by Ker Dukey
Then, I take my leave.
When I arrive home, the house is quiet. A twinge tightens my stomach when I pass the game room and Viktor’s laughter doesn’t trickle out through the doors. It’s been two months now, but missing him hasn’t gotten easier. My feet falter when I reach the kitchen and find the servant placing a sandwich in front of Veniamin Vetrov.
Why the hell is he here?
My interest is piqued as I open the fridge and pull out two bottles of beer. I’m not usually a beer drinker, but with Ven, I don’t feel the need for pretenses. He and I go way back. I can relax a little and just be me—the me underneath the power suit.
“Hungry?” I raise a brow and hand him a bottle.
Ven can be intimidating to most. He has the Vetrov wildness about him. Bearded and seemingly unkempt. Barely contained beneath an expensive Armani suit and twelve-hundred-dollar Italian leather shoes. I remember teenage Ven, when we were younger, running through the woods in the snow. Older and fiercer than any of the other boys, including myself. Ven was the only stupid one to run through the snow without a shirt on. As if that made him more of a badass. Back then, he was virtually hairless like the rest of us. Now, his beard and unruly hair match that wild kid I remember. His father may force him into a suit and instill manners on him, but Ven is still the ruthless vulture his family crest states.
He takes it with an impish grin, his tattooed fingers curling around the neck of the bottle. It makes me wonder what old man Vetrov thinks about his eldest son’s tattoos. My own father hates mine, which is why I try to keep them hidden beneath my suit. Ven wears his on display for all to see. “Didn’t get to finish my dinner.”
Ahhh, of course not.
Diana’s little murder ruined more than just my night it would appear.
“How is she?” He’s referring to Diana. Like myself, he’s known her since we were children, and if I remember correctly, used to tease Niko about his crush on her.
“She’s fine. Resilient and deadly as you know.”
There’s fondness in his eyes as I speak of Diana, and I know it’s reflected back from mine.
“Ty khochesh’ yest’, Mr. Vasiliev?” the servant girl asks, looking up at me with doe eyes. She’s a much better fit than the girl she replaced who apparently had an accident in this very room.
“No, I don’t want to eat. You’re dismissed.”
We watch her scurry off before Ven nods his head in approval.
“Do you think they’re real?” I know he’s talking about the girl’s tits without him elaborating. They’re unusually large on a frame that small.
“I doubt she could afford the boob job,” I offer.
He appears to ponder that thought. “Maybe you bought them for her,” he muses aloud. “I saw the way Rada looked at you.” He grins as he takes a swig from the bottle of beer. Of course he knows her name. Ven seems to know everyone’s name. It’s admittedly something he’s much better at than me. People.
“Paying the servants for pleasures was always Niko’s style, not mine,” I jab, refusing to say her name, showing him I don’t think their names are worth knowing at all.
He laughs, loud and honest. “He was notorious for chasing the help away. Once, I caught him with his cock between the mattress and base of his bed, rutting away. He’d even paid Ursula, our fifty-year old cook, to shove a carrot up his ass.”
I almost choke on that visual.
He just shakes his head. “It’s the truth. He was seventeen. Our mother, God rest her soul, would have shot that woman dead if she ever lived long enough to find out about that, and I dread to think what our father would have done had that information made it back to him.”
“A carrot?” I snort.
“Put me off eating at home, I can tell you that,” he adds, finishing off the sandwich. “I miss him.”
I nod my head. “As do I, moy drug.” My friend.
“How is Vika settling in?” I say with a smirk, earning a glare from him.
“I thought with Niko’s unfortunate passing, we were free of that woman,” he grunts.
“At least it’s not your back the knife will be placed.”
He swallows the dregs of his bottle before setting it down with a clink against the granite countertop. “This is true. I must admit, I thought that might be put forward as an option. Me marrying your little sister. And no disrespect to you, Vlad, but man to man, friend to friend, I’d rather marry a peasant than that woman.”
