by Winter Fox
He didn’t say that.
“How are you feeling? Are you healed?” He knew that Mariusz would want her back soon, and he hoped that he had bought her enough time to make sure it hurt less.
“Physically, yes.”
Mentally, no. She didn’t have to say it.
“It won’t hurt so much next time,” Ilya told her.
“Yes it will,” she argued.
Ilya sipped at his rum thoughtfully. Mariusz would probably hurt her every time he used her; he liked to hurt women. But then so did his Lieutenant.
Her eyes were suddenly pleading. “I could run tonight, while Mariusz drinks himself into oblivion. I could collect Alessio and Matteo, and we could leave the country. Help me, Ilya, please?”
Ilya shook his head. “You should have thought about that before you came here, milaya.”
“I had no idea that it was going to be this fucking awful. Please Ilya. You could just pretend that you were sleeping, and I escaped.”
He stood up from the desk. His body was charged with rum, a much less familiar sensation than the vodka. And he felt the first flicker of anger as he crossed the room to stand in front of the girl.
“And what the fuck do you think he’d do to my family then, Liselle?”
She stood up to face him, and he was once again taken back by how small she was, considering the fire which constantly seemed to burn inside her. She took him by complete surprise when she reached forward and laid a slim hand against his chest.
“Why don’t you contact your family, and tell them to run too? Nobody should have to live under the threat of their family being killed. It’s wrong.”
Ilya’s anger was exacerbated by the rum. He grabbed a hold of her wrist and squeezed it—his cock hardened when she yelped. “My mother is sick. She can barely walk, let alone run. And if Mariusz catches my sister trying to escape, you know exactly what he’ll do. You heard him.”
Liselle laughed bitterly. “Oh, I know only too fucking well, Ilya. Is it common to only be able to have the stomach for rape when you don’t care for the person it’s happening to?”
“That was low,” he growled.
Her hand came out of nowhere then, colliding with his cheek, and he was frozen into shocked silence. He literally could not remember the last time somebody hit him.
“I should have put that bottle through your neck,” she hissed.
Ilya had had enough. He had done everything possible to help this spoiled little bitch since she came to Mariusz’s house, and in return she was fucking obsessed with killing him.
A less confident man might have been offended.
Rage took over, and his hand shot forward to grab her slender throat. He pushed her back onto the bed—letting himself fall forward so that he was kneeling over her.
Both their glasses clattered to the floor, and then silence filled the room; only broken intermittently by the sound of their ragged breaths. Leaning down until his lips brushed her ear, he whispered, “Tell me why I put up with your shit, milaya?”
She hissed in a breath, and he felt her arch her back—pressing her body against his. He knew that she hadn’t meant to do it, but he growled in response, and nipped at the soft flesh of her earlobe.
Her hands flew to his chest, and she pushed against him. Trying to get him off of her body. It was fucking pointless, but he thought it was kind of cute. He pulled back his head, and stared into her beautiful amber eyes. They were eyes that a man would kill for.
But were they eyes worth dying for?
“Get off me,” she spat. All the while continuing to push against his hard chest. He didn’t move an inch, just watched her perfect features contorting in temper. And when she finally wore herself out and stopped pushing, he leaned down and he kissed her.
“Please don’t,” she whimpered into his mouth.
He knew this was all wrong. A week ago he had held her down while Mariusz destroyed her innocence in the most brutal way possible, and now he was pinning her to his own bed after promising not to touch her.
He was fucking sick.
But something about this girl drove him crazy, making every single part of his mind thrum with a desire so strong that he had no idea if he could fight it, even if he wanted to. He pressed his mouth harder against hers, and his tongue forced her to open up to him. Then he lowered his body against hers, and one of his knees found its way between her thighs.
He had to stop. This was wrong.
She wriggled and yelped beneath him, which was the wrong thing for her to do because it simply called his demons to dance upon the very surface of his black, corrupt soul. He wanted to hear her to cry out like that while he fucked her.
Ilya broke away from her lips to begin trailing kisses across her neck, and up to her ear. He nibbled at the soft lobe, and allowed whispery breaths to tickle against the skin. She whined in pleasure, bucking her body against his, and he was suddenly hit by the strange realization that he wanted to make this an enjoyable experience for her.
She needed to know what fucking could really feel like, after what Mariusz had put her through during her first encounter with sex. He wanted to make her feel good—to erase some of the horror of what had happened to her. If he was completely honest with himself, he still wanted to hurt her. But only a little.
His hand found its way to her round, firm breast, and he squeezed hard enough to make her cry out against his shoulder. His cock throbbed at the sound, but his chest tightened with guilt. He had to give her a choice.
Not letting go of her body, he pressed his lips firmly against her ear, and whispered, “Do you want me to stop, milaya?”
“No,” she murmured.
“Are you sure?”
Her response stunned him, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even harder against her. Her mouth found his, and she kissed him with ferocity—almost as though her very survival depended on it.
“Make me forget,” she murmured, against his lips.
Ilya understood then. She wanted him to replace the scars of what Mariusz had done to her, by using his own body. Almost as though he was a tiger, scent marking over its territory after another animal had been there.
