Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “Careful, girl,” he growls. “I’ll have you on your knees soon enough, begging me to take you, but right now,” he grabs my hips and steers me under the hot stream of water, “you’re getting clean.”

  It’s cathartic. He is hard the whole time, but he doesn’t let me touch him. He lathers me. Everywhere. Unsurprisingly, he makes sure I’m really clean between my legs. I squirm with need, almost growling at him as he just slides along my slit, but never enters.

  “I hate you,” I gasp.

  “Yeah?” He chuckles. “Good. Nurture that feeling. You’re gonna need it.”

  My heart jumps. I have no idea what he means. I don’t even know if I trust him yet, or if I’m still unsure, but I just can’t seem to get enough of him. I love his hands, his heat, his deep voice, his dark brown eyes that hold so many secrets. I realize I want to know him, to see more of him. The thought startles me. I’m not one to jump into something, and still it’s what I do, what I did even the first night I met him. Is it only three nights ago? My God, I’m a mess.

  Christian turns off the water, reaching for a towel, wrapping it around my shoulders.

  “Teeth,” he says.

  I tighten the towel around me and grab a second that I wrap around my head as I turn to look at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Dental hygiene is important.”

  “You didn’t seem overly worried about my health when you spanked me and fucked me until I thought I wouldn’t see the sun rise again.”

  He stills, regarding me, and again something flickers through his eyes. Sadness? Then he spins me back toward the cabinet.

  “Do as I say.”

  I turn again and exhale right in his face. “Why? Do I have a bad breath?”

  His lips tighten, then he grabs my arm and steers me toward the door. “You’re a bad, bad girl, Kerry Jackson.”

  “No, I’m not,” I squeal.

  Christian pushes me down on the bed, making me sit on the edge, his semi-hard cock right in front of my eyes. He grabs the hair at my nape and tilts up my head.

  “Do you know what I do with bad girls?”

  My suddenly spasming pussy clearly has an idea because his words nearly liquefy my core.

  “No,” I gasp.

  He smirks. “You’re a terrible liar. Take me in your mouth.”

  My eyes dart to his cock. It looks… doable. I wet my lips and lean closer. He smells flowery from my shower gel. Freesia. He also looks absolutely mouthwatering. I lick a path from head to base before I open my mouth wide and circle my fingers around his growing length to have some control as I take him in as deep as I can.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  “What?” I sputter. “No, I—”

  “You hold them there, or I tie them there. Your choice.”

  I shake as I put my hands behind me, a heady sensation settling between my legs. He both frightens me and excites me and I’m not sure which feeling is winning, there’s a constant, ongoing battle between the flutter of worry in my chest, and my reawakened pussy that just seems to want more and more.

  “Good girl.”

  He steers me with his hold in my hair, pushing deep into my throat. I gag and gasp as he pulls out, but only get a moment of reprieve before he pushes inside again. Deep. Too deep. My hands fly up on instinct and I push at him, trying to break free as my eyes water. He pulls out and grabs my chin in a vice-like hold.

  “You are very, very bad at following my orders. On the bed. On your belly.”

  “Chr… Christian, I—”

  He pushes me down and flips me over so fast my head spins, then he grabs my wrists, fetches his belt, and ties my arms behind my back.

  “Christian. Please. You’re scaring me.”

  A hand on my back, stroking over the curve of my ass, dipping in between my cheeks, a finger sliding along my soaked slit. I gasp and buck. He thrusts his fingers inside, shallow moves, teasing me, making me whimper, desperate for more.

  “I’m thinking you like it,” he says in his deep baritone, even deeper when tainted with arousal.

  I swallow hard. There’s no denying my body is responding to him in a way I never responded to my ex-husband.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, my mind spinning.

  “Still no God here. Only me.” He intensifies his thrusts, adding a finger to my unsuspecting rear hole, but it feels too good and I can’t think straight. I push up my ass to meet him, forgetting I’m tied, forgetting he scares me to death. When he starts circling my clit, teasing it, as he keeps thrusting, I begin to shake.

