The War: Bratva Blood Two : (A dark mafia romance)

by SR Jones

  I could sit here all day wondering, why me? I don’t. I don’t waste my time on that; instead, I focus on him.

  My fingers trail over his hard abs, down to that big slab of muscle running down his side, dipping into his groin. Adonis belt, I think they call it? I took an art class once. I was useless, but I’m pretty sure when we were looking at classical sculpture our teacher said this was Adonis belt, or maybe Apollo’s belt. Either way, whatever it is, Konstantin’s is spectacular. It makes my mind lose all focus simply looking at it. I want to lick it, then lick down that dark trail of hair, and then suck the head of his hard, thick cock into my mouth.

  I trail my fingers back up his torso and then down each arm, right to the tips of his fingers. He grabs my hands suddenly, the movement startling me. He brings them up into the air, looking at them. Water drips off our skin. Mine is light tan, his much deeper. He bends forward and kisses the inside of both my wrists. The action twists something deep in me. It seems tender.

  With a smile, he lets go of one of my hands and tangles my wet hair in his fist. Using my hair, he pulls me to him. It hurts a little, but it’s a nice kind of hurt, a pleasant sting along the back of my neck and scalp. He growls like an animal, and then he kisses me.

  He swipes his tongue over my lips, demanding entry, and I give him it. He nips lightly at my bottom lip as he sucks it in, the rasp of his teeth over my tender flesh intoxicating.

  I moan as I open to him, and his tongue sweeps inside. He pulls me closer, angles my head to one side, and plunders my mouth, claiming it, learning, tasting.

  My God, the man can kiss. If there was a Nobel Prize for kissing, he’d win it. His tongue runs lightly along my top lip, setting every nerve ending alight.

  My skin pebbles, and my nipples are hard and almost painful. I want only one thing, to be joined with him, as close to him as I can possibly get. It’s an aching, dull, drumbeat of need.

  Want. Want. Want.

  I don’t know what I want, though, only that it’s more, so much more.

  He breaks the kiss, and for a moment I’m confused, my lips chasing his as he retreats. He grabs a bottle from the side and pours some of it into his hand. I note with a wry little smile to myself that it’s Creed, and I understand that stuff is super expensive. I’ve spent many an afternoon in the John Lewis fragrance department with Suzy. She’s somewhat of a fragrance addict, and I recognize the good stuff when I see it. Seems I was right about him being the sort of guy who would own expensive toiletries. I file it away, another precious little Konstantin fact.

  Big hands cover my shoulders and he washes me with the delicious smelling soap He soaps my shoulders and my arms, and then he splashes water over me to rinse them. As he repeats this, his hands cover my breasts, and he slips and slides all over exquisitely sensitive flesh.

  “Love your breasts,” he says. “Could spend all day playing with them.”

  I could happily let him.

  He palms them, as if weighing them, squeezing them together and then letting them fall. Gently, he bathes them in water, washing the soap away. He frowns, and I see he’s looking at the mark still there from Denis’ assault.

  “I regret I didn’t get to kill him for doing this to you,” he says.

  I don’t. I don’t want anyone killed because of me, not even Denis.

  Before I can tell him this, he bends his head and sucks my wet nipple into his hot mouth. I arch my back, not even thinking what I’m doing as I grab his hair in my fingers and hiss my approval. “Yes.”

  He bites then laves, sucks some more, and then bites again. I’m in heaven as his hot mouth kisses over my breasts, up my body, and he bites my neck. It’s enough to sting for a brief moment. He nips my shoulder then licks it. He’s eating me alive, and I love every moment of it.

  “Stand up,” he orders.

  I’m shaky as I do what he says, and he grabs me by my ass and pulls me into him, my core in front of his face. He simply looks at me, long enough for me to want to hide from his hungry gaze. Just as I’m about to protest, he kisses my mound. Another kiss, light, soft. And another. Then he uses his free hand to part me, opening me to his inspection.

  “I could stare at your pussy all day,” he says. “I’d love to have you tied up and splayed out for me.”

