by Zoe Blake
“Louder,” I commanded as I released my cock and reached over our bodies to snatch a small black velvet case from the nightstand. I flipped open the lid with one hand and pulled out a platinum, diamond and emerald engagement ring. I had been carrying this ring around with me for three years. Tonight, I would finally put it on her finger where it belonged. While diamond engagement rings were not the tradition in my culture, they were a sign of ownership in America, and I needed every man who ever laid eyes on her to know… she was taken. Although my concession to our new country would only go so far; she would wear it on her right hand not left.
“Take me,” she cried out as I wrapped my strong fingers around her right wrist.
“Who do you belong to, malyshka?”
Her gaze dropped.
With my free hand, I grasped her jaw and forced her gaze back to mine. “Say it. Who do you belong to?”
“You, Gregor. It’s always been you.”
I slid the ring onto her finger. Spanning her hips with both my hands, I positioned my cock at her tight entrance and viciously thrust into the hilt, feeling the feeble resistance of her maidenhead stretch and surrender as I claimed her.
Samara screamed. Curling her small hands into fists, she pounded ineffectively on my chest. I was undeterred. Ruthlessly thrusting in deep, I could feel the slick coating of her arousal mixed with blood, easing my cock with each stroke.
“Stop! It hurts!” she begged.
“It’s too late, baby,” I rasped against her cheek as my hips drove into her body.
My entire body strained not to hurt her with the ferocity of my need. In the three years I’d search for her, I’d barely looked at it let alone touched another woman. There was no satisfaction to be found in any else’s arms. She had become my all-consuming obsession, my dark religion. Finally sinking into her tight passage was like finding God.
Her hands pushed at my shoulders. My back bowed as I groaned the moment her impossibly still tight cunt spasmed around my shaft. Swinging her right arm wide, Samara slapped me across the face.
Sliding my fingertips over my cheek, I could feel the sting of blood. The ring had turned on her finger, facing the palm so the sharp edge of the multiple diamond settings had torn at my skin.
I smiled. “Blood for blood.”
Snatching both her wrists, I stretched them high over her head. Subduing her with the oppressive weight of my body, I pounded into her soft flesh. Our bodies rocked back and forth on the silk coverlet as the bed frame squeaked and groaned.
“Oh God! Oh God! Gregor!”
She continued to scream my name over and over.
Her inner muscles rippled over my shaft. I knew the rhythm of my thrusts were bringing her to another orgasm. I held back till her body tensed. The moment her back bowed and her lips opened on a long keening moan, I slipped the reins.
“Fuck!” she cried out as her legs wrapped tightly around my hips.
I thrust several more times before I released my seed deep within her body. If there was a God, it would take root and bind this amazing creature to me forever.
With a growled curse of my own, I collapsed to the side of her, pulling her body against my side. My hand reached down to cup her behind the knee to stretch her leg over my hips, needing to feel the wet heat of her cunt pressed against my skin. Still breathing heavy, I kissed her forehead.
“You’re mine now, Samara. There’s no turning back.”
A tremor swept over her body. Whether it was a chill or fear, I didn’t question.
Pulling on a corner of the coverlet, I swept it high to cover our naked forms.
With my arm wrapped tight around her shoulder, I picked up her right hand, which had been resting on my chest. I lifted it high till the ring on her finger caught the moonlight. The diamond glimmered as it caught the meager light, and a primal wave of possessiveness sunk its sharp claws into my soul.
“Mine.”
Chapter 26
Samara
My head rested against his chest. I could feel the vibrations of his steady heartbeat but couldn’t hear it. There was nothing but an ungodly rushing sound in my ears, as if I were underwater. My body was both numb and sore at the same time.
Afraid to stir, I stayed unnaturally still, waiting, for what I didn’t know.