But her body isn’t your territory, his mind reminded him.
Ilya had never been very good at taking advice though, and now that he had her permission, he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop.
He pulled away from her soft lips, and looked deeply into her eyes for a moment. Once he was satisfied that she wasn’t steaming drunk, he wrapped a muscular arm under her body. Lifting her weight easily, he threw her further up the bed, and she landed on the soft covers with a surprised yelp.
She watched him with eyes which were clouded by lust, as he prowled up the bed toward her, and he paused for a moment as a strange realization hit him.
“You’re still not afraid of me, are you?”
By way of answer, she leaned up onto her elbows, bit her lower lip, and shook her head once.
“Oh, milaya. You will be,” he growled.
14
Liss
I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t afraid of the man who was crawling up the bed toward me. Mentally undressing me with the eyes of a predator. I was nervous, and so wet that it was ridiculous. But not afraid of him; even though I knew that he was employing every ounce of willpower he had, to stop himself from giving in to his urge to inflict pain on me.
When he reached my feet, he knelt up and quickly unbuttoned his dark blue shirt. Then he threw it to the floor and let his hungry gaze linger on me. I licked my lips and allowed my own eyes to shamelessly wander over his beautifully inked torso.
His black eyes followed my tongue as it traveled across my lips, and he groaned. Then he reached out to grab my dress, and before I could even register his intentions, he had torn it in half. I wriggled out of the scrap of material, and he tugged it away from beneath me; dropping it to join his shirt on the floor. Now I lay naked before him—except for my black panties.
Lifting up my left leg, and laying it over his shoulder. Ilya pressed his mouth against the hollow at my ankle; before trailing his tongue slowly upward, gently nipping at the skin of my calf. When he reached my knee, he flicked his tongue teasingly across the back of the joint, and I leaned forward to wrap my fingers through his rich, dark hair.
When he dropped my leg back to the bed, and started to kiss and lick at my inner thigh, I wriggled in a perfect spiral of delight and despair. I wanted both more and less from him, in equal amounts. He growled when I moved, and both of his hands grabbed tightly hold of my thighs—stopping me from going anywhere.
Reaching the very top of my thigh, his tongue began to tease at the edge of my panties—making me close my eyes, and whimper with anticipation. But he jolted me back to awareness when his teeth sank into the tender flesh at the top of my thigh, biting hard enough to burn.
I gasped and sat forward, but his strong hand shot out and pressed against my stomach, until I fell back against the bed once more.
“Pleasure and pain, milaya. I will have both from you,” he growled.
Before I could reply, his warm mouth found my throbbing clit through the wet fabric of my panties. He pressed his tongue against me, and my hips jolted violently down against the bed. I moaned in delight, and he gripped my thighs tighter in response.
My hands reached out for his dark hair once more, and he growled against my body as I wrapped my fingers through the inky waves and tugged hard. I suspected that Ilya liked to feel pain almost as much as he liked to give it, because in one quick movement his hand caught a hold of my panties, and he tore them away from my body.
I now lay on the bed with my legs shamelessly splayed, and his black eyes trained hungrily on my naked sex.
Whimpering I tried to use a hand to cover myself, but he swatted it away. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.”
Obediently I laid my arms against the bed, hands next to my sides—my eyes never leaving his face. And I watched him smirk as he lowered his mouth to slowly possess the throbbing bundle of nerves between my legs.
“Oh,” I whispered, as his tongue chased circles over the sensitive flesh.
Ilya clearly took this as an invitation to up the pressure, and he wrapped both of his arms around my thighs, dragging my naked body even closer to him. Then he fell upon me with a vengeance, closing his lips over my clit, and sucking me deep into his mouth.
I cried out softly, and tried to wriggle further up the bed, but I had no chance of escaping the iron grip of his ink-covered arms. His eyes briefly met mine above the peaks of my hardened nipples, and those pitch-black depths were filled with dark delight as he began to flick his tongue back and forth across the sensitive bud.
“Please,” I whimpered, my hands flying up to cover my face. As though that would somehow save me from the unbearable pleasure of this man’s mouth.
He ignored me, letting go of my left thigh so that he could bring his hand down between my legs, and when I felt him start to slide a finger inside me, I stiffened in fear—almost telling him to stop. But his expert tongue flicked back and forth in an almost hypnotizing rhythm, and my back involuntarily arched in delight. My protest became a groan of ecstasy—giving him a wordless invite to invade my body ever more deeply.
I had expected Ilya’s finger to bring me pain, much like Mariusz’s cock had brought when he raped me. But this was nothing like that.
Ilya was gentle with the inside of my body, even as he laid waste to my clit with his mouth. He slowly circled the finger inside me, and I realized he was testing me, to make sure that I was properly healed.
Why would a man who wants to hurt me so badly, care so much?
His mouth closed back over my throbbing clit, and I howled in elation. “Oh, my god.”
He used the moment of my distraction to his advantage—sliding a second finger inside me to join the first, and I moaned as he picked up a quick rhythm—sliding them in and out of my wetness, and curling them inside me, in a “come here” gesture.