“No offense taken.” I lift a brow at him. “But you owe me one.”
His dark brows furl together and he nods. I love the feeling of having power over someone. And owed favors are my favorite.
“You should still keep a keen eye on her,” I tell him. “She’s cunning and usually gets what she wants. She’s had designs on you for a while.”
“I’m well aware of what she’s capable of,” he grumbles. “Don’t you worry about that.”
His tone implies there’s more to what he means.
Does he know what Vika did?
I study him as he rises to his feet. “I’ll be off then.”
“So soon?” I taunt and walk from the kitchen, knowing he will follow me.
He always does.
When you know a man as long as I have, you have them figured out completely. And Veniamin Vetrov is no different. I’ve been studying him since I was a runt and knew I wanted to grow up to be a badass like him…but better.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I smile when I hear his footfalls behind me. Together, we walk down the corridor in the north wing to one of our many spare bedrooms and I twist the handle. I quickly check my watch and my blood rushes straight to my cock when I hear the shower hissing from the en-suite. The servant girl, or Rada, as Ven so kindly reminded me, uses this shower every night at the same time, just after her shift. The servants’ quarters are not quite to her standards it would appear. She doesn’t know I know her tricks, but this place has cameras at every turn.
There’s not a corner I can’t see in.
My eyes are everywhere.
Ven knows this game. It’s one we’ve played before. He pats my shoulder and whispers,
“One for old time’s sake.”
I move across the room and sit on the plush loveseat next to the bed. Ven dips into the shadows and we wait. Patient, like the predators we are.
Eventually, the door opens, and there she is, her huge tits and tiny body confined in a barely-there towel. Her dark hair is wet and clings to her skin. She spots me almost instantly just like I planned for her to.
“Mr. Vasiliev,” she breathes, clutching the fabric.
“Come closer,” I order, and she doesn’t question the instruction. Her legs comply as she moves toward me, stopping at my feet.
“Do you want to play a game, malyshka?” Little girl. I arch a brow at her.
Her breathing increases, and those real tits begin moving at rapid speed. She opens her towel and drops it to the floor.
I’ll take that as a yes.
I nod and get to my feet. Ven moves from the darkness, like he was bred from it, and stalks silently toward her. She’s unaware, her eyes fixated on me.
“Do you like games, malyshka?” I murmur, leaning down into her space so my breath can disperse over her fevered flesh. Her skin blossoms with tiny goosebumps as her bottom lip trembles with need.
“Da,” she confirms. Yes. Good, so do I.
Ven’s hands come around her neck from behind, pulling her body flush with his. She panics and reaches for his hands, but I stop her, taking hers in my grasp.
“Don’t fight, Rada.”
“It’s better when they do,” Ven growls.
She begins to thrash her legs back, trying to kick him to no avail. Her eyes gloss over and her skin blushes a beautiful deep red. I nod to Ven, and he releases her neck, but wraps an arm around her waist to keep her upright. She inhales at the air, thirsty for it.
“Ublyudok!” Bastard. Her voice is raspy from bei
ng choked.
Ven chuckles. “I’ve been called worse.”
“Feel it?” I question, placing a palm to her heart. Her eyes water and she looks up at me, wounded. “The air sucking into your lungs? The blood rushing through your veins, feeding your heart? To linger on the cusp is ecstasy. A gift. Chase the pleasure, maylshka.”
Ven’s hands once again wrap nearly around her neck, and this time, she doesn’t fight it. Her nipples are hard and desperate for relief, and without dipping my fingers inside her, I know her pussy will be dripping with her juices. Her lips, swollen and throbbing, beg to be filled up and fucked raw. The veins in her eyes almost ripple as she fights to keep them wide open, staring into mine.
He takes her a little farther, causing her body to twitch and her skin to blossom with shades of purple. When he releases her, she chokes, coughing and sputtering.
She’s ready.
