betrayal from my skin.

  I’m walking back from the main house to our sleeping quarters after showing Sokolov Mina’s work when Ilya catches up with me.

  He cuts me off. “Give me the key to the shed.”

  I laugh.

  His face turns red. “Who appointed you as her jail keeper?”

  “She chose me.” I stab a thumb at my chest.

  “You didn’t give her a choice.”

  Like hell. “She made the decision.”

  Maybe not for the right reason. Maybe she only fucked me that night in Budapest to distract me from killing her or to win time so she could escape later, but she chose me. It’s my hand she took. It’s me she followed to the bedroom.

  Still, a nasty kernel of doubt sprouts in my mind. If Ilya had been sitting next to her on the couch and I’d been the one making the sandwich, would she have gone with Ilya? But no. She had her chance when I was making the princess her tea.

  “She’ll want me,” Ilya says. “Give me the key and I’ll prove it.”

  “Sorry, brother.” I move around him and say over my shoulder, “Not this time.”

  He runs to keep up with my long strides. “Why do only you get to have her? Why can’t we share?”

  I see bright fucking red. “It’s me she fucked over. The revenge is mine.”

  “I was there.”

  I chuckle. “You made the sandwich.” When it comes to revenge, a fuck weighs a lot more than a wasted sandwich.

  He grabs hold of my arm, stopping me. “Sokolov is going to kill her. You know that, right?”

  I pull free. “What do you take me for? An idiot?”

  “Is that what this is about?” He lowers his voice and glances at the sky, probably scanning the air for nosy drones. “You want to be the one to swing the blade?”

  “That’s exactly it,” I grit out.

  He scoffs. “You think that’s your right?”

  He better believe it. “Everything concerning that little traitor is my right.”

  “Explain to me how one fuck makes her your property.”

  I put my face in his. “Why? Because you want to fuck her before I kill her?”

  His features tighten. “You’re overreacting. It’s her job. Anyone would’ve done the same. Put yourself in her shoes. You fuck her once, by random coincidence, and by frightening the hell out of her. Then someone comes along—say, Sokolov—and shows you a picture of Mina. He offers you money to disguise another woman to look like her. It’s how you make your living, so you do it. Would you have asked questions? Would you have wanted to know why he needed to make another woman look like Mina?”

  Yes. I would’ve asked questions. And no, I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have set up the woman I’d had in my bed only once but have craved every day after. Maybe that’s what makes my anger blaze so hot.

  “Don’t justify her behavior,” I say. “What’s done is done.”

  He changes tactics, going for a softer tone. “Let me take her some food, maybe some wine. Let me at least make it better for her.”

  I grin. “So you can break her free, or force your advances?”

  Just like that, his anger is back. “It won’t be forced.”

  “I’m tired of giving you the same answer. I’m telling you one last time. No.”

  “You’re a bastard,” he yells after me as I continue on the path. “She doesn’t deserve this and you know it.”

  The first part? True. The second? False.

  She deserves everything she’s going to get.

  I leave my brother standing in the jungle like the idiot he is, and continue to our room, where I rip off the eyebrows and beard before having a shower. Then I change and go to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. I fix a sandwich and swallow it down with a beer, then make another and grab a bottle of water.

  It’s late, and the guards who changed shifts have gone to bed. I sneak out quietly—not because I care who knows where I’m going, but to avoid Ilya—and make my way to the shed. I acknowledge the guards with a nod, unlock the door, and make sure I lock it again behind me.

  She’s awake. I don’t need the light to know that. I can hear it from her uneven breathing. Moonlight enters through the cracks in the walls. The strips of light fall over her body, illuminating her in patches. A swatch of her pretty face, the swell of her breast, her flat stomach, a naked thigh, a delicate ankle. It’s different, looking at her like this. Subtle hints. I can focus on small portions of her, one at a time.

  Leaving the light off, I advance on her. She goes rigid. Every visit from me brings the opportunity of death. I know it. She knows it. And I know what the knowledge does to a person. Even frail and small like a kitten, tied up and helpless, she doesn’t panic when her enemy looms over her. Oh, she’s scared. Terrified. But brave. I admire her courage. In fact, I admire it too much. It makes me hate her more, but it doesn’t make me want her less.

