Torrid

by Nikki Sloane

  It was doubtful she’d answer, but couldn’t anyway. Her cum-drenched tongue couldn’t move under the gag I’d placed on her. I held absolute control.

  6

  Oksana

  Vasilije’s eyes glittered with evil as he stood before me, wearing a smirk and all his damn clothes. I’d yo-yoed between outrage and humiliation during the blowjob, but there was another feeling off in the distance I tried to ignore. Did some sick part of me not mind this so much?

  Since Ilia, no one would touch me.

  At first, I preferred it that way, but time dragged on and it’d been three long years. I’d sat by, listening to stories from my friends about how they fooled around and lost their virginity, and curiosity ate at me. I craved to be like them and know what it’d feel like. Despite what I’d told Vasilije, I wanted hands on my body that weren’t my own. He’d given it to me, hadn’t he?

  If I could speak, my answer would have been no. No, I didn’t like his ‘flavor.’ It was salty and weirdly numbing, and saliva rushed to pool in my mouth to counteract it. The urge to swallow was immediate. I waited impatiently for him to tell me I could.

  He grabbed the hem of his shirt and stretched it up over his head, casting it aside. The need to swallow now was shockingly urgent. His bare, toned chest made me hate him all over again. Why the hell did he have to be so good looking? And worse, why did he have to know it? I wasn’t sure what kind of expression I had on my face, but it earned a smug, arrogant look from him.

  Muscles curved under smooth skin, and my gaze wandered over his appealing and dangerous form. He was powerful in every sense of the word.

  Vasilije tugged at my hair tie. “Down.” He wanted my hair loose? I yanked the knot free, and then he flung a finger to the bed. “Get on your back.”

  My heart seized in my chest. I’d foolishly thought since he’d come that I was off the hook, but apparently sex was still in his plans. I should have been grateful. I was doing a terrible job of seducing him, but it was working anyway. I climbed onto my feet. Would he notice if I swallowed? Could I fake it that I hadn’t? I had no idea what he’d do if I disobeyed, making it too risky. I fought the urge to choke and gag.

  I’d only put one knee on the bed before his hands were there, shoving me down and pushing me to roll onto my back. A panicked hum came out, but I kept my lips glued together. I was right at the edge of the mattress, my feet flat on the floor, as he stepped between my knees and dropped down.

  I lifted my head and stared at him over my nakedness. He wasn’t looking at my eyes for once. His gaze was focused between my legs, and the cold pads of his fingers eased my thighs further apart. Oh my God. My heart beat loud in my ears, drumming out sound.

  His black eyes peered up at me, and his smile was nasty. “When you start to come,” his hot breath washed over my trembling skin, “then you can swallow.”

  I moaned my anxiety through pressed lips, and struggled to take in air through my nose. I was breathing so hard, I grew dizzy and my head weighed a million pounds. Vasilije Markovic was right there. He stared at my pussy like I was a decadent dessert he couldn’t wait to eat.

  The world slowed as he lowered his lips to me, and then time raced forward from a slingshot as his wet, soft tongue brushed against my skin. It was impossible to keep quiet, or stop my body from recoiling from the sudden sensation. My brain splintered under the stress of it. Did I like what he’d just done?

  He did it again, and I jerked. It felt . . . nice.

  Everything was buzzing as his strong hands smoothed up my thighs and he used his thumbs to peel me open to his invasive mouth. I clamped my hands down on the sheets beneath them, and bucked against the heat of each stroke he delivered. The sensation was intense, and erotic, and distracted me from the liquid I held in my mouth that I’d been desperate to swallow down seconds ago.

  “Mmmm,” he murmured. “You taste sweet.”

  I groaned and threw my arm up over my face, shielding my eyes from him. He settled in, and his tongue fluttered over my clit, drawing moan after reluctant moan from me. It felt good. What he was doing to me felt really, really good.

  It was getting hard to breathe. I writhed on the mattress, sweating and flinching with contractions of pleasure as his mouth sucked on me. I’d spent the last month wondering if I could get Vasilije Markovic to want to fuck me. It’d seemed ridiculous, the idea he’d have any interest in me.

  It seemed less ridiculous now.

  His tongue dipped inside my body, spreading more wetness around. My arousal, really. Because what he was doing turned me on, and if I was honest with myself . . . maybe his complete control had, too. In my father’s house, I’d played the role of obedient daughter for the last five years. I’d been trained to respond to strong men, which hadn’t helped with the Ilia situation.

  I arched up, biting on the insides of my cheeks, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut. His cum was thick around my teeth, serving as a muzzle. A gag.

  He was doing something else now, and I had no choice but to lift my heavy head and peer down. He was alternating between his tongue and two fingers swiping furiously over the nub of flesh at the center of my legs. I was beyond conflicted. Letting him bring me to orgasm was a terrible idea. It’d give him more control, and he already had way too much. But if I came, I could swallow and regain the ability to speak. He’d reward me with both pleasure and freedom.

  My hands ached from where I’d balled my fists in his unmade bed, thrashing against the burning heat and bliss pooling low in my center. His mouth was on me, and I watched his glistening tongue lick through my slit. Just the image was too much to bear, but then he opened his eyes and looked up at me. They were full of sin and darkness, and I was sucked into them.

  Doomed.

  Shudders moved in waves along my skin as I came. The detonation inside was catastrophic, and I went boneless, giving in to the orgasm. It felt like power flowed out of me and right into him. I swallowed an enormous, thick gulp, and gasped loudly as air poured back into my throat. It was followed by whimpers, because the sensations were still going. Heat blasted up my back and down my legs.

  Vasilije didn’t stop. His mouth continued to tease, and I was so overly sensitive, I reached down and shoved his head away. “Oh, God, stop.”

  His chuckle was pure evil.

  As the orgasm faded, he stood, towering over me as he wiped his lips, and revealed the devious smile beneath. His hands rested on his belt, showing off his sinewy frame, and he stared at me, watching as I struggled to recover. His evaluating gaze was unnerving, and yet I wondered how I’d done.

  Had I pleased him? Everything depended on it. Not just my goal, but my life.

  I waited dutifully for him to give me my next instruction, but he viewed me like a man trying to figure out how he felt about an abstract painting. The room had been on fire a minute ago, but now it was freezing, and I shivered. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to hold the heat in.

  “Get under the covers,” he said, sounding bored.

  My head was a mess. The release he’d given me had a calming effect, and I worried he’d catch me off guard. The last thing I needed to be with him was relaxed. I moved up on the bed, yanking the fluffy comforter up around me, and sighed with relief on the inside. He’d seen every inch of me, but having coverage gave me a tiny kernel of strength back.

  Trepidation crept in as Vasilije moved his hands to his pants and undid them. His jeans dropped to the floor and he stepped out of them, so he was only clad in a dark gray pair of boxer briefs with a white waistband. I didn’t recognize the name brand printed across it, but chances were his underwear was expensive. My father was incredibly wealthy, and the Markovics surpassed him.

  Vasilije never knew hunger or struggle. I was sure he’d lived a life where he got everything he wanted, and that included designer clothes.

  My guarded gaze tracked him as he flipped on a bedside lamp, walked to the door, and shut off the overhead bedroom light. His back was broad and
contoured with muscle. His ass was firm and tight, filling out his underwear, and I felt dizzy assessing him like this. I shouldn’t appreciate how he looked, but he was the devil and, therefore, undeniably attractive.

  Perhaps not mentally, or personality-wise, but physically? Oh, yes. There were absolutely worse men I could fuck than Vasilije Markovic. My mouth miraculously went dry as he turned and headed toward the bed, the very one I was sitting on.

  His lips turned up in a cruel smile. “We need to get something straight. In the morning, you can leave if you want to.”

  Ice chiseled away at my spine. He was throwing me out? I’d come way too far to not—

  “You won’t, though,” he added, climbing into the bed beside me.

  I steeled my voice. “Why not?”

  “Your people won’t help you. You were the only girl we took, and there’s no way they’re going to believe I let you go. They’ll think you’re spying for me and probably kill you. If not, they’ll pump you full of drugs and put you to work with the other girls.” He pulled the covers up to his waist, like he was discussing something trivial. “At least you know how to suck cock now.”

  He said that kind of shit to get a rise out of me, but I refused to play into his hands. “I don’t have to go to them.”

  “Oh, you got better options?” He looked impossibly arrogant. “The fuck you do. I looked through your shit. There’s no phone numbers, names, or addresses. The group that picked you up outside the international terminal was your only contact.”

  “Maybe I have it memorized,” I said, which was true. Of course I knew my own address.

  “Yeah? What is it, then?” He smirked as he dished out the challenge. I wasn’t about to tell him, and he took my silence as a victory. He thought he’d called my bluff.

  “I could go to the police.”

  His laugh was cruel. “And tell them what? I rescued you from becoming a sex slave? Yeah, I’m a monster.” He was both sarcastic and not. “You think my family doesn’t own the police? So, you’ll stay here until I’m tired of you, or realize what a stupid idea this is.”

  “Stay here?” An invisible hand squeezed my entire body. “In your house? With you?”

  He turned off the lamp and flopped his head down on the pillow. “I always wanted a pet.”

  My mouth fell open. Anxiety was tempered by success, and I chewed back the need to tell the stupid boy I wasn’t his dog.

  “Lie down,” he ordered. I couldn’t see because the room was dark, but I could hear the smile in his voice, and rage turned everything red for a long moment.

  I took a breath. Get over this and play your part. When it was done, if Vasilije was still standing, I’d make him heel like my fucking dog. The thought was enough to keep me quiet. I mashed the pillow and set my head on it, rolling away from him.

  “Don’t get any ideas about killing me.” The mattress rocked gently as he shifted closer. “If you do, my family will make you beg for death, and then keep you alive for weeks while you do it.”

  “Lovely,” I bit out.

  He gave a humorless laugh. “You think I’m fucking with you? I’m not.”

  “I don’t want to kill you, Vasilije.” He was no good to me dead. How could I use him to kill my father then?

  “Good. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, either.”

  I gritted my teeth and choked on the desire to tell him to go fuck himself. I jammed my eyes shut and focused on the pattern of the rain hitting the window. The rhythm was its own kind of music. I wished I had my notebook so I could jot down the percussion line. It was only across the room.

  Fingers made of ice traced a line down my spine, and I flinched away.

  “Tell me why you don’t like being touched.”

  I scooted to the edge of the bed, as far away from him as I could get, but it made no difference. A hand locked on my hip, and the cool skin of his chest pressed against my back. He was freezing, which shouldn’t have been surprising. I’d been told he was cold blooded.

  “I just don’t.” My voice was small.

  His hand tightened, driving his fingers into my skin like blunt icicles stabbing at me. “Why don’t you like being touched? You’re not going to want me to ask a third time.”

  Should I reveal the truth? I didn’t know how he’d react. “When I was seventeen, a man . . . touched me when I didn’t want him to.”

  Vasilije’s hand was gone instantly, like I was damaged goods. Shit. The silence between us hung heavy, and only the rain tapping at the window let me know we weren’t frozen forever in this painful moment.

  His tone was strained. “Who was he?”

  “Just some guy who worked for my father.”

  A lie. Ilia had been a rising star, poised to become one of the main figures in our business. He was young, but his family had vouched for him, and my father had welcomed him into the inner circle. Ilia had something I never would—my father’s respect.

  “What happened?” Vasilije’s tone was sharp, as if angry, yet I had the strange feeling he wasn’t upset with me.

  “I told my father, and he had the guy . . . sent away. Please don’t make me talk about it.”

  He exhaled, as if reluctant. “Tell me how your parents died.”

  Wow. He switched from one awful memory to another. “My mother was killed in a plane crash when I was fifteen. It was a regional flight between Kazan and Kirov.” This was true. I’d been instructed to stay as close to my real story as possible, to avoid crafting a web of lies I couldn’t keep up with. “It made it very hard to want to get on a plane.”

  Also true, except my flight to the United States had come only a few months after she’d died. I’d been heavily sedated most of the journey, scared of falling out of the sky, and terrified of meeting the man who was my father if we didn’t happen to crash.

  “My parents weren’t together. After she passed, I went to live with my father. Last year, one of his business deals,” I weighted the word so Vasilije would know what I was alluding to, “ended badly, and my father was shot.”

  There’d been a delicate truce between us and the Serbians for several months last year, and when it fell apart, everything went to shit and my father took a bullet in his right arm. He lost some mobility permanently, but he’d survived. I’d let Vasilije believe otherwise.

  “You live in this big house by yourself?” I asked, hoping to switch subjects.

  “My parents are dead.” His tone was cold. “My brother lives in Baltimore.” The sheets rustled as he moved further away from me. “Go to sleep.”

  I was stunned, and rolled over to see if he was joking. “We’re not going to . . .?”

  “Fuck? Not tonight.” A lazy smile smeared on his lips. “Try not to look so disappointed. You’ll have to wait a little longer, virgin.”

  7

  Vasilije

  It was awkward as hell trying to fall asleep beside the naked girl in my bed. I rarely brought my hookups home, and if I did, we partied in one of the guest bedrooms. That way, I could bail afterward and escape down the hall. I didn’t share my bed.

  But I enjoyed how uncomfortable I made Oksana and didn’t want to let up. She needed to stay on edge and always aware of me.

  Her quiet breathing didn’t bother me because it had purpose, but she silently tapped her fingers against the sheet, drumming out a pattern of some kind. I could feel the vibrations through the mattress. I shot my hand out and covered hers. “Stop.”

  Her warm fingers stilled beneath mine.

  Well, fuck me, I was basically holding her hand. It felt weird and wrong, but I left my palm on top of hers because I always did the wrong thing. My hold of her made the tension between us skyrocket. After the blowjob, I’d been tired, yet now my dick was twitching, waking up and greedy for more. The plan was to draw it out, but maybe I’d fuck her tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to watch her face as I buried my cock in her sweet pussy for the first time.

  I drifted off into an uneasy sleep, keeping my han
d latched onto hers.

  ♪

  My eyelids popped open. It was still dark outside. I glanced at the clock—it was two in the morning. I was a light sleeper, but the rain had stopped, so that hadn’t been what woke me up. I homed in on the sounds around, just as I remembered how I’d fallen asleep with a girl in my bed. A Russian one.

  The sheets beside me were empty.

  I jolted up, wheeling around. Oksana had put on my black robe, and she stood at my dresser with her back to me. It sounded like she was cautiously opening the top drawer.

  Shit! I was off the bed and flew at her, slamming into her body with enough force to knock the gun from her grip. Down we went, her screaming in fear, and between the tangle of black fabric and her hands, I couldn’t see my gun.

  Instead of a safety snapping off or a magazine being jammed in place, there was a sound of . . . paper ripping? I fell on top of her and fought for her wrists, strangling each one above her head and pinning them to the carpet. Her wild eyes stared up at me as I straddled her hips.

  She’d been trying to kill me, even after I’d made it clear what would happen if she was successful. Was she that fucking stupid? Where was the gun she’d gone for in the drawer? I scanned around, and when I saw the notebook laying awkwardly on the carpet, my rage evaporated. Oh.

  I slid my hands away slowly, releasing her.

  Oksana’s head turned and she stared at the tented notebook surrounded with torn pages.

  Her face crumbled and turned into a pure nightmare. Tears welled in her eyes. After everything she’d been through tonight, witnessing murder and then all I’d done . . . this was what made her cry? A few torn pages? I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have sisters or a mother, and the only time women cried around me was when I was dumping their ass, and neither one of us wanted me to stick around.

  I climbed off her, grabbed the lapels of the robe, and hauled her to sit up. “It’s okay,” I heard myself saying. “I’ve got tape. We can fix it.”