I grip her under her armpits, lifting and tossing her to the bed. Her body lands with a soft thud. Pillows fall to the floor as she skitters over the satin sheets. I prowl around the edge of the bed while Ven strips his shirt from his torso. The ink on his skin comes alive with his movements. She’s panting, and her body is trembling before he’s even neared her. Parting her legs, she invites him between them, but her eyes are glued to my movements. She gasps when he releases his cock from the zipper of his slacks. Veniamin, like myself, doesn’t disappoint in that department.
“Turn over,” he demands with a growl.
Complying, she moves to her hands and knees. Her ass is in the air and her heavy tits pull her chest toward the mattress. He enters her hard and brutal, slapping her ass as he does. She screams, then whimpers. Gripping a handful of her dripping wet hair, he tugs her head back, making her gasp. Loosening my tie, I slide it free from my collar and approach the bed. Her eyes track me and lower to my slacks. She wants to be full of cock. Kneeling on the bed in front of her, I grip her jaw and nod at Ven to slow his pounding so I can stuff my tie in her mouth.
In, in, in it goes until she gags.
Her eyes water and panic briefly flashes in them.
She moans something around the fabric, but her words don’t matter. I pinch her nose between my forefinger and thumb, cutting off her oxygen supply. Ven’s hips grind into her while his hand snakes beneath to pinch and slap at her clit. When tears well and then fall down her cheeks, I get closer to her face to watch them leak free. Her eyelids flutter and lips begin to change color. Slightly blue at first, and then darker with each passing second. Her body is giving way to the burning in her lungs. Her starved brain is making her eyes droop with exhaustion. Ven’s thrusts gain momentum as I pluck a piece of the fabric of the tie and slowly pull it out to match each forward jolt of his hips. She gulps and sputters with each inch I tug free. When it’s completely out, she screams her orgasm while still trying to replenish her body with air.
My own cock twitches in my slacks, eager for attention, but I ignore it for now.
I love the color of her lips.
Blue. Blue. So blue.
I sigh because, unlike Ven, I won’t be getting my rocks off with a beautiful woman.
She collapses to the bed while her body shudders in pleasure. Her moans echo around the room, turning into sobs of rapture. The orgasm was so intense, she’s like putty when Ven flips her on her back and straddles her tiny frame. He shoves his cock between her jiggly tits and fucks them, squeezing them together to cocoon his dick. He ruts a few times, then paints her face in white ribbons of cum.
I leave the room, closing the door behind me, but still sense her searching for me long after I’ve left. “I don’t fuck the help, maylshka,” I say to no one.
Once in my own room, I rid myself of my armor and shower. The pellets are cold and punishing. Thoughts of Irina assault me at the hardening of my cock. Would she still look at me with such devotion and need if she knew I liked to see a woman’s tears before seeing her pleasure?
I doubt it, and she will never find out.
Instead of thinking of sweetness and perfection and small nipples through a silky gown, I fist my cock to images of blue lips and giant, jiggly tits. It’s not what I want, but it’ll do the job.
I force all distraction from my mind and come thinking about control. Whatever it was I’d entertained briefly in my head with Irina was nothing but a small lapse. I am a Vasiliev. We don’t lose our control. In fact, we don’t lose at all.
It’s time to stop thinking like a pussy and start playing like a master.
Diana is in a heated conversation with Anton when I arrive at her office after a late breakfast. I’m exhausted from last night’s revelations. It’s not typical for me, but for once, I slept in.
The conversation looks tense if the frustration etched on Anton’s features is anything to go by. I slip in and take my seat. Both of them ignore me, but my presence is known. Diana sits behind her large desk and gestures for Anton to leave with a chin tilt.
He doesn’t move for a good four seconds. I know because I count them.
Eventually, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he rises and stalks away. His footfalls are heavy with intent to show his displeasure at whatever they’ve discussed. She probably plans to make him accompany us to the Vasiliev estate. It’s not the job he’s used to or even suited for, but it’s the one he’ll do if she orders it. Anton is Father’s right-hand man. He does all our father’s dirty work and does it with a smile and a nod. So there is no doubt he will comply and accompany us. Diana will make sure Father thinks it’s a good idea too. Diana always has a way with men and our father isn’t immune to her charm.
