The Lies Between Lovers (The Beast of Moscow Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  His stare snapped to hers, and his teeth nipped at nothing. “Only a little.”

  She was a dead woman.

  He could take it all.

  “Open the second drawer on the right,” he told her, tossing the cloth.

  The second his hands were free, he had already knelt lower to grab both legs of her shorts and yanked them all the way down to her ankles in one swift swoop. He was eye level with the swell of her backside as cold air whispered over her ass and between her thighs. The sting of his palms swatting her knees had her widening her legs for him.

  “The drawer,” Vaslav demanded.

  She pulled on the black knob of the cabinet’s second drawer. The contents inside shuddered from how fast she opened it to expose what he was looking for. An opened bag of toiletries that had spilled a bit seemed innocent at first.

  Until he opened the smaller side pocket of the leather bag. The condom and pocketknife he pulled out found a home on the sink’s edge as he slammed the drawer shut with a snap that made Vera shiver.

  “Why the knife?” she asked, not taking her eyes off it.

  Vaslav lifted her right leg until her knee rested on the edge of the marble counter that extended further from the sink. She should have been embarrassed of the fact that she hadn’t bothered to put a clean pair of panties on, but she had been too tired and more concerned with getting something suitable from the carry-on she’d hauled upstairs to sleep earlier. Had she taken the time to put something on under the shorts, she might not feel so shamefully wet and spread for him.

  Could he already smell her?

  His calloused fingers drifted over the cheeks of her ass, and her skin pebbled instantly in response. Along with it went any worries she had because his deep grunt of approval said he liked what he found either way.

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  “And the knife?”

  Vaslav plucked it up, flicked the blade open with a smooth swipe of his thumb, and before she could react, he yanked the front of her shirt higher. It took him no effort at all to slice the shirt straight up the middle, leaving the flimsy fabric open and exposing her breasts to his studious gaze in the mirror.

  The knife was tossed to the sink, then.

  “I bet you’re even wetter now,” he murmured, and the husky laugh that followed when he touched her to check if he was right made it impossible for Vera to look away from his reflection. She jerked at the surprise touch between her thighs, but he was only gentle for that split second. Once he confirmed that she was as wet as he thought, those damp fingers of his found her clit and pinched.

  “Easy,” she yelped.

  “Oh, it won’t be. It’s been too long for me, and I’ve been gracious enough with you.”

  If only that scared her.

  “I didn’t say stop,” Vera said in a breath.

  “Kharoshay devochkoy—good girl.”

  The rumbling praise was like electricity over her skin, but that also could have been the two fingers he shoved knuckle-deep into her pussy without any warning. She was wet enough for it, there wasn’t any point in denying that, but the sudden intrusion had her up on her toes and clenching the rim of the sink.

  “If I rub one of those really wet ones out of this tight little cunt,” he told her, “then I’ll make sure your next one is around all nine and half inches of me. Think about how full you’re going to be with your leg up like that. You’ll watch me, Vera, for every second that I fuck you. You’ll watch me in that mirror until I’m done.”

  “I promise,” she whispered.

  At that point, with a third finger added to the mix that gave her a bite of sting on the first thrust in, whispering was the very best that she could do.

  “How young were you when you realized how easy it was for you to orgasm?”

  “W-what?”

  “How young?”

  God.

  Her cheeks burned red as her mind ran wild, and his fingers kept massaging her deeper.

  “Thirteen.”

  He whistled low. “That is young.”

  “Masturbation.”

  “Mmm,” he hummed low when she felt that familiar pressure building low in her pelvis and her knees started to shake. “All in healthy exploration, then. Can’t fault you for figuring it out and liking it, can we? And when you learned you could squirt?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Did it shock you?”

  “Humiliated me the first time, actually,” she admitted, thinking back to the way her partner had been horrified at the time. It was made worse by the fact she didn’t really understand what her body was doing or why. Just because it was a normal thing for many women didn’t mean it was something every woman was educated about.

  Vaslav clicked disapprovingly at the news, his gaze drifting up to the mirror to make sure she was still watching him. “What was it you said about us? We were barely ... something.”

  His question came with the faster rhythm of his hands working her into a trembling frenzy. He made it almost impossible to speak, but she managed every word.

  Somehow.

  “Lovers—I said we were barely lovers once.”

  “Right,” he returned. “Lovers.”

  “Lyubovnik.”

  “Lover. You want a lover.”

  Well, she would take that—if she couldn’t have it all from him, anyway.

  “I can be that,” Vaslav told her as the tendrils of the most intense orgasm began to spear through her womb. He had to feel the way her inner walls contracted around him, determined to milk his fingers the way it would for his cock. As she vibrated and moaned her way through the bliss that left her dripping a tiny puddle on the bathroom floor once he’d pulled his hand from between her thighs, he said, “I can be a lot of things, and that too, for you.”

  If you’ll let me.

  She swore she could feel those unspoken words.

  “Moy lyubovnik—my lover?”

  “As long as you’re also mine,” he returned.

