“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he whispered, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.
“I do. I’ve read enough to know that I like that. Just . . . break me in softly. Let me learn first what you want. What we need.”
His cock had been at half-mast throughout this conversation, but now? It stiffened fully and to the point of pain.
“I’ll punish you for disobeying,” he whispered, reaching over again to trace the bitemark. “If I tell you to remember to eat. . .”–because she’d definitely been skipping meals to have lost so much so fast–“I’ll expect you to obey.”
That had her eyes flaring wide. “You’d punish me for that?”
“For anything I thought was for your own good that you saw fit to ignore.”
He saw her pupils turn into pinpricks and knew he had her. A thought that had him blowing out a rough breath.
Blyad, was he ready for this?
It had been a long time since he’d explored this side of himself. And only today, after Sawyer’s bull-in-a-china shop conversation, did he realize he’d enjoy opening himself up to Sascha if she was ready for that.
“Let’s just take it slowly,” he whispered, relieved when she nodded, seemingly aware that this was a first step for him, too, in many ways.
“Okay,” she replied, then moaned as he dropped a hand to her breast.
“Do you like pain, katyonok?” He did as he’d never dreamed of doing, maneuvered her nipple between his fingers and pinched down hard. The sharp yelp she released had him withholding a groan, especially when her cheeks flushed and she quickly blew out a breath of air.
“I-I don’t know.”
“How did that make you feel?”
She swallowed, her eyes holding his for endless seconds, as he reached over and treated the other to the same treatment. He knew she liked rough sex. That he’d picked up on over the years. But to be dominated was a different matter entirely.
As he pinched her, she released a sharp breath and whispered, “Centered.”
The answer wasn’t one he’d expected.
It wasn’t one he altogether liked hearing, either.
“Take off the night dress,” he murmured.
“Kurt might be back soon.”
“He’s working, and if he caught the tail end of this, you know he’d enjoy the show.”
Her lips curved in amusement, but she scampered off the bed and removed the chemise. As she did, his gaze swiftly took in the too prominent collarbones, the hip bones that had never been fully visible before. But the swells of her breasts were just as luscious as ever, and her waist was so small, he knew he could span it with his fingers.
She’d always been ripe, but now? Not so much.
If she’d wanted to lose weight, that was one thing. But depression had inspired this, making it another matter entirely.
“When I ask you to do something, you do it. Do you understand?” At her nod, he nodded back. “Kneel on the floor,” he told her, watching with tender amusement as she did as bid. He was surprised though, because Sawyer was right. Sexually, she was a brat. A trait she was only just starting to reveal.
A part of him wondered if different aspects of her nature would reveal themselves with each of her partners, but at that moment, he didn’t want to think about that. Was just content to think of the here and now.
“Spread your legs, let me see that pretty pussy.”
Her mouth opened on a sigh as she complied.
“Are you eating breakfast?”
She blinked in bewilderment. “Sometimes.”
“Every day?”
Shaking her head, she whispered, “No.”
“Touch your clit,” he directed next, watching as her delicate fingers traced the tender nubbin. She was sensitive there, like most women, he supposed, but she touched herself roughly, in a way that should have indicated the bite of discomfort wasn’t something she was alien to.
He watched her fingers, studied the way the flush rose to her throat as she aroused herself, then he murmured, “I want you to eat breakfast. Every day.”
“I’m not always hungry,” she said on a moan.
“Stop touching yourself,” he directed, and when she was slow to move her hand away, he bent down, grabbed her hand, curved it around her knee, and then slapped her inner thigh. She yelped, and he ignored it. “I told you to stop touching yourself.”
“O-Okay,” she whispered breathily.
“I also told you I want you to eat breakfast.” He squatted in front of her and trailed his hand over the jutting hipbone then up to her collarbone. “You’ve lost too much weight.”
“I thought you’d like that,” she said on a pout, and he slapped her inner thigh again. Her hiss had him smirking.
“What made you think such crazy thoughts? When have we never loved your body?”
She blinked at that. “Men always like thin women.”
“Well, the five men in this house don’t follow that pattern, do they?” He cupped the swell of her tit. “We like you healthy.”
“I am healthy.”
“This isn’t healthy,” he retorted. “If I look at your back, will I see your ribs?”
“It’s not a bad thing if you do,” she argued.
“It is if you’re starving yourself. Some bodies are naturally that way. Some aren’t. You’re not eating, Sascha. I’ve seen the small portions you have for dinner.”
“Fuck,” she growled. “I can’t win. Sawyer says I eat too much, and you’re saying I eat too little.”
“Since when did he say that?” He knew for a fact those words would never have spilled from his brother’s lips. Sawyer was as enamored with Sascha’s curves as the rest of them.
She pursed her lips. “He never likes it when I bake.”
“Yeah. Because he’s a health nut. He’s terrified you’re going—” He bit off a curse.
“Terrified I’m going to what?” She reached over to grab his hand. A frown puckering her brow, she asked, “What, Andrei?”
