Sovietnik's Fury

by V. F. Mason

  The idea that she got so fucking wet while sucking my dick was heady.

  Sliding my hands under her round, perfect ass, I brought her folds closer to me and delved deep, making memories of every swipe of my tongue and lips. I bit her clit hard enough for her to feel the sting. She gasped but then moaned as I soothed it with my lips. Sucking on it, I wanted to bask in everything that made her a woman.

  Devouring her was my only goal in that moment.

  “Radmir, I hurt,” she whimpered. I raised my eyes, and fuck, the sight of her pinching her nipples stopped me in my tracks as she arched her head from the bed.

  “I’ll make it better,” I promised, taking a lengthy lick of her slit, then focused on her clit and stretched her with my fingers to get her ready for my cock.

  So fucking tight for me, my woman.

  “Now, do it now. Don’t want to come without you either.” Although all I wanted was to feel her squeeze my tongue and pull my hair wildly while she came from my mouth, I understood her desire to reconnect, even if she didn't know it was that.

  We needed our brand of connection.

  I rose, leaving small kisses on her stomach, her breasts, her collarbone, and finally reaching her mouth, we kissed, sharing each other’s taste. She eagerly responded, hugging me closer. I positioned myself at her entrance, rubbing my dick up and down, and then finally I rocked inside as we both groaned.

  Fuck, her tight heat around my bare cock threatened to finish me before we even started. I didn't move as we rested with our foreheads touching, breathing each other in as my girth stretched her. She widened her hips more to give me better access.

  I pulled back and then drove deeper, clenching her ass in my hands, keeping it in place as she thrashed on the bed.

  The sight of us joined together, along with her moans and whimpers every time I rocked inside her, threatened to undo me. Droplets of sweat covered her collarbone, and I couldn't resist licking it off and then shifting to her breasts, biting her nipples and then covering them with my hot mouth, suckling gently.

  Her nails scratched my back, her heels dug into my ass, and then I felt how she clenched around me, melting into me until she came hard. Her shout would have awakened the dead, but I covered it with my palm, because we had a kid inside the apartment. While muffling her scream, she bit me hard, drawing blood, and fuck, if it didn’t undo me.

  I rocked deep, then deeper until I had no idea where she began and I ended. She tore my orgasm from me as I exploded hard inside her, roaring into her neck, my hips still flexing forward and back.

  Completely spent, I lay on top of her, loving her soft curves under me, but when I rolled over onto my back, she didn't join me. She breathed heavily, gazing at the ceiling, and then to my surprise, she straddled me.

  “Again.” Her eyes wide, mouth swollen, it was as if the goddess of love graced me with her presence, and how could I have said no to that?

  The rest of the night, nothing but she and I existed in the world.

  I didn't really know what I expected to see when he mentioned the Bratva “headquarters,” but it sure as hell wasn't a mansion from some kind of thriller.

  The huge structure was wide and looked to be divided into different sections. Constructed of brown brick, it probably could withstand fire and tornadoes. Several windows had balconies, and the whole thing was surrounded by the forest in the middle of fucking nowhere. Metal bars with cameras were placed around the property, so no one could enter without notice—or escape, for that matter. Although the mansion had an expensive design, it was also shrouded in hopelessness and depression. The green grass had no flowers, fountains, or shrubbery. Just concrete paths for long walks and a huge parking area for multiple cars and motorcycles.

  Why would all these men live together? Were they some organization instead? This place was like only thirty minutes away from the airport. It could be they had trained together, right?

  Or you are too stupid to live.

  The thought was annoying, but really, what the hell was I doing?

  “What’s Bratva?” I finally found my voice, as Radmir drove smoothly through the gate in his black Mercedes Gelenvagen, which reminded me of a tank. It was probably even bulletproof, since the doors were massive and I couldn't open them myself, not that Radmir let me. The rest of his people rode in two separate side-by-side Jeeps behind us, like security or something straight from the movies.