Finally, Gregor moved. Sliding out from beneath my bent leg, he kicked off his wrinkled suit trousers and padded naked across the room to his walk-in closet attached to the bathroom. Like his chest and arms, his back was covered in colorful tattoos, one blending into the next. A twisted kaleidoscope of religious symbols and macabre images. Beneath all the color was nothing but hard muscle. Closing my eyes, I tried to block out the overwhelming memory of his heavy body pressing mine into the bed.
He returned wearing a worn pair of grey sweatpants low on his hips. Crossing to the bed, he pushed a lock of hair away from my cheek. In his hand was a wet washcloth.
“Lean back.”
My cheeks heated. Reaching for the washcloth, I protested, “I can do it.”
He shifted his arm away from my grasp and raised an eyebrow.
Resigned, I fell back onto the pillows. A cool rush of air kissed my heated skin as he pulled the gold satin coverlet away. My arms crossed over my breasts and my knees bent up.
His large hand slid down my thigh, then applied pressure till I opened my legs. Turning my head to the side, I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes tight as waves of mortification rolled over me. Using the soft washcloth, he caressed me between my legs and over my inner thighs. Wiping away all traces of blood and our mutual arousal. Returning to the bathroom, he discarded the washcloth and crossed once more to the bed.
Running his knuckles over my cheek, he said, “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
I swallowed but said nothing.
Waiting till I heard his retreating steps down the hall, I lifted my arm and stared at the ring on my right hand. It was massive. The center princess cut diamond had to be at least ten carats. Two five carat, step-cut emeralds flanked it on either side of its platinum setting. The ring befitted the wife of a powerfully rich man.
The future Mrs. Gregor Ivanova.
Oh God. What had I done?
Panicking, I tried to pull the ring off my finger. It wouldn’t budge. The diamond setting scratched my fingers on either side as I twisted and pulled in vain. My pale skin turned bright red and bruised, but the ring would not slide off.
I had to stop when I heard Gregor’s step outside the bedroom.
In one hand he carried two glasses half-filled with a clear liquid and a bottle tucked under his arm. In the other was a small, gold-rimmed plate stacked high with delicate pink swirls—Zefir pastries, my favorite Russian pastry.
He extended his arm, and I took one of the glasses.
“Thought you could use a drink,” he said with a twist of his lips.
Without pausing, I tossed back the vodka. The harsh liquor burned a path down my throat to settle uncomfortably in my empty stomach. My eyes watered as I tightened my lips and swallowed my coughs, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
“Careful, little one, you haven’t eaten nearly enough to swill vodka like that.”
Defiantly, I snatched the second glass from his grasp and downed it before he could object.
Picking up one of the meringue cookies, he ordered, “Eat.”
Taking it from his hand, I gratefully bit into the chewy cookie, hoping the sweetness would dull the gasoline fumes from the vodka. As I chewed, my eyes wandered over his hips, to the outline of his still semi-erect cock as it pressed against the cotton of his sweatpants.
Jesus. I couldn’t believe that thing fit inside of me.
“And it will fit again and again and again.”
My jaw fell as I raised my alarmed gaze, knowing he had read my illicit thoughts.
The bastard winked.
Tearing at the coverlet, I tossed it around my shoulders and slid off the bed. “I… I… have to use the
bathroom.”
Gregor nodded towards his closet. “Through the closet to the left.”
“No!”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Uh… no… I’d rather use my own,” I stammered as I tripped over the trailing blanket and backed away from him.
“You have two minutes.”
I nodded and turned, practically lunging for the doorknob of the connecting door. As I swung it open, Gregor repeated, “Two minutes, Samara. Don’t make me come and get you.”
Without turning, I nodded and crossed the threshold into my darkened bedroom.
Dragging the heavy coverlet, I walked past the bureau and searched the darkness for the white, molding outline of the bathroom doorway. Reaching out my hand, I swiped the light switch up.
Without warning, a large hand wrapped around my throat and yanked me backward.
My frightened scream was cut off when a second hand slapped across my mouth.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch.”
I recoiled as my vodka-filled stomach clenched at the stench from the man’s fetid breath.
Gregor stormed into the room.