“He wants you healthy,” was all he said. “You should talk to him about matters such as this, but you should get it out of your head that Sawyer is unhappy with your form. All he cares about is your wellbeing. And cookies to him. …” He winced, suddenly unable to stop himself from explaining, “Do you know how many people in his family have diabetes?”
Sascha reared back at that. “No.”
“All of them.” He pursed his lips.
“Hamish and Cinta don’t. . . .”
“They do. As did Sheila, his sister. His cousins, his aunts, and his uncles.” He shrugged. “Bad diets. They were poor, didn’t have much money, so they made the wrong choices. You’ve seen the crap Cinta eats.”
“She eats nothing but sugar,” Sascha said, her mouth gaping.
“Exactly. Even though she’s diabetic.” He shrugged. “She’s like my grandfather. Vasily says something will kill him eventually, so why deny himself his cigars? She feels the same with sweets.”
“B-But. . . .”
“But nothing. Sascha, Sawyer worries about your health because he loves you. Never think he believes you’re fat or anything like that. He doesn’t. He loved you before, and he, like all of us, celebrated each one of your curves.
“Limiting your food to be slimmer? Not necessary unless the doctor says so.”
She blinked at him. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that. Why the hell didn’t he tell me?”
“Because he’s gruff and arrogant?” he grunted. “I shouldn’t have told you, but I couldn’t have you thinking you were anything other than perfect to us.”
“Hardly that,” she whispered, dipping her head, the coy move making his lips twitch.
“So, what are you going to do, Sascha?”
Her mouth twisted as she peered up at him through the fringe of her lashes. “Eat breakfast.”
He nodded. “Good. Touch your clit.”
Her eyes widened, and he could tell she wanted to argue
. He cocked a brow at her until she reached between her legs and obeyed. “Do you know we love you, Sascha?” he asked, watching her rub her clit and only asking when she started rolling her hips in response to the caresses.
“Y-Yes, I know.”
“So, why do you get jealous?”
A frown flashed over her brow, but she carried on touching herself.
“I just do.”
That was no answer. “What do your books say about claiming?”
Her eyes flared wide. “My books?”
“The Bratva romances you apparently devour.”
Her fingers stilled, and her cheeks burned. “What?”
“Did I tell you to stop touching yourself?” he inquired, eying her fingers until she started again.
“No.”
“Well, don’t stop until I do. And, what happens in the Bratva books, Sascha? Why do you like them?”
“They remind me of you,” she whispered.
“Me?” He was about as unBratva-like as possible. “Why?”
“You’re powerful. Just like Vasily. It’s sexy,” she gasped out the word, and he realized just thinking about that was getting her hot. “I know how clever you are, but when you . . . I mean, you’re working with a Duke and a King to help a country’s economy.” A mewl escaped her. “Oh, God, I’m going to come.”
He watched her, somewhat clinically, as she carried on, working herself higher, getting her to the spot . . . then he reached down, grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away, as he asked, “In the Bratva books, what happens when their woman comes without their permission?”
Her eyes widened, and her tits began to wobble with each breath. “You never said I had to.”
“No, I didn’t. I wanted to see what you’d do. Wanted to know if you’d ask permission.” He made a tsking sound. “Bratva men are brutal,” he whispered, kneeling in front of her, resting one thigh between hers. “They beat their women.” He grabbed her chin, held her firmly in place. “Not all, but a lot. Like my father did. He used his fists on my mother more than he touched her with love. Is that what you want from me?”
“N-No.”
“Good, because that’s not what I want.”
He noticed relief didn’t blossom in her eyes, which told him everything he needed to know—she trusted him.
Implicitly.
The next breath he took was so deep, he didn’t realize how relieved he felt at that.
“I want to control your pleasure, Sascha,” he whispered, reaching over to trail his tongue over the line of her jaw. Moving up to her ear, he sucked the lobe into his mouth and murmured, “Own it. Make it mine.” The breath that soughed from her lips was shaky and lust-filled. “Do you want that?”
“Y-Yes,” she whimpered.
“Why? Don’t you want to control that yourself?” he asked, being devil’s advocate.
“N-Not always. Not if you need to own my pleasure like I need you to.”
Clever answer.
He smirked, nipped at her earlobe, as his hand cupped her throat once more. “You’re a naughty little thing, katyonok.” Then, he breathed, “Touch your pussy, get your fingers nice and wet, then put them in my mouth.”
She released a whimper as he moved back, not edging far from her, just settling on his heels. She rimmed her pussy, gathered the juices, and then raised her fingers hesitantly. He opened his lips and sucked them into his mouth. She moaned as he tugged hard at them, curling his tongue around each digit, making sure he got every single drop of her cream.
“Wet your nipples, then pinch them,” he directed as he moved to a standing position. When she obeyed, a rush of fire seemed to race through his veins, and he gritted his teeth as he reached for his fly and released his cock.
When he saw the purple head, he realized how turned on he was. Even grabbing a hold of his cock had him hissing with the pleasure of it. “You’re going to suck my cock like I just sucked my fingers, Sascha.”
Her eyes flared with need, and he watched as she nodded, eager to please him. She waited for him to move closer, then opened her mouth as he had. When he popped the tip in, he released a hiss. “Good girl,” he whispered as she worked his shaft.