“You look tense,” I comment, watching her for any signs of cold feet.
“There’s just a lot to prepare for.” Her sigh is heavy and resigned. She’s no longer the giddy, excited woman from last night.
I stand and walk over to her, sitting on the corner of her desk. “Does Anton not want to play security for us?” I ask in a playful tone, but it doesn’t break through her salty mood.
“Anton will do as he’s told,” she grinds out, her voice cold and unwavering.
Holding up my hands in mock surrender, I make my way back to my chair. “Like we all do,” I snip at her.
She slams her pen to the desk. “Not now, Irina. If you’re going to be a brat, you can work from your own office.”
I gape at her outburst. My eyes drift to the adjoining door separating our offices. I’ve never used mine. Never. I haven’t even been in that office since it was assigned to me by Father over a year ago. She and I work together. It’s what we do.
My chest aches, but I call her bluff. I stand and move toward the door. I’ll teach Diana that her snapping at me like I’m the help won’t be tolerated. Before my hand touches the handle, she rushes over to me.
“Stop,” she cries out, her voice cracking. “I didn’t mean it.” She stands between me and the door, her brows scrunched together in worry.
“I know you didn’t,” I bite out. “So don’t say things you don’t mean.”
She reaches forward and brushes away my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “Okay. I’m sorry. It’s not you.” She sighs and touches her lips with her fingertip, her canary-yellow diamond engagement ring reflecting brilliantly. “I’m a little stressed.”
I fold my arms and take a couple steps toward my chair. She makes her way back over to her desk. I turn abruptly and open the door to my office. Her gasp is audible, and she rushes over to pull the door closed. Her eyes are so round and bright, they look like full moons.
“I-I-I sleep in there sometimes,” she sputters out, her voice wobbling with nerves. “When I’m working late at night.”
Although she is quick to close the door, I’ve already mentally scanned and stored what was inside.
There’s a bed expanding from the far wall where my desk was once situated. The covers are in disarray, and if I’m not mistaken—which I never am—there are a pair of panties in two pieces at the foot of the bed.
> “Shadow,” she says my nickname desperately, and it’s then I realize I haven’t spoken. When I look up into her penetrating gaze, I see fear. It’s not something I’ve ever seen in Diana’s eyes. She’s always so sure of herself. So calm and poised. “I just sleep there sometimes when I work late,” she repeats, as though saying it again will somehow make me believe those words.
Her room is a few doors away. There’s no need to sleep in there. I’m not buying her story.
“Irina, please,” she begs, her voice an edgy whisper. I understand the unspoken words in her tone.
Please don’t ask questions.
Don’t tell anyone.
Never mention this ever again.
Before I can conjure up a thought, screeching echoes down the corridors. I recognize our mother’s voice and turn to follow the disruption. My father’s deep tone bellows from his office, and when we reach the door, it’s ajar. Our mother’s sobs bounce through the open space there.
“How could you not have known? He looks just like you,” she cries.
“I don’t make a habit of looking at servant kids, Olga. Are you telling me you knew?” he growls.
“You think I can’t see my own husband’s eyes looking up at me? Why do you think I sent them away?”
“Vy kunt!” You cunt. His roar echoes off the walls and the crack of his hand connecting with her flesh is loud. I push through the door to see our mother bent over his desk holding her cheek.
Our father’s eyes snap to me, then to Diana, who followed me inside.
“What’s going on?” I breathe. I scan the scene before me, taking it all in. When my eyes fall on the man standing beside our father, my stomach curdles.
He’s so familiar, I recognize him instantly.
Vas.
He was always around us as children. A wretched little brat. His mother was our most valued maid and we loved her. I cried for weeks when Mother told us she’d left to work elsewhere. Now, looking at him, I see our father in every inch of his face, his frame…damn, even his posture is an exact replica.