Breathing heavily through his nose, his fists clenched as his sides, he looked like the devil incarnate. I had only thought I had seen him angry in the past. It was nothing like now. He looked ready to tear the limbs off my captor.
Clawing at the hand around my throat, I tried to kick out, but the blanket tangled around my ankles. A sharp sting against my throat stilled all my struggles.
Gregor’s face paled as his gaze focused on my neck.
A trickle of blood itched as it dripped from the fresh wound.
Gregor’s hard gaze returned to my captor’s. “I was going to kill you but spare your family. Now everyone you love will die.”
I could feel the man’s head turn as he spit on the carpet. “Fuck you, Ivanov.”
The devil you know. The devil you know. The devil you know.
My frenetic mind just kept repeating the phrase. Gregor was the devil I knew, and now I desperately wanted to stay with him. Lifting my gaze, I silently pleaded with him.
Don’t let him take me.
Once again, like a mesmerist, Gregor read my mind. “No one is taking you from me, malyshka.”
There was the sound of splintering wood and broken glass from somewhere downstairs. Oh God, there must be more of them. My captor laughed, his rank hot breath making me want to vomit.
“There’s four of us and only one of you, Ivanov. We’re taking the bitch.”
Gregor took a step toward us.
The knife at my throat shifted. I hissed as another sharp sting of pain sent a shock up my spine.
The man cackled. “There’s nothing you can—”
“Am I interrupting?”
The dirty hand over my mouth muffled my scream as my captor swung wide.
In the doorway stood the man I met at the museum gala. Dimitri, that was his name. He was leaning against the doorjamb eating one of the pink Zefir cookies. Completely oblivious to the blood splattered across his white button-down shirt and tie. “Correction. There were four of you. Now there’s just you.”
Gregor grabbed him by the hair and ripped his head back. The man abruptly released me. I fell to the floor, scrambling to cover my nakedness with the discarded blanket at my feet. As I turned, I watched Gregor cock his bent arm back before punching the man in the throat.
My captor’s eyes bulged, and he grasped his neck. As he stumbled backward, Dimitri raised his leg and kicked him back into the center of the room. Gregor twisted his hand in the front of the man’s shirt and held him steady as he punched him again. This time in the mouth. Dark crimson blood spewed from the man’s mouth as he tried to scream for help.
No one came.
Gregor struck him again and again.
There was a sickening crack as the man’s jaw shifted to an obscene angle before falling slack.
The man’s face was beaten to a bloody pulp as he laid curled on his side on the floor. His body twitched before blood-stained air bubbles foamed at the corner of his mouth. There was a strange gurgling sound, then the lifeless body pitched forward.
Gregor stood over him, breathing heavily as his arms stayed raised, fists clenched.
Dimitri broke the tense silence. “Vaska is loading the other three in the van. We’ll take them to the usual place.”
Gregor nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”
Dimitri’s gaze slid to my prone form as I huddled on the floor against the bed frame.
“Take your time. We’ll wait to start.”
He turned and left, leaving me alone with Gregor.
Gregor bent down on his haunches in front of me. He reached out his arm. I cried out and scuttled backwards on my ass till my back hit the wall. My horrified gaze shifted from his furrowed brow to his blood-stained hands.
In fact, he was covered in blood. Streaks of it crisscrossed his chest, and there was even a bloody handprint on his sweatpants from when my captor desperately reached out to try and stop the beating.
“Don’t do that again,” he warned.
This time when he reached for me, I stayed frozen in place. With a gentleness which belied the savagery I had just witnessed, he brushed my hair aside and inspected the cut on my neck. I bit my lip as even his light touch caused a painful, sharp sting.
Cursing under his breath, Gregor gathered me into his arms. As he rose, I grasped the edge of the blanket tighter over my chest. He had taken two steps toward the connecting door when Jim appeared. He looked disheveled and out of breath. His shirt was torn and his left eye swollen shut.