  God, I’d love it too.

  He licks my core, one long, languid strip past my clit. I moan and push into his face.

  “Greedy,” he says with a dark laugh. “So fucking greedy for me.”

  He goes to work, and he’s as good at this as he is at kissing.

  He licks and sucks me, and soon my legs are trembling.

  “I’ve got you,” he promises. He holds me up, stopping me from collapsing as I fall over the edge with a cry.

  I’ve not even come down and got my bearings when he grabs me and hoists me out of the water, carrying me across the bathroom, both of us dripping wet. He places me in front of the sink.

  “Grab hold of the sink, spread your legs, and don’t move,” he orders.

  As always, I do as he says. My legs are spread wide, my body leaning forward at the waist as I hold onto the sink and wait. He’s gone; where, I don’t know. It seems like hours but is only minutes before I hear him return.

  He stands behind me and as my gaze meets his in the mirror, my heart speeds up.

  Chapter Seven

  Cassie

  I look at Konstantin in the mirror behind me, watching me. His gaze is dark, and hungry. He has something in his hand, and I hear a thwack. I look around and gasp. He’s holding a riding crop in one hand, smacking it on the upturned palm of his other.

  “Two years ago I got involved in talks to take over a company I’d had my eye on for ages,” he says. Thwack. Another hit of the whip on his hand.

  My pussy clenches because I can imagine what he’s going do to with that crop. Oh God, it will be better than Tim’s pathetic spanking attempts; I know it will. I hope he doesn’t go too hard on me. I don’t want to be properly hurt. I understand enough about myself to realize this.

  “I wanted it badly, but the man running it was a… How do you British say it? Oh, yes, wanker. A wanker. Total fucking idiot, and he demanded that if I wanted to buy his company, I had to go play polo one weekend. I bought the whole shitty outfit. Went and played polo, drank champagne with them after, and bought his company. I’ve not had good use of this since.”

  Thwack, thwack, thwack.

  “Don’t you have to be able to ride to play polo?” I ask, turning to look over my shoulder at him again.

  “Eyes front,” he orders.

  I turn to the front.

  “Good girl. Yes, you do, but I learned to ride in Afghanistan.”

  “What?” I turn again, remember his orders and face front immediately.

  “Rode out for three weeks with tribes fighting the Taliban.” He states this as matter of fact, as if he’s telling me he went for a haircut.

  “Anyway, I’ve never used this since.” He pauses and his voice lowers. “I’ve been thinking about using it on you since the first time I saw you in the coffee shop.”

  Oh. My. God.

  “My perfect, sunny, gorgeous girl, bent over for me, her ass turning red.”

  I suck in air and blow it out. I’m desperately turned on but also scared.

  “I like the idea,” I confess, my voice shaky. “But I don’t want to be hurt.”

  He takes hold of my chin, firm but gentle, and turns me to face him. “I’d never hurt you. You can trust me, completely. You want a word, pick a word. You say it and everything stops.”

  “A word?” I’m struck dumb by this, by him.

  “Yes, Cassie, a word. Any word. Choose one you will remember.”

  “Shelter,” I say without thinking.

  A tiny divot forms between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. I can see him wondering why I picked that word though, his mind calculating as his eyes narrow. Then he gives a tiny shake of his head.

  “Sh
elter it is.”

  “Do you often take your crop to your girlfriends?” I ask lighthearted.

  “No,” he says. “I’ve played before, but this is my riding crop, and I’ve never used it on anyone, except for you.”

  “And the horse you rode.” I shrug.

  “I didn’t use it on the horse. And I’m using it on you in an entirely different way.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Stop thinking, Cassie. That’s an order.”

  “Okay.”

  “No, answer me properly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl. Now stop overthinking, stop worrying, and just feel. If you want to stop, say shelter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He runs one hand down my left buttock and my outer thigh. “Good girl.”