  Then he cracked her twice in quick succession, just fast enough to sting so good, open-palmed against her slit with his fingers snapping over her clit. Each one earned him a high, breathy whine before it melted into a moan when he kneaded each of her pert cheeks. Only after her trembling subsided did he reach for the condom packet on the counter.

  Vaslav tore it open and had the flimsy rubber precarious dangling between two fingers when he nodded at her in the mirror. He hadn’t even taken the towel off yet. “Let me hear you say it. Tell me what you want.”

  She had no more reason to play coy.

  “I want you to fuck me,” Vera said, voice soft but sure.

  His hand jerked a wave behind her. “Like this?”

  “However you want.”

  At this point, she didn’t give a damn how.

  A glint reflected in the mirror from his heavy stare. “Let me guess—you like to be someone’s little slut. Used and abused and getting off every single time.”

  “For the right man.”

  At the moment, that just happened to be him. Not every man could evoke that same reaction, though.

  As if he could read her mind, Vaslav chuckled and yanked off his towel, muttering, “Lucky fucking me, kisska.”

  Vera lost all real sense when she could feel his length and fist pressing between the cheeks of her ass. Every stroke of his fist to his shaft dragged his knuckles along her body, and his exhales came out more ragged than the last. She kept watching him just like he’d told her to do, anticipating that first push of his cock and how well it would stretch her open like this. He never checked her in the mirror, instead he was too focused on the sight beneath him, and the way he worked himself against her.

  And then he stopped long enough to slide the rubber down.

  He didn’t promise easy, so she reveled in the ache that settled deep when he shifted a bit behind her, and the head of his cock slipped in with little resistance. Just as fast, he was balls deep, one hand fisting the ruined shi
rt and sweater against her hip, and his other coming around to her chest to get access to the breasts he’d wanted free.

  That first thrust came with his guttural, “Fuck.”

  The second, even harder, took her back up to her toes. His hands were still there with a tight, unrelenting grip to keep her in place on the edge of the sink.

  “Don’t go too far,” he said, every word breathless.

  The third flex of his hips came with a swift snap of their skin meeting, but he held her there. Tight against him, entirely full, and she swore she could feel the way his cock pulsed inside her under the thin rubber. She couldn’t clutch the sink’s rim tight enough; it took every ounce of self-control she had not to push back into him to relieve the pressure and throbbing of her pussy.

  “Hungry—you’re so greedy. That cunt of yours is trying to milk me dry already.”

  Vera couldn’t look away at the sight of him in the mirror, how his trembling fist ran up and down her side, and his other pinching at her nipples. Every touch earned him another one of her sounds. A hiss came with the pain. Soft whines fell from her trembling lips one at a time when his cock inched out of and then slammed right back in all at once.

  “Jesus Christ, please—”

  “Hold on now. Really.”

  She appreciated the warning. Even if it was the only one he planned to give her. Any semblance of her awareness was gone when he started to fuck her, then. Each long stroke almost hurt, but it was too good for her to tell him to stop. Not that she wanted him to, anyway. His hands left marks behind on her alabaster skin, the canvas marred by red lines he dragged down her chest and new pink bruises from hand prints he cracked across her ass.

  The sting took her higher.

  Faster than ever.

  His pace came with unyielding force—snap and snap of his hips against her ass that made Vera’s thigh muscles protest from being shoved so hard against the edge of the counter and sink. She barely even noticed. His uncompromising determination to fuck her until she was raw only turned her on more.

  The only proof of his struggle to maintain some control was the light sheen of sweat on his tattooed chest and the bliss twisting the desperation in his sneer. He didn’t look away from the view he must have had of his cock sinking into her pussy—how wet was she now?

  Still dripping?

  Getting there.

  She could feel it in the way her inner walls started to contract with every thrust, and she told him as much, managing to utter, “There. Right there, you’re going to make me cum again.”

  As rushed as her words were, as good as he felt, Vaslav’s tempo slowed. Just enough that he must have been able to feel the way her body started to approach the precipice of release because that’s when his head snapped up, and his gaze locked onto hers in the mirror.

  “Be my good girl, then, and give it to me, kisska.”

  She did when his palm found her ass cheek, and he kneaded the flesh. It was almost like he stretched her open a little more doing that, as if he made her pussy tighter, and she knew then that he would leave her sore.

  Happy.

  But sore.

  “Oh, my God—Da ... da, there. Pozhaluysta—please. Vas, I’m gonna ... Pozhal—”

  “Der’mo,” came his responding cuss when her shaking and moans stopped her from saying more. One last thrust took her orgasm to the next level, but she felt the truth inside her, too. The way he held her there, tight to all nine and half inches of his jerking cock while his hands clamped down on her side and right breast. He had come, too.

  He almost seemed shocked, his palm slapping down twice to her ass when he finally let her go and pulled free from her still-clenching sex. “Had me nutting like a boy.”

  Vera laughed, but even the sound was airless and high, as he pulled her leg down from the edge of the counter. “I barely did any work.”

  “Let me at least save face, woman.”