  “Say my name as you come, Kerry. I want to hear you say it. No fucking God.”

  I tense, can barely get air, gasp, writhe. “Oh my God, Christian, I’m coming!” I cry as my insides begin to convulse around his fingers, which relentlessly keep thrusting, and I come undone, boneless, losing myself in the throes of the orgasm.

  Then he takes me again. It’s rough, brutal, an unapologetic claiming of my body, a frightening display of the power he wields over me, and I wish I could say I don’t want to see him ever again, that it’s too much. But I can’t.

  I’m lost in his hands, in his care, in his force, in everything Christian Russo.

  When I wake, I lie glued to his body, snuggled in between his arm and his chest and yet again I feel so oddly safe, cared for.

  My heart nearly bursts from his skin on mine, from the feeling of his slowly rising and falling chest. My heart tells me I’m in love, infatuated, absolutely fucking crazy about this man. My mind tells me to run. Far away and fast. My mind tells me he’s dangerous, that he’ll keep pushing, that he’ll swallow everything that is Kerry Jackson.

  I doze off, and when I wake the next time, he’s gone. At first, I think he’s left, and my stomach clenches in disappointment, but a vague scent of coffee wafts up from downstairs, dissipating that thought immediately. China and cutlery rattle. My heart jolts. Oh my God, is Christian making me breakfast?

  I don’t know if I should get up, or stay in bed, but I have a feeling he has a plan, so I wrap the comforter tighter and snuggle in. Burying my nose in the pillow he used, I inhale deeply, sniffing the rich spicy scent. It does funny things to me. I tingle, almost ache. He’s only downstairs, but I miss him already.

  When footsteps approach, the old wooden stairs creaking under his weight, I can’t pretend to sleep. I sit up straight, making sure the comforter covers my naked chest.

  Christian walks in, carrying a tray. “Hey, you.” He’s dressed in only his dark gray briefs and a black shirt that he’s left unbuttoned. I can’t help how my eyes are inadvertently pulled to his ripped abs, his powerful thighs. And the bulge. Seeing him makes my mouth water.

  He’s not stupid. He’s the most attentive person I’ve ever met, and a smirk pulls at his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

  “Good morning,” I say shakily, “I thought you’d left.”

  “That’s no way to treat a lady. What kind of a brute do you think I am? Scoot over.” He puts the tray on the bed next to me. “Black coffee, a boiled egg, medium, I have no idea how you prefer them—”

  I know exactly what kind of a brute I think he is. My aching body, and my raw pussy are a powerful reminder of that, but I don’t say it because right now everything is perfect.

  “Medium, please.”

  “Toast, strawberry jam and peanut butter.” He wrinkles his nose, and I do too. Then we both burst out laughing.

  “Not a favorite?” he asks.

  “Mmm no… But I’ll love it today.”

  “I can go make new ones, what do you prefer?”

  I grab his arm. “No, please stay. It’s perfect.” I pat the bed. “Come sit with me.”

  The smile that spreads on his face makes my heart tremble.

  Taking a sip of the coffee, I then devour the sandwich in a few quick chews. Christian puts his thumb to the corner of my mouth and wipes something off.

  “Jam.”

  “You can’t touch me when I
eat… I lose my appetite.”

  He barks out a laugh. “That wasn’t very flattering.”

  My cheeks heat up. “You know what I mean.”

  His gaze travels the contour of my body. “You still naked under there?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I glance at his bulge, watching it grow. The vision sends a flurry of tingles through me.

  “Babe. Breakfast’s over.” He grabs the tray and puts it on the floor, then he turns to me, his eyes dark and hungry. Energy sizzles between us as he reaches for the comforter and pushes it to the side. “I hope you’ve recovered, because I need you so fucking much right now.”

  I scoot away, part real apprehension, part tease. “I’m sore all over. I don’t think I can go again.”