  Then he moves back, and I brace, waiting for the hard slap of the riding crop, but it doesn’t come. Instead, soft leather caresses my skin, over my thighs, my hips, and fleetingly between my legs.

  Thwack.

  Oh, crap. I wasn’t tensed or braced for it anymore. It stings, but it’s not a horrid pain; it’s a nice sting.

  Hot breath blows over my neck as Konstantin whispers in my ear, “I’m not punishing you or here to hurt you, Cassie. I want to make you come so hard you forget everything in your head. I want you to feel that glorious, biting mix of pleasure and pain, so you simply feel and then forget.”

  He smacks the crop against me again, and I realize now that he’s using incredible restraint because it’s a sharp, quick, biting sting, but it’s not truly painful. Four more quickfire smacks of the leather to my ass, and I find myself strangely turned on. He gives me four more strokes, and then he kicks my legs further apart.

  Oh God, he hits me right on the pussy with it. Not hard at all. It doesn’t hurt in the slightest, but it’s like a light slapping against my most sensitive area. He grabs my hair in his other hand and fists. He pulls my head back, arching my back, making my breasts stick out.

  “Look at yourself,” he commands.

  I do as he says and am shocked by what I see. My face is so alive. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are bright. My breasts are thrust out toward the mirror, and my hair is a long, messy rope wrapped around Konstantin’s fist.

  “You know, you can get butt plugs that have fake horse tails attached. I’d love to give you the crop again while you’re wearing one of those.”

  I squeal because I can’t form coherent words, but I’m not sure I’d love it. It sounds a bit too much. He laughs, and it’s his real, joyful laugh, the one he so very rarely gives out. “Too much, baby, huh?”

  I nod.

  “Never mind. I’ll think of other things.”

  I’m breathing rapidly as he returns to gentle strokes all along the inside of my thighs, and then four harder smacks to my ass before he throws the crop to one side, and comes up behind me. He wraps his arms around me, and I stare at us in the mirror.

  His cock is against my entrance, and his arms are huge as they crisscross my chest. I look like I’m caged in by a big beast, and I love it.

  God, am I sick? Weird?

  “Want to fuck you bare,” he says.

  “I’m on the pill,” I admit. “But I’ve not been tested. Although I’ve only been with two men, but Tim cheated on me…” I trail off. Shit, I might have something.

  “Tomorrow, we both get tested,” he growls. “And no more talking about fucking Tim. I hate that he got to touch you before me. I hate that anyone did.”

  “Okay, caveman.” I smile at him, but he scowls back. Damn, he means it.

  “Come here,” he says as he turns me around and then hauls me up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, slapping my ass as he does so.

  What the hell?

  “Konstantin, this is a bit over the top. Put me down,” I demand.

  “Your wish is my command,” he says as he drops me on the bed.

  He climbs over me, his body dominating every inch of the space we occupy. Reaching over to the bedside drawer, he grabs a condom and rolls it down his length before lining himself up at my entrance.

  He doesn’t take it easy this time. Instead, he pushes in slow for a moment, his eyes locked on mine as he sinks all the way in until he’s balls deep, making me cry out.

  Hard lips find mine as he kisses me ferociously, and I arch up to return the kiss. I relish the velvet feel of his skin on mine as he thrusts into me hard and fast.

  It doesn’t take long before I’m once more on the edge. He’s got me so wound up with the riding crop that I come embarrassingly quick the minute he circles my clit with his finger.

  “Fuck,” he grunts as he comes too, fucking me hard and fast as he finds his release.

  He rolls off me and to his side, then takes the condom off. For a moment I think he’s going to get straight up and get dressed for the day, but he doesn’t. He pulls me into him and kisses me, more languid and softer this time.

  Our tongues dual lazily as I breathe in his now achingly familiar scent.

  Can you fall in love in a matter of weeks?

  If I am in love with him, how will I deal with it when he discards me the way he does all the women in his life?