“Boss, I—”
Gregor didn’t take his eyes off me. “I don’t want to hear it. Put that piece of shit in the back of the Range Rover and wait for further instructions.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Gregor carried me into his bedroom and through the closet to the bathroom ,where he placed me on the green marble counter between the double sinks. As the shock of what I'I'd just witnessed started to settle in, I wrapped the blanket tighter over my shoulders. Gregor then pushed the blanket down till it barely covered my breasts. When I reached to pull it up again, his warning glare stopped me.
Placing a finger under my chin, he tilted my head back. I hissed as the dried blood pulled at the wound, making it sting and itch.
He got a fresh washcloth and ran it under some warm water. “It’s just a scratch. It won’t scar.” He placed the cloth over the cut, and after the warmth penetrated the dried blood, he swiped it clean.
Turning back to the sink, he ran his hands under the faucet. Swirls of red-tinged water circled the basin before slipping down the drain. If I hadn’t just witnessed the brutality, it would have reminded me of cleaning my paint brushes.
“Next time, bend your knees. Your attacker won’t expect it. Then pivot and slam him in the kidneys”—he gestured to a spot on his side—“right here with your elbows. If you do it right, your attacker will let go and bend over in pain. That’s when you grab them by the back of the head and slam their face down on your raised knee. That will break their nose and give you a chance to escape.”
Next time?
NEXT TIME!
What the fuck had happened to my life?
I was an artist, or at least trying to be one. I wanted to create beauty, not be a part of destruction and violence. My reluctant attraction to Gregor and surprise at his more cultured side had blinded me to the reasons why I ran in the first place.
I didn’t belong in his world.
When I didn’t respond, he placed his warm hands on my jaw and looked into my eyes. “You’re safe. I’m going to make sure no one harms you ever again. Do you understand me, Samara?”
Looking down at the blood covering his chest, I shook violently. Gregor followed my gaze and cursed. Snatching up the wet washcloth, he ran it over his chest as he exited the bathroom.
I stayed put on the counter.
Afraid to move.
Afraid to speak.
Afraid to think.
After the muted sounds of rustling fabric, Gregor entered the bathroom dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark grey sweater. He pushed the sleeves up his forearms before resting his hands on the counter on either side of my hips. “I need to handle a few things. I want you to be a good girl and stay in our room. Jim will keep guard.”
His voice had such a casual tone, as if he were telling me he was just popping over to the store for bread and milk, instead of basically letting me know he was about to go bury four bodies.
My knuckles were white against the gold fabric of the bed coverlet as I continued to clasp it to my chest. His ring shone brightly under the stark bathroom light.
Mrs. Gregor Ivanova, mafia wife.
Was this now my life?
My entire being rebelled at the prospect.
“Samara?”
My throat seized shut as I licked my dry lips. I couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Everything is going to be okay, malyshka.”
Everything was not going to be okay.
Swallowing past the sick lump in my throat, I finally spoke. “Who was that man?”
“No one you need to be concerned about.”
I blinked. Was he serious? “How could I not be concerned? He just tried to kill me!”
Gregor nodded sagely. “And he paid the price for that, as will his family and cohorts.”
“Gregor, what the fuck is going on?”
“Language.”
“Language! Really? You’re going to lecture me about my language at a time like this? You know what? You can go fuc—”
Switching his hand to the back of my neck, he pulled me close to claim my mouth. His tongue swept in to take possession as his other hand ruthlessly shoved the blanket aside so he could cup my breast. Shifting his hips, he wedged himself between my legs. His hard cock pressed against my still sore pussy. Whimpering, I tried to pull away, but he fisted his fingers into my hair and twisted, keeping me still and under his control.
His mouth tasted of vodka and violence.
The moment he released me, I sucked in a desperate breath. Before I had a chance to fight him off, he swept me back into his arms and carried me into the bedroom. Placing me on the bed, he stormed back into the closet and returned with a fresh blanket. My body spun and twisted as he pulled the old, soiled one free. Draping the soft down over me, he tucked it in along my sides as if I were a little girl being soothed after a nightmare.