  Radmir’s hands tightened on the steering wheel till his knuckles became white. Soon, he smoothly stopped the car, got out of it, still silent, and opened the door for me, giving me a hand to hop down, which wasn't easy in the brown pencil skirt, stilettos, and white camisole shirt. Dominic and Yuri gazed at Radmir expectantly, and he moved his head in the direction of the mansion. With a nod, all the men carried heavy bags inside, leaving us alone on this weird-as-hell street.

  A little fear rushed through me, because I was trapped between the car and the handsome stranger who rested his arm above me while our eyes held one another’s.

  “The Bratva is a brotherhood in Russia. Organized crime.”

  Blinking a few times, I tried to process this information. I repeated faintly, “Organized crime.”

  “Yes.” Did he think his words required no further explanation?

  Wait a minute.

  Bratva.

  Crime Organization.

  A memory of a Russian TV series my father used to watch a few years ago flashed through my mind. What was it called? Brigada. The men there used to be best friends until they had no choice but to form a brotherhood of guns and death and blood.

  Oh my God!

  As in the freaking mafia? I stepped back only to be reminded about my trap, and when I pushed his chest away, he didn't even budge, standing there as hard as a brick wall. “Let me go. I’m so stupid.” I hit his chest a few times, all the while wondering how the hell I would get out of this mess, considering there was not a living soul in the distance who could help me. He cursed in Russian and grabbed my hands, pulling them apart until our chests brushed against each other.

  “You are safe,” he said huskily, and I laughed although it lacked any humor.

  “You are a criminal!” They all must have thought I was stupid with my comments. Maybe my father was right after all. I didn't know my own mind and had no clue how to survive in this world if I foolishly followed him here.

  And based on what? Just a stupid spark that ran between us.

  “Yes,” he answered, and I opened my mouth to say something hurtful when it dawned on me; he wasn't even apologetic or trying to hide the fact.

  “And you are proud of that or something?”

  As he pushed me harder against the car, I felt his every muscle as we both breathed heavily. Self-disgust laced his voice as he replied, “Proud? No, moya krasivoglazaya, I’m not proud. But I’m not going to stand here and be ashamed of my upbringing in a life you don’t understand. It doesn't matter.”

  “Doesn’t matter?” I repeated like a damn parrot.

  “It doesn't change what’s going on between you and me.”

  My cheeks heated at his assumption. “It changes everything. I’m a stupid girl who followed a mafia member into his headquarters. I didn't even think.”

  “No, you are a woman who is tired of living by her daddy’s rules, and I fit the profile.”

  Did he even listen to himself?

  “So are you supposed to be my bad-boy fantasy?” He chuckled, biting my chin, igniting my desire again. Apparently, my body and heart didn't want to hear common sense. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not a virgin.” While I wasn't a wild child, I did have three serious boyfriends in my twenty-three years.

  Although none of them could even hold a candle to him, or the emotions he evoked in me.

  Something unrecognizable flashed in his eyes as he gripped my hair in one hand as the other one wrapped possessively around my exposed neck, as if he wanted to choke me, but the touch was gentle. “Do not talk about othe
r men and you ever again.” He sucked on my lower lip, earning a moan from me.

  “This is insane.”

  “Maybe.” He shifted lower, nipping my chin. “Do you refuse to see where it leads?”

  The answer was simple.

  No.

  Radmir

  The bright sunlight streamed through the window, waking me up, and for a second I looked around, disoriented with my surroundings. Immediately, my hand slid under the pillow for my gun.

  The silky, soft slender leg hitched over my thigh stopped me, reminding me that I was in my woman’s bed in her house in the United States and not in some hostile environment. Instantly, my body relaxed as Vivian buried her face deeper between my neck and shoulder as she mumbled incoherently. I rubbed her back in soothing motions up and down, not wanting her to wake up. After a night of lovemaking, she needed her rest. Closing my eyes, I pressed my cheek against her hair and inhaled her vanilla smell that I would forever associate only with her. It calmed the turmoil in my heart, and I prayed to God she would find a way to forgive me. She might have succumbed to her desire for me, but the hurt was still strong, and it was my job to fix it.