God, she was good.
She knew exactly what he wanted, needed. Just because his mindset had changed, didn’t make his cock belong to a different person.
Fuck!
As she gathered enough saliva to suck him down properly, he began to carefully rock his hips.
“Keep your hands on your thighs,” he ordered her, even as he grabbed the stalk of his shaft so as not to accidentally go too deep. He’d enjoy that another time, but not tonight. Not when things were so fresh.
He pumped his hips, loving that she complied, and loving that she let him thrust into her mouth as though he were thrusting into her pussy.
It took a hellishly short time for him to come, and when she swallowed every drop, he pulled his cock from her mouth and painted her lips with the mixture of cum and spit. She didn’t even wince which surprised him.
“Show me your tongue,” he commanded. “I want to make sure you haven’t wasted a drop.”
A panting breath escaped her that was half moan and half mewl, but she stuck her tongue out. He reached down and pressed his thumb to it, and murmured, “Tell me, Sascha, have you been good?”
She nodded, the eager motion made him laugh.
“But you’re jealous of other women,” he purred. “Don’t you trust us?”
“Don’t trust them,” she mumbled around his thumb.
“Ah, but that’s because you don’t believe in your men.” He tsked again. “That doesn’t sound like you’ve been good to me. You’ve been avoiding meals, losing weight. I don’t think you’ve been taking care of my woman for me.”
Her eyes flared wide at that, but she didn’t argue.
He hummed. “No, I think you’ve been bad.” He leaned over, whispered, “What do you think happens to bad girls?” His eyes crinkled in a smirk. “In fact, what do you think doesn’t happen to bad girls?”
Her chin trembled. “Andrei, no.”
“No? No, you haven’t been bad?”
She pouted. “That’s not fair.”
“I think it’s very fair.” He reached down and pressed a kiss to her cum-marked lips. “I think tonight is a good night to start as we intend to carry on. That means good girls get rewards for behaving, and bad girls get nothing.”
“Andrei!” she said on a squeak. “Please!”
He shook his head, held out his hand for hers. The eagerness etched on her face as she slipped her fingers into his amused him. “Time for bed, katyonok.”
She gaped at him. “No way.”
Andrei just stared at her, hiding a smile as she huffed and reached down to grab her chemise. He reached for that first, though, and murmured, “I said time for bed, not time to dress.”
She glowered at him and stomped over to the bed. As she continued glowering at him, he stripped. “Move over, please. I’d prefer your ass to be the one nudging Kurt’s morning wood when we wake up.”
Her lips twitched, but she scooted over. As he slipped between the sheets, he reached over to turn the bedside light off. When darkness shrouded the room, he murmured, “You won’t always like it, Sascha. You should be aware of that.”
She pshawed. “I’m seeing that.”
Her snark made his lips twitch, but he’d expected nothing less. The truth was, it was a relief to hear the snark. That was Sascha. He wanted that her back.
And wasn’t it damn amazing that this was the first time he’d heard that in eight weeks?
He turned onto his side, sighing with pleasure when she snuggled into him, apparently not too mad to do that. Placing his hand on her belly, he slipped his hand down between her thighs and cupped her there.
“Sweet dreams, katyonok.”
Tension made her ramrod straight in his embrace, and he could sense her desire to scream at him. When she didn’t, he was almost disappoin
ted, then he was grateful because, surprising him again, she tumbled into sleep far faster than he’d known her to for several months.
He’d expected her to stay rigid with tension. Had expected her to ride his hand, to try to tease and entice him to force him to bend to her will. But the way she’d fallen asleep spoke of a bone deep weariness that, somehow, had been eased by what they’d done.
Did she really need this as much as she claimed?
He guessed they’d find out.
The minute Sascha took a seat at the table, Andrei hid a smile as she glanced at him from under her lashes. He’d never thought she could be more beautiful to him, but this coy, slightly shy aspect of her personality was beyond charming.
He loved the ball-busting, Devon-herding, Tin-wrangling side of her, but this one? It fired his blood in a way he realized he’d been missing.
She wasn’t the most submissive woman he’d ever known, but they’d explore this path together, and he loved that she was comfortable enough with him to do that.
This kind of ‘play’ was about trust. Nothing more, nothing less, and he and Sascha had that in spades.
Having buttered a slice of bread for Tin without having cut it into many-sided shapes as Devon did, he reached for two more slices and buttered those as well. “Strawberry or raspberry jam?” he asked quietly, when she fussed over the mess Tin had made between him putting the bread down and his son picking it up.
Blyad, the boy was a disaster with food.
He fully expected to return to the kitchen one day to find the walls painted with spaghetti hoops—both Tin and Devon being the culprits, naturally.
“I’m not hungry,” she murmured, the words close to automatic as she wiped Tin’s brow.
Her words had him narrowing his eyes. “You’re not, hmm?”
There was a silken threat to the words, and they ensnared her attention like nothing else could. She jolted, then her gaze crash-landed on his. She licked her lips then whispered, “I’m really not.”
Andrei (Quintessence Book 7) Page 11