  Vera had her usual quip at the ready to respond, but the loud screech and subsequent apology that followed the sudden rattle of dishes had both of them forgetting their conversation altogether. She spun around fast, her hands flying up and down to cover her body from view, but Vaslav’s larger form kept her well-hidden. He’d been fast enough to grab the towel from the floor, but it only dangled from his hand at his side. He didn’t even bother to shield his nakedness the way she did.

  “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” Mira called from the next room. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. Dinner is ready. I assumed you wanted it upstairs when you didn’t come down.”

  Behind Vas, Vera whispered, “I did tell you it was almost ready.”

  His shoulders shook with laughter, and Vera had to stand up on her tiptoes and lean around him to see the open doorway of the bathroom where Mira must have gotten her eyeful. Not that she stood there any longer.

  Her footsteps quickly carried further from the space. All the while, she never stopped apologizing.

  “Been a while since she’s had to put up with that from me,” he mused, turning to face Vera. She shifted on her feet, wincing a bit from the ache in her upper legs and the delicious throb between her thighs. He didn’t miss it, but she barely felt the pain at all when his hands cupped her cheeks, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Are you sore?”

  “Only a little. It wouldn’t even bother me, really.”

  “Better question, then. Do you want to be?”

  That had Vera grinning.

  “As long as you let me eat first. I was looking forward to the soup.”

  Vaslav’s laugher, rich and rolling, coated her in warmth. “Well, let me feed you.”

  17.

  Igor drummed his fingers against the side of his leg while Vaslav focused on the man’s lotus flower tattoo that crawled up the back of his bald head.

  “Something on your mind, comrade?” Vaslav asked.

  That was the third time he’d drummed his fingers like that, after all. Sure, it wasn’t particularly fun waiting for the only elevator in the Federal Colonial to crawl from the secure basement to the first floor—it also wasn’t enough to bore the man. And since he knew Igor likely wasn’t bored considering what waited for them downstairs, that left Vaslav with the only other option on the table that could cause his little tic.

  Something was on his mind.

  The elevator, only visible where it had been built in by a single panel of reflective metal that acted as the outside of the door, slid open. Inside was the same reflective metal, not a camera in sight, and only a single panel at the back wall in the middle with black buttons, no directions, to choose a floor. Tucked away at the end of what looked like a private corridor attached to the east side of the home’s large room that was position directly across from his den’s quarters, most people never even saw the elevator.

  Once, the space had been used for parties and later, his mother turned it into her private bar to entertain, and even Vaslav’s dead wife had taken a crack at remodeling the open space with natural oak floors and high, vaulted ceilings.

  The little corridor in the back always remained closed, though. Especially after he upgraded the house a decade earlier to install the elevator that would take him into the basement without using the cellar doors on the outside of the home. Not that that entrance would give anyone entrance to the reinforced, double-walled section of basement he’d added a few years back where no one could hear a man scream.

  It took a while for things like that to come together. The elevator was the easy part.

  Igor stepped aside to let Vaslav enter the elevator first, admitting to his boss, “I didn’t think it would be appropriate for me to voice what I was thinking. I try not to die because my brain thinks stupid things and lets them come out of my mouth without permission.”

  That coaxed a good chuckle out of Vaslav while Igor situated himself beside him in the elevator. It wasn’t a large box. Four by four feet—if that. Large enough for two men to travel down at a time—partic
ularly if one was in a body bag.

  “Was that—did you laugh?” Igor asked, side-eyeing Vas as he reached over and pressed the black button on the bottom of the panel.

  “It was a chuckle. At most.” Then, Vas cocked a brow. “What were you thinking?”

  “I told you—”

  “Who is in a killing mood tonight?”

  Igor simply blinked at the reflection of the two men staring back at him from the mirrored wall of the elevator. “That’s not even funny.”

  “I thought it was.”

  “You have jokes now, too?”

  Vaslav shrugged—and desperately wished his good mood wasn’t so obvious that even Igor could tell there was a noticeable difference. “Maybe I just shouldn’t have shaved the other day. Then you couldn’t see when I smiled.”

  “I wouldn’t call that a smile, no?”

  “Eat shit.”

  The deadpan retort, that wasn’t even very hot, had Igor cackling out a laugh, too. Maybe it was because the tension had eased, but he felt more inclined to share. “I was thinking ... you know, Vas, I can’t honestly say there has been a time in my life when I’ve been able to keep one woman trapped behind the same four walls with me for longer than a day. You’ve managed two.”

  “Going on three,” he murmured.

  Although, more to himself. Vera’s stay at the home would soon be coming to an end, however, for a couple of reasons. Her phone never stopped buzzing once he brought all of her bags up to her, but she was happy to shove it away. She reminded him as well that she had work to get back to—about that, he opted not to correct her when it was still Feliks’ job—and things to handle for Mr. Anatoly.

  And at the same time, was happy not to leave his bed. She didn’t complain when food was brought to the door. Especially not after he got the flat screen connected to the streaming service she liked on her phone, and he pulled every curtain tight.

  Only the very edge of a migraine had been creeping in on him for the last day, but he blamed that on the fact he was forced to wait for other news that he couldn’t control until it was done. He couldn’t remember a time when he was falling asleep before midnight and waking up just after the sun had risen in the sky. Never mind feeling like he had slept.