MadetoBeBroken

by Lyra Byrnes

  With difficulty, she maneuvered herself right-side up. He lowered her to the braided rug, kneeling before him. He was naked again, the lash in his hand, his cock thick and hard. She could smell the clean lake water, the earthy scent of algae and his delicious musk. It was indescribably hot to kneel before this sexy man, her legs braced apart, all of her open and helpless.

  “You are not my whore, but I will make you ready to be one.” He twined his fingers through her hair. “Are you wet?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good. What would make you more wet, little slut?”

  “Sucking your dick.”

  He flicked the lash over her breasts. “Ask.”

  “Please, Alexi, let me suck your dick.”

  His shaft was like iron in a silk sheath. She swallowