by Zoe Blake
It wasn’t a kiss; it was a fierce possession.
His tongue pushed into my mouth and dueled with my own.
Tasting me.
Owning me.
His body was hard and unrelenting as it pressed close to mine. The hesitant, unskilled kisses from the boys at school had done nothing to prepare me for the feeling of complete domination by a man.
He controlled everything. His hand shifted from my cheek to the base of my skull where he grasped my curls, tilting my head and holding me still for the onslaught of his mouth. His arm held me tight as his tongue dueled with mine. Swirling and teasing before capturing the tip between his teeth and playfully biting.
Allowing me a fleeting breath of air, he whispered harshly against my lips. “Tell me, Yelena. I need to know.” He punctuated his command with a tug on my hair, sending tiny stings of pleasurable pain over my scalp.
Feeling like the foolish girl I was, I loved the sound of my name on his lips.
Still, I refused to tell him. It wasn’t out of any misplaced loyalty to my stepfather, he could rot in hell, but rather my pride. I didn’t want Damien’s pity or his help. I could take care of myself.
With a growl, he recaptured my lips. This time moving his hand over my hip to grasp my ass. His large hand spanned the underside curve. He gave it a squeeze which had me moaning against his mouth. Each of his hands flexed and tightened on my body at the sound. His lips traced a path across my cheek. Using the tip of his tongue, he flicked the soft curve of my earlobe before scraping the edge of his teeth along the shell of my ear. My fingers dug into his sweater as I tried to calm my racing heart.
Both his hands shifted to caress my hips before he slowly pushed up the velvet fabric of my dress. My slight groan of protest was swallowed by his mouth as his lips returned to mine.
Pressing a knee between my thighs, he bent forward. Supporting my back with his arm, he shifted above me, pushing me onto the thick softness of the bench cushion. The weight of his body followed, pinning me down. His hips wedged between my legs. His cock pressed through his wool slacks against my core. Placing his forearm near my head, he caged me in as his mouth lowered to the top curve of my breast, tracing the lace edge of my bra with his tongue. My hips surged upwards as I pushed my fingers into his hair.
He placed his fingertips between my breasts. His fingers scorched my skin as he reached inside the neckline to grasp my bra. Fisting it and the fabric of my dress, he pulled down so sharply that a seam tore. Both my breasts were exposed. Mesmerizing me with his intense sapphire gaze, he opened his mouth over one pert nipple. His tongue stretched and flicked the hard nub.
“Oh God,” I breathed.
He flicked my nipple several more times, all the while holding my captured gaze. I knew what he wanted me to think just as surely as if he was whispering the illicit words in my ear. Looking down, I tried to clench my thighs in response to the surge of pleasure the sensual sight sent straight to my clit, but wound up pulling his hips in closer.
I had never been with a boy, let alone a man like Damien. I only knew pleasure from the tips of my own fingers but now, watching his tongue as it laved and played with my nipple, I practically howled to the night sky with an obsessive need to feel his tongue down there.
His warm breath against my skin was like a caress. “Be a good girl and tell me what I want to know.”
Is he seriously still thinking about my stupid black eye? Now?
Clenching my fingers as much as I could in his shortly cropped dark hair, I tried to pull him back down to my breast. “No. It’s fine. It’s handled.”
And I had handled it. I had gambled and won. Big. Now that I knew the Ivanovs were aware of my racetrack scheme, I would have to push up my plans and leave town even before graduation. My stepfather would never hit me ever again.
“Moya malen'kiy padshiy angel, ty ne mozhesh' skazat' mne net,” he growled as his hand stroked the top of my thigh. His thumb caressed the inside curve only a few dangerous inches from my core.
I’d heard the term for fallen angel again, but something from his tone told me that whatever he'd said wasn’t an endearment.
Before I could ask, he translated for me. “Angel, you are not allowed to tell me no.”
Somehow it sounded better in Russian.
I wrapped my forearm over my exposed breasts. “Hold on. Just because I let you kiss me at a party doesn’t mean you can suddenly waltz in and start dictating orders and take control of my life!”
He muttered something low and ominous in Russian before saying, “You are one very foolish little girl playing with fire if you think this is ending with a few simple kisses.” He punctuated his threat with a thrust of his hips, grinding his hard shaft between my legs.
This was no longer some innocent flirtatious game I had started on the dance floor with my best friend’s older brother.
I was alone with Damien Ivanov.
Demon Damien Ivanov.
My whole body went cold with fear.
Chapter 4
Damien
I shoved myself off her and stood. “Cover yourself up,” I crudely commanded as I paced a few steps away, willing my painfully erect cock under control.
Christ, there was nothing I wanted more than to just forget everything and sink deep inside her tight pussy. But this was Yelena. She wasn’t some random woman I had met at a bar. She was my little sister’s best friend. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she needed my help. In more ways than one.
Glancing over my shoulder, I caught the look of confusion and fear on her face as she sat up and adjusted the neckline of her dress. She was too beautiful for her own good. She looked like one of those damn Disney princesses my sister used to like. Long hair the color of spun gold. Impossibly bright blue eyes. Creamy ivory skin I just wanted to lick and full pink lips I wanted to bite. And her body. Christ, it would haunt my dreams. She was all soft curves and sleek long legs.
My perfect malen'kaya shalun'ya. My little minx.
It wasn’t just her beauty, although I wouldn’t deny that it was what had first drawn my eye when I’d seen her on the dance floor tonight. It was everything. The sound of her laughter. The mischievous glint in her gaze when she thought I wasn’t looking. My grudging admiration for the scheme she'd pulled off at the racetrack a few days ago. It took guts and brains.
I still needed to learn all the details from her, but there was no denying she had pulled off something both the Italians and the Columbians had never managed to do. She had won eighteen races without actually fixing the horses. And by all accounts, she had won big—at least a high six figures. Both groups would be clamoring to get their hands on her to exploit her methods.
In short, Yelena Nikitina was the whole package. Beautiful and intelligent.
The problem was that package contained a bomb.
Neatly tied up with pretty pink ribbons but a bomb nonetheless.
And that was before I’d forced myself to remember her age. She was barely eighteen. A child.
What was I thinking bringing her out here?
She was like dangling a glass of cool, clean water before a man dying of thirst and telling him not to sip.
If I’d been really honest with myself, it wasn’t just her drop-dead gorgeous looks and intelligence that drew me to her like a moth to a flame. It was her vulnerability.
She needed protection. Someone to step in and slay her demons. Someone to save her from her own reckless actions. A champion.
I wasn’t usually that person — for anyone.
Even my little sister turned to Gregor, the eldest, first if she needed something.
The Ivanov family didn’t hold power by playing nice in the sandbox. We ruled with an iron fist through cunning and intimidation. We only resorted to violence when we had to, but when we did, it was brutal and bloody. It sent a clear message that we were not a family to fuck with.
I was the demon in people’s nightmares. The enforcer.
Never the
knight in shining armor, but I could be… for her.
My whole life was about destruction, whether it was with my fists or the guns I sold. All I’d ever left in my wake was scorched earth. It would be nice, just this once, if I could create instead of destroy.
Yelena was headed down a dangerous dead-end path. I could turn that around for her. I would settle things with the Italians and the Columbians and then sneak her out of the country. I’d find some respectable college in Switzerland. A girls-only college. Where no one would think to look for her. She’d have a whole new identity.
The idea of having her locked away where only I’d know where she was appealed to the selfish bastard in me. Before tasting her lips, my intentions had been good.
Now they were, well, not as good.
She would be my very own Rapunzel, locked away in a tower where no one could touch her.
Completely under my protection and control.
Deep down, I knew she was still forbidden fruit for me, but that didn’t mean I wanted anyone else to have her. My gut twisted at the idea of someone else even touching her.
It screamed mine, all mine.
Even if I had no right to even think it.
Yelena had pulled the hem of her dress down over her knees and had started to rise. I prowled back and caged her in. My fingers clenched around the wood railing behind her as I leaned down.
“No more games. I want the name of the man who hit you.”
Yelena smoothed the wrinkled fabric of her dress over her lap. “What makes you think it was a man?” she hedged.
Ignoring her delay tactic, I demanded, “Is it a boyfriend? Is that why you’re trying to protect him?”
The weather-aged wood creaked and groaned as my fingers dug into it. I tried to control my rage at the thought of her already belonging to another man. I hadn’t gotten a chance to slip my fingers or cock into her sweet wet heat, but the idea that she had already been claimed made me want to tear the man’s throat out.
“I’m not protecting him,” she said softly.
I went down on my haunches. Her face was mostly shielded by a curtain of blonde curls. With the back of my hand, I brushed one side over her shoulder. Her head remained lowered. She looked so small and vulnerable. Placing a knuckle under her chin, I lifted her face to mine. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Tell me, baby.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
I smiled. “Let’s just say I have a weakness for a pretty malen'kiy padshiy angel with big blue eyes.”
Her voice barely above a whisper, she finally answered, “It was my stepfather.”
I had suspected as much, but it was still a gut punch to hear it. Her stepfather. The man I’d essentially sent her home to eight years ago after knowing she was unsupervised and half-starved. I really was a bastard.
Rising, my voice came out slow and controlled as I commanded, “Get up. We’re leaving.”
She popped up from her seat. Without those ridiculous high heels, she barely reached my shoulder. She looked like an angry little chipmunk as she placed her hands on her hips and challenged me. “Leaving? Where? They haven’t even brought out the cake or pulled on Nadia’s ears yet!”
“I’m taking you to a hotel.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving Nadia’s birthday party. Besides, who says I want to go to a hotel with you?”
I sighed. It was my fault she was making that assumption. I hadn't read many chivalrous books, but I was pretty sure the knight in shining armor was supposed to rescue the damsel before he tried to fuck her.
“You’re not going with me. I’m getting you your own room.”
“I don’t need a room.”
I placed my hands on either side of her face. “You can’t go home tonight.”
Her gaze lowered. “It’s fine. It’s not like it’s the first time. I’ve got it handled.”
Not the first time. Another kick to the gut.
It was time to spell things out. “Baby, things are going to get bloody, and I can’t have you there.”
Her eyes widened. “No. Damien. No! He’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.”
Unable to resist, I gave her a hard kiss on the mouth. “Don’t ever let me hear you say you’re not worth it again.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago.”
Before she could protest, I gathered her up into my arms and strode across the dock toward the lights of the house. Ignoring the warm vanilla scent of her hair and how she felt curled up in my arms, I set her on her feet on the smooth cement patio and went to retrieve her shoes.
As she leaned over to secure the thin patent leather straps around her heel, I once again caught a glimpse of her full breasts as they were hugged by the delicate white lace bra which seemed to barely contain her generous curves.
“You can stay for cake,” I said gruffly, “but after that I’m taking you to a hotel. Understand?”
She straightened. Lifting her arms, she fluffed her hair and smoothed her cheeks before abruptly turning her back on me.
Before she could take one step, I snatched her around the waist and pulled her back against my front. “Otvet' mne.”
She huffed. “I don’t speak Russian.”
“Answer me,” I repeated.
She stubbornly stayed silent. I could practically hear the gears in her mind angrily spinning over my high-handedness.
“Answer me or I’ll drag you over to that lounge chair and put you over my knee.”
Fortunately, the muted sounds of the party still happening inside muffled her outraged shriek.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
I splayed my hand over her flat stomach and pulled her back even tighter. Making sure she could feel every inch of my still-erect cock against her back. “Try me,” I growled.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth.
I was almost disappointed. There was definitely a part of me that wanted her to continue to defy me. I would have enjoyed seeing that cute ass of hers pink and rosy after a spanking.
“Tomorrow. After I’ve dealt with your stepfather, you and I are going to have a nice long chat about your little stunt at the racetrack.”
She remained silent.
I released my grip on her waist, and she stormed inside without a backward glance.
I should have known she was lying.
I should have known she would run the first chance she got.
Chapter 5
Yelena
The sound of loud music and harsh laughter was jarring as I snuck back into the party through the French door off the patio. It was strange how normal and unchanged everything was considering my whole world had just tilted on its axis.
I stood there for a minute, feeling unsure and self-conscious.
A moment later, there was a blast of chilly night air as the door behind me opened a second time.
My body went on alert, feeling as if I were standing on my tippy toes on the razor edge of a knife.
I could feel him behind me.
I could smell the earthy scent of his cologne and just a hint of tobacco smoke.
I inhaled sharply as the tip of one finger caressed my lower back as he passed behind me.
That was it.
Just the barest of touches.
Not even a caress really.
And yet it practically sent me to my knees.
Forcing myself to breathe, I scanned the room looking for Nadia or Samara. I knew Samara had snuck down the hallway leading to the bedrooms with her boyfriend Peter but that was before I had even gotten on the dance floor. A lifetime ago it seemed. She should be back to the party by now. She wouldn’t want to stay away too long or her asshole father would come looking for her.
Finally, I spotted Nadia.
Her face was slightly downturned. Her lips tight and pinched as if she was trying not to cry. My brow furrowing, I shifted my gaze to Mikhail. He
was standing close to her. Actually, it would be more accurate to say he was towering over her, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking seriously pissed off.
Poor Nadia.
She was impossibly shy and reserved and had an equally impossible crush on Mikhail Volkov, her family’s head of security. There was no way in hell her brothers would ever condone the two of them dating. Mikhail was close to five years older than her for one. He was also an orphan with no family name or connections. The Ivanov brothers would never let their little sister date a man of lower standing, no matter how much they might like or respect him. I knew from my father’s drunken ravings that Mikhail was the brothers' right-hand man and the one they relied on for the more dangerous, violent work that needed to be done.
Just then Nadia made a beeline for the other side of the room. Samara had finally returned, looking very disheveled and thoroughly kissed. My upper lip lifted in disgust. I really hated her boyfriend, Peter. He was the kind of boy who was just smart enough to realize he was stupid and to be very defensive about it. Samara could do way better.
The lights dimmed and everyone around me burst into a chorus of the Russian version of Happy Birthday.
It’s so sad that a birthday can only happen once a year.
It was an odd little song which mentioned wizards and accordions and ice cream cones, taken from some popular old cartoon.
Her mother appeared in the doorway carrying a large round birthday cake ablaze with candles.
Nadia dutifully approached, as Samara made her way through the guests to stand next to me.
She bumped me on the shoulder to get my attention, then mouthed, "Two a.m."
I nodded, knowing what she meant. We’d all meet at our usual spot. Our childhood treehouse in Nadia’s backyard.
Neither of us were in the mood to talk, so we watched silently as a small crowd surrounded Nadia and pulled on her ears, gleefully shouting out the corresponding number. Another archaic Russian birthday custom. My heart went out to her. Although she smiled, anyone who truly knew her could tell she was absolutely miserable. Unlike me, Nadia wasn’t comfortable being the center of attention.