  Christian pulls me to him so fast I can’t even blink. Straddling me, he pushes my arms over my head.

  “You’re mine,” he growls. “You let me in your life, in your house, in your bed. You gave yourself to me and I’m taking everything.”

  A shudder runs through me at his words. I’m about to object, because what he says frightens me, but then my mind turns to mush as his hand finds its way between my legs, as his mouth catches one of my nipples.

  Arching into him, needing more, and more, and more of this man, I know he’s won. Again.

  Chapter 8

  Christian

  I tremble as I step out into the early San Francisco morning. The city, as always, unapologetically covered in a pink fog, getting its soft hue from the rising sun.

  All I feel is Kerry, on me, around me, her scent, her warm skin, her delicious fear, her even more delicious trust. All I see is glowing red tousled hair, huge green eyes that sometimes shift to hazel, a naked face with too many emotions. She is so vulnerable, and I’m a monster.

  The regret is already eating away at my heart, a dull ache in my chest. I shouldn’t have gone to her last night. I shouldn’t have taken her. Why do I have such a strong urge to get close when my mission is to kill her?

  As I drive off, I realize something fundamental has changed. There isn’t a fiber in my body that can harm this woman. I nearly double over in an unexpected stab of pain. Convincing Salvatore is going to be a nightmare. I don’t know how I can fucking do that; I have no idea what to say to make him change his mind.

  If I’m a monster, he’s the devil himself, making the fallen angel Lucifer pale in comparison.

  Fuck!

  It’s too early to go there, so I go home, my house suddenly so empty and cold. I catch myself wondering if Kerry would like it. I have an even better view of her beloved bridge, I have too many rooms that I don’t use. I wonder what she’d do to it if I told her to knock herself out decorating it. Her home has warm colors, plants, curtains, lots of pillows and throw blankets. I like it there.

  Pacing my living room back and forth, a cup of espresso in my hand, that turns into a second, and a third, I’m vibrating with life and a growing anxiety. How can I protect her?

  My restless energy finally gets the better of me and I change into running gear. Plugging headphones in my ears, I put on Slipknot to drown out the images of sex and violence that run on repeat before my eyes, lock up and leave. I’m going to run until my mind is clear, until all thoughts, all worry and all my mounting fury is cleansed.

  “Is he in?”

  Ivan steps to the side. “He’s having breakfast.”

  I pass him and enter the hallway, the spectacular hallway, made to impress and intimidate. “Is he alone?”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s him and the news.”

  My uncle and boss, Luciano Salvatore, sits in the kitchen. A TV is blaring out the last shootings and accidents, political crap, and the stock market. The news is nothing but snippets of info that today’s fractured minds can process. He looks up as I enter, his cup stopping halfway between table and mouth.

  “Christiano. What brings me the honor?”

  I step up to the screen and turn off the noise.

  “Got more where that came from?” I nod toward his cup.

  He gestures toward the kitchen counter. “Help yourself.”

  Pouring myself a cup by the long, impeccably clean, dark gray marble counter, I then sit opposite my uncle. He wears a striped dark blue and beige thick robe, his hair messy. He looks like he just woke.

  “Rough night?”

  He barks out a laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Can she walk?”

  His grin widens but he doesn’t answer. My mind warps right back to the night with Kerry. We Salvatore/Russo men are known to play rough, whether it be in killing or fucking. I wonder if I went too far, if she’ll ever let me back in if I show up again.

  Not if. When. I already know I can’t stay away.

  Luci narrows his eyes. “Did you do the girl yet?”

  I have no idea if he means fuck or kill.

  “I’m not killing her.”

  “All right—”

  I’m not sure I’m hearing him right. Then suspicion grows in me.

  “I’ll get Roarke, then. What’s with you, Christian? You never hesitated before.”