Lifting his head, he met my eyes, and he spoke in a husky voice. “Come for me, milaya.”
Then he dropped his mouth back to violently pleasure my body, licking, flicking and sucking my clit, all while his fingers continued in their relentless pace.
I felt the orgasm begin as a ripple of fire in my stomach, waves of heat pulsing their way through me. My eyes closed, and my back arched. Then I was frozen in place as he refused to slow his hand, or his mouth.
And suddenly I couldn’t hold on any longer. My body exploded in a detonation of fire and flame, and I could see a thousand stars bursting behind my closed lids. I stopped trying to escape him. Why would I want to escape this?
My hands found a life of their own. Fisting into the bedclothes and clawing at the fabric. I drove my hips in a downward motion against his hand, wanting to feel his fingers deeper inside me, and wanting to never lose the sensation of his tongue against my throbbing clit.
“Ilya.” I called his name in a breathless prayer, and I almost sobbed when I felt him pull away from me.
My eyes flew open, wanting to know why he had stopped touching me. My very soul mourning the loss of him. He had stood up from the bed, and he was just stepping out of his jeans, and boxer shorts. His rock hard cock sprang free from his body—much bigger than Mariusz’s had been—and I gasped in awe.
His perfectly muscular body was exquisite, and also terrifying when I suspected that I knew what he planned to do to me next. He prowled back up the bed toward me, and suddenly my orgasm felt as though it had happened a thousand years ago. Panic took over, and I kicked my way even further up the bed—away from him.
Ilya’s large hand shot forward, wrapping around my ankle. He yanked me back down the bed in one quick jerk, and I whimpered in a blend of both terror and desire, as he settled himself between my legs.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whispered.
He paused, before slowly trailing one finger along my soaking wet folds. His dark eyes on mine the entire time.
“You’re so wet, milaya. It won’t hurt, I promise. Okay?”
Fighting back the urge to beg him to stop, I nodded my head slowly. He took me at my word then, slowly wrapping his hands around each of my wrists, and pinning my hands at either side of my head. Leaning down to my ear he whispered, “Open your legs for me.”
I did as he told me, and I felt him press the tip of his hard cock against my slick entrance. His eyes captured mine, and he smiled at me, making his handsome face transform so beautifully that he looked almost unearthly.
“Are you ready?” He asked, softly.
Taking a deep breath, I nodded. “Yes.”
Ilya smoothly pushed past my entrance, and I sucked in a breath at how wide he stretched me. Mariusz hadn’t pushed me this far, I thought. But I quickly forced the thoughts of the other man out of my head, I did not need to remember what he had done to me, not right now anyway.
Ilya paused with his rigid cock halfway inside me, and he studied my eyes with his. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, and obviously believing me, he pushed himself the rest of the way inside. He stopped once his body was fully pressed against mine—holding himself deep within my core. Once I became used to just how full he made me feel, I was shocked to discover that I hadn’t felt any pain at all yet.
He laid his lips against my neck in a tender kiss, then slowly he pulled his cock all the way back until it was nestled against my wet folds; before sinking himself back inside in a single gliding movement. I gasped in pleasure—realizing that everything he had done before this had been to ensure that I was wet enough to enjoy this.
“Okay?” He murmured against my ear, as he increased the speed of his thrusts.
Astounded that I still felt no pain, I arched my body up to meet his in response—silently begging him to keep doing what he was doing.
“Better than okay,” I whispered, before dissolving into a groan of delight as he slammed himself into
me, hard.
I wrapped my legs around his waist now, urging him on with my body. Letting him know that I didn’t want him to stop. And he responded by growling in excitement and rearing back to give himself enough room to dart forward, sucking my nipple into his mouth. He bit down gently, and I cried out in torment as I felt the oncoming orgasm within me.
My euphoria made me fight against the grip that he had on my wrists, and obviously sensing that I was no longer fighting to get away from him, he let them go. He buried his fists into the bed on either side of my head, while he kept up his relentless pace. He was going as hard and fast as Mariusz had now, but this was different. He’d prepared my body to endure the onslaught. Plus he wasn’t taking my virginity—that horse had already bolted.
The next orgasm to hit my body took me to a completely different level. Every thrust from him felt as though it was pushing me closer to the edge of a ledge which dropped off into a pool of endless bright-white heat. My body burned so brightly that I almost felt cold—pushed beyond the spectrum of feeling anything in a normal way.
I dug my fingernails into his broad back as I howled out in agonized elation, and he growled out his own release at the exact same moment. Speeding his rhythm up even more; until with a roar he stilled inside me, and I knew that he had come. I dropped back against the bed—dripping in crystals of sweat—but so grateful that he had marked me, helping me to be rid of the stain which Mariusz had left on my soul.
15
Ilya
Ilya looked down at the girl beneath him. The girl he’d just broken all of the rules for. Her skin was flushed from her climax, and her breathing was as ragged as his own. She was more stunning than ever now that she was consumed by a post orgasm bliss which he knew that he’d been the cause of.