  The last six years in prison made me a light sleeper, and we had to wake up early, so I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, even though being in bed with my woman was heaven on earth.

  Sliding my hand and myself from under her carefully, I left her in bed and covered her with a sheet. Her chest rose and fell peacefully, even though she groaned. I almost laughed out loud at this. In the past, she tended to like sleeping on me more, so it didn't surprise me.

  Taking a quick shower in her bathroom, I pulled on my jeans and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. I needed to take care of Bratva business. Several new contracts came in last week, and I had to legally approve them before they could produce a profit. Also, we had some new members from a rival gang joining us soon; the pakhan would need my help.

  However, all thoughts about work escaped my mind as I noticed my son wearing huge white headphones as he watched Mickey Mouse cartoons and munched on an apple. He still wore his Spiderman pajamas and kept pushing his hair from his forehead. My kid was fucking cute, but we’d need a haircut soon. His hair was a bit too long for his age, and I didn't like that he was facing any kind of discomfort.

  Walking to him, I called softly, “Jake.” Since he didn't hear me, I touched him gently, and he raised his surprised eyes to me. He grinned, displaying his missing two front teeth, then turned off the TV. He hung the headphones around his neck as he said in a rather loud whisper, “Daddy,” and jumped into my arms. I caught him in time, although he took me off guard with his easy acceptance of everything. He squeezed me tight, and I did the same, relishing the feeling of knowing my son and that I wasn't a stranger to him. Vivian, my Vivian, was a remarkable woman who kept me present in their little family of two. I wasn't sure I would have survived if he considered another man a father; it would have killed me. She did all she could to protect me and our child, but it wasn't her job anymore.

  My son and woman would be protected by me from everyone, and no one, fucking no one would dare hurt them anymore.

  Not if they valued their life.

  “How about breakfast, little buddy?”

  He nodded eagerly and wiggled to be put down, so I did just that. He sat at the small round table in the corner of the kitchen and looked at me curiously. “Do you know how to cook?” He sounded very hopeful, and I couldn't help but chuckle. I suspected the reason for his hope.

  “Yep.”

  He exhaled in relief. “I love Mommy, but she doesn't know how to cook very much. We usually go to breakfast at a nearby bakery.” Then he frowned, probably not liking how it sounded, because he added, “Mama does amazing tea and salads and macaroons and spaghetti and—”

  Taking out eggs, milk, and some fruit, I placed them on the counter and ruffled his hair. “It’s okay, buddy. I know Mommy’s cooking skills.” She was a paradox when it came to it; she could watch cooking shows for hours or do everything exactly by the instructions, but the minute her hands touched the pan, everything burned, literally. She managed well with boiling something or mixing different stuff, but whatever involved pan and gas… she was a disaster at that.

  “What are you cooking?”

  “What would you like?”

  He thought for a second and then shrugged. “As long as it doesn't have tomatoes, I like it.”

  I mentally noted than my kid had an aversion to tomatoes. Then an idea struck me. “How about tvorozhniki?”

  He frowned. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a Slovenian dish. Delicious.” Plus, it didn't hurt it was Vivian’s favorite. “Want to try it out?”

  Jake nodded eagerly, and then joined me next to the counter. “Can I help you prepare it? Mommy would love it!”

  Smiling, I hugged him to my side for a second just to make sure this was real and not some fucked up dream I’d been having for the last five years. “Sure, buddy. But first, we need to find good music and an apron.” Searching for a few moments, I found a pinkish apron and put it on, and when I tied it in the back, it resembled more of a ballerina’s tutu on me, and Jake giggled. As long as it made my kid happy, I didn’t give a fuck how ridiculous I might appear.

  Winking at him, I placed my phone next to the speakers on the TV and plugged it in through the wire, so I could introduce my son to one of my favorite songs of all time. The music started to play with its light melodic sound, and I clapped my hands and said, “Let’s wash our hands and cook some breakfast.”