  His father left, and his mother died, and then so did his sister. I’m not as naïve as he thinks, and I know some things. I understand that people who go through tragedy have issues. Some search for belonging, too needy for their own good. I know this because I’m one of those people. Others, like Konstantin, they close themselves off. All the better to not get hurt again, or so they think.

  What Denis and Liza did will have only made his tendency to isolate himself from others worse. No matter what he claims, it must have hurt him deeply.

  “I’ve got to get up and get to work,” he says. “I need to call Margaret, and Bohdan will be arriving soon.”

  Ah yes, the scary woman who’s his right hand in the business, Margaret terrifies me.

  He climbs out of the bed, and I watch him dress with fascination.

  First, he pulls on his underwear and trousers, but he doesn’t fasten them. Instead, he rifles through the huge built-in wardrobe and selects a crisp shirt. Pulling it over his wide, strong shoulders, he clasps the buttons then tucks it into his trousers, fastening them closed. He pulls a belt out of his drawer and winds that through the loops. He snaps on cufflinks and chooses a tie. He must be planning on possibly going into the office, I think, because he’s dressing smart. Once he has his cufflinks on and his tie fastened, he picks out a jacket, but he doesn’t put that on. He slings it over the back of his chair, grabs some socks, and then takes a pair of expensive looking brown shoes from his wardrobe and ties the laces.

  He’s gorgeous. I can’t decide which version of him I like best. The suited and booted one in front of me, or the more casual one. Both styles show off his amazing body.

  His phone buzzes, and he grabs it, looks at it with a frown, then turns to me. “Do you have a passport?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Fancy a trip to Paris?”

  “What?”

  “Would you like to come with me to Paris?”

  I nearly answer does a bear shit in the woods, but I simply nod. Paris, with Konstantin? Wow.

  “I’ll be in a few unofficial meetings. Damen, one of the Greek crew, is going to meet me there.”

  “Where at, a hotel?”

  “No, at my house there.”

  Of course, his house—in Paris! Because we all have little bolt holes in Paris, right?

  “My passport is at my flat.”

  “I’ll take you to get it tonight, okay? And since you’ve said you don’t like the clothes Derek purchased for you, you can pick some clothes up too.”

  “Can I speak to Mr. Clarke while I’m there?”

  “Who?”

  “My neighbor. The man I go dancing with? I’m worried about him, and I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “You shouldn’t. Anything you do that lets people see
where you’ve been is a risk. It’s also a bit of a risk for Mr. Clarke. I doubt the Armenians will care about hurting him to get info on you and me, if they find out his connection to you.” Crap, he’s not going to let me see my friend. I nibble at my lip, and watch him, He sighs and rubs across his jaw. “Those big eyes are hard to resist, Cassie; you don’t play fair.”

  Ha, who is he to talk about playing fair?

  “Five minutes,” he says. “You can speak to him for five minutes, and only if I’m sure we haven’t been followed, okay? No mention that you’re staying with me, and no mention at all of Paris. Simply tell him you’re in a hotel working on a project and I’m your boss, alright?”

  “Of course,” I agree quickly. I don’t want to put Mr. Clarke in any danger, but I do want to check on him and reassure him that I’m okay.

  Konstantin kisses me briefly, and then he’s gone, leaving only a cloud of the woodsy aftershave he’s slapped on his cheeks. How old fashioned. Most men spray their cologne on, but not Konstantin. Maybe he does sometimes, though. I get off the bed and head over to his dresser, picking up the bottles and looking at them. Yep, some have spray nozzles on them. He’s got six different scents, four more than me. Knowing I shouldn’t, I open the drawers and casually rummage through them.

  The second one has my eyes staring in disbelief. There are so many boxes, some with cuff links, others with watches, and a few more with silk squares. The names are ones I recognize. Hermes, Prada, Dior. They all cost a fortune. The watches, I don’t recognize, except for Rolex.

  The third drawer down is simply socks. Mostly black, gray, or caramel. All feel like cashmere. I bet his sock drawer is worth more than my entire wardrobe. Feeling inadequate suddenly, I go and look in the full-length mirror in the wardrobe.