  I fight to stay calm even though I want to throw myself at him. A fight between the two of us would be even, we’re fairly equal in height and strength. But he’s got a house full of his people, and probably a gun somewhere within reach. Salvatore won’t kill me. His sister, my mother, would never speak to him again, and she’s the only one he has some amount of respect for, but he wouldn’t hesitate to put me in the hospital.

  “She can’t pin anything on you. The blabbering of a kid, her own mind running amok, too vivid an imagination, that’s all. You’re being unreasonable. It’s been a week. Has she spoken yet? Talked to a cop? No. What the fuck got your panties in a twist?”

  “You may be right, or not, but it’s not your call, nephew. I call the shots; you do what I tell you—”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Or I’ll call Roarke. It’s as simple as that.”

  “He’s fucking ruthless, he’d—”

  “So were you! Up until some days ago. She’s just some chick. There are millions out there. Get yourself in order and go back and shoot her for fuck’s sake!”

  I stand, a red haze clouding my mind.

  “Do it, or I’ll go get young Angela and rein in that fucking stray!”

  It’s as if I deflate, all air leaving my lungs. Sinking back onto the chair, I swallow against the choking feeling in my throat.

  “Don’t.”

  “I’ve let her run loose long enough, chasing some ridiculous dream. She needs to come back to the fold, get married, pop some kids, and start engaging in the business.

  My head spins. My little sister. It would kill her, forced into this life that she loathes and fears, forced to marry, forced to give up her art. Fuck!

  I’ve known Kerry a few days.

  My relationship with my sister has been the only semblance of love I’ve known, the only one I’ve fought to protect at all cost. I was fifteen when she came into the world, all of us made fatherless in a senseless killing as she pulled her first breath. I held the wrinkly little infant, my heart bursting in sorrow and in joy at the same time.

  Fuck!

  There’s no option.

  He will do it. He would destroy her, making her his little puppet. There’s nothing to negotiate.

  Luciano Salvatore knows our weaknesses; he owns us all.

  “I’ll do it.”

  My voice is dull, lacking all life. I close my heart and put the lid on, forcing Kerry’s trusting face out of my mind. She’s just flesh and electrical impulses between neurons. We all are. We all die.

  There are millions of women out there.

  But no other Kerry.

  “I knew you’d make the right decision. She dies tonight. Now get the fuck out of here, and turn on the TV.”

  I storm out of the kitchen, never touching his fucking TV.

  We’re not only claiming lives. We’re claiming souls. We’re monste
rs.

  Kerry

  After Christian had let me loose again, kissed my reddened wrists and ass, and said his goodbyes with promises to return, I drag my aching, bruised body, and my delirious mind out of bed and into the shower. I smell of him and it fucks me up royally.

  I skip school, I’m too tired to focus on anything, but I can’t skip work.

  Chloe takes me aside. “Ker. Talk to me, girl. You’re a mess. What’s going on?”

  I sigh and rub my face, glancing at the kids and then back at her. “Remember you decided I’d met someone a couple of nights ago?”

  She nods enthusiastically.

  “I kinda did…”

  She slaps my shoulder. “About damn time! Is he hot? Not like Evan. Please tell me he’s not a new Evan.”

  “Oh no. He’s very… different.”

  Chloe scans my face and narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong? Something’s not right. I see it in your eyes.”

  I wince. “He’s been— He’s different.”

  I think of the heavy spanking last night, and again this morning. It’s too much and just right at the same time. I don’t know how to manage what I feel about it.

  “How?”

  “I have this weird feeling. It’s like he’s two people.”

  My friend regards me, silence mounting between us, making something flutter in my chest. “I think you should stay away from him, Ker.” Chloe is suddenly dead serious.

  “What makes you say that? You haven’t met him.”

  “What does your gut tell you?”

  I squirm. My gut is in knots. It’s not telling me anything that makes any sense at all. “I think he’s a good guy, Chloe. I’m just… I probably have trust issues after Evan.”

  She cocks her head and sighs. “Yeah, I can’t blame you. If that dude hadn’t showered you in his guilt money I’d have kicked his balls up his throat.”