  Vivian

  Startled, my eyes snapped open as I gazed at the ceiling confused, trying to understand the weird sounds coming from outside my room. I glanced at the open window, but it seemed the sound came from within the house.

  Then as I concentrated on the music, I recognized the amazing song by the Russian band B2 and Chicherina called “My Rock and Roll.” The soft music of the violin echoed through the house, awakening forgotten emotions inside me, as if last night wasn't enough.

  “What does it mean? The last line of the song, they sound so sad when they sing that,” I asked Radmir, who listened to the music with his eyes closed as it blasted through the speakers in the Bratva headquarters.

  “Doroga v moi gom i dlya lublvi eto ne mesto.” He repeated the unknown words to me and then translated. “It’s a way to my home and love has no place there.” He swirled the drink in his hand, and the ice clinked inside. “Quite symbolic for our situation.” My heart panged painfully, because I understood the meaning behind it. Rising from my seat next to him, I moved between his legs and palmed his face as he finally opened his eyes for me, and all I could see there was agony and regret.

  “I love you.” We held each other’s stare for a long minute, until with a groan he hugged me close, hiding his face in my neck while squeezing me tightly, and I did the same, hoping it would soothe the raging inferno inside him.

  None of us could change our past, but it didn't define him. The Bratva had no place for love, but he did. “Let me be your home from now on,” I whispered into his ear, and a tremor ran through him, as his breath hitched. He didn't answer, but his tighter grip on me was answer enough.

  There was no home for me without him either.

  Tears dropped onto my white, silky sheets probably leaving stains, but I couldn't care less.

  Was there a love story in this world that had no tragic elements to it? Some people managed to be happy and raise a family without suffering. I fell in love with Radmir, but it seemed like our love only punished us and scarred us for life.

  We could have been so happy with our son; instead, all we got were lies, separation, and pain, and nothing else. It wasn't a matter of forgiving Radmir or not. I just wasn't sure I could survive another heartbreak, and with our history, I didn't know if we had a happy ending written in the stars for us. He would never leave Bratva, and I wouldn’t ask it from him… and everyone knew you could never lea
ve the lifestyle. But we had a baby now. Was it the best environment to raise Jake? What would it teach him? That being a criminal was a good thing?

  But then again, Radmir told me lots of stories where Bratva kids chose different paths in life and it was okay. So maybe I could shelter my son from his grim world.

  Placing my hand above my heart, I took a deep breath as the choice was clear to me. Bravery was better than cowardice, because it gave so much potential to gain something more in life than just a hollow existence.

  My life was my responsibility, and my happiness or unhappiness depended only on me.

  With determination flashing through my veins, I removed the sheet, put a robe over my nightgown, and ignored the unfamiliar ache in my muscles, because it would only create carnal images from last night, and I didn't need lust clouding my judgment in this situation.

  I walked down the hallway to the kitchen and froze, drinking in the picture in front of me.

  Radmir had a porcelain bowl on the counter with eggs, flour, cottage cheese, and sugar. Jake stood on the chair next to him, and I could see his father had a sharp gaze on him in case he’d fall. “We added everything. What do we do now?” Jake asked, dripping a bit of sugar again into the bowl.

  “Now we mix it up.” Radmir took the whisk in his hand and mixed it effortlessly, and the substance quickly became white and yellow, reminding me of dough ready to cook, and then he slid it to Jake. “How about you help me with this, while I get the stove ready?” Jake nodded eagerly and carefully used the whisk while Radmir placed the frying pan on the burner and put the grape oil in all the corners and a bit in the middle. In a few seconds, the oil started to splash slightly, so he moved back to the counter and picked up the bowl. “Great job, son.” Jake beamed, puffing his chest higher. “But now just look, okay? I don’t want to you to get burned or something.”

  Although disappointed, Jake stood and just watched his father as Radmir took small amounts of the dough and squashed them in his palms and then carefully put them in the pan. From experience, I knew he’d repeat the action many times, and then fry them. It reminded me a lot of making crepes, and they were as delicious. My mouth watered just from the thought of tasting them.