  My cock jumps to life at the notion. I can have her like this, spread out like a sacrifice.

  I put the food and water on the ground, and trail a hand over her leg. Her skin is soft. She watches me as I grip the hem of her shirt and drag it higher with the path of my fingers. I trail my fingertips over her thigh, ribs, and the side of her breast, exposing her slowly until she lies naked in front of me with shards of light falling diagonally over her pearly skin. The light catches one pink nipple that rises and falls with her breaths. The patch between her legs is in the dark.

  Lightly, I slide my knuckles down the valley between her plump breasts. Despite the heat, her nipples harden. Her stomach flutters under my touch, and she gasps softly when I reach her sex. I keep the exploration light as I run the back of my fingers over her folds to where the curves of her ass press on the bench. Gently, I cup her pussy. She’s damp and warm, and I nearly groan as her slickness coats my palm.

  She wants me.

  Staring down at her face, I curl my middle finger and sink it into her heat. She’s tight. Perfect. Her lips part with a soft sigh, and her back arches. She’s showing me pleasure, but Ilya’s words harp at the back of my mind.

  You didn’t give her a choice.

  “You want this, Mina?” Her name is delicious, a soft sound on my tongue, a forbidden word I swore I wouldn’t utter again. But it’s a word made just for me. How can I not swallow it like honey?

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  I give her a slow smile. “No.”

  She whimpers when I withdraw my hand and leave a wet trail on her inner leg. I don’t need a reason for taking off my clothes, for getting hard for her, either. I take my time folding my pants and shirt, and placing everything neatly on the chair. I want to drag this out, but I already know I’m not going to last.

  When I stop naked next to her, she swallows. There’s always this bit of nervousness in her eyes before I take her, as if every time is the first, every time new. I take a few moments to study her. The more I look, the more her unconventional beauty seeps under my skin. From the moment I noticed the femininity hidden under layers of baggy clothes, I wanted her. I wanted to see and feel every inch of her. Getting her naked once didn’t appease that desire. It only whetted my appetite. Her prettiness hits me harder each time I
remove her clothes.

  I trail my gaze over her short length. She’s so small and light, her body merely the narrow width of the bench. I could easily crush her with my bigger frame.

  So breakable. So utterly at my mercy.

  With no mattress to absorb my weight, I straddle the bench and pull her thighs over mine. In this position, I have the full advantage of the view, and I intend to make the most of it. I push her thighs wider and tilt my hips to find the right angle. When my cock nudges her entrance, she stiffens. I always hurt her a little. I can feel it from the way she tenses, but she doesn’t tell me to stop, and I can’t make myself.

  I part her pussy lips with just the head of my cock, then pause, giving her time to adjust. Those delicate pink lips are like the petals of a flower. They stretch wide around me, straining to take it all. I sink in another inch while she breathes heavily through her nose and strains in the ropes binding her arms. Open like this, her clit is a pretty treasure for the taking. I press my thumb on the little nub, massaging lightly to help ease my way into her body.

  Slowly, I work into her, pressing deeper when her inner muscles give until I’m fully lodged. It’s not easy to be patient. The urge to break loose and hammer into her is a powerful temptation, a painful need, but I focus on Mina’s body and what she can take until her tight grip on my cock relaxes marginally. Only then do I start moving.

  She moans when I do, and the sound spurs me on. I clench my teeth with the strain of holding back as sweat beads over my forehead. The power she holds over me is frightening. As with the time before, and our night in Budapest, I’m about to lose myself in her, forgetting everything for the few blissful moments while we’re physically connected. It’s not something I’ve experienced before or something I pause to examine, because violent pleasure is overtaking every cell in my body.

  With the speed the climax is building, I’m going to erupt soon. I double my assault, rolling her clit under my thumb. The effort earns me a loud whimper. I lean over and seal her lips with mine to muffle the sound, mimicking the pace of my cock with my tongue, taking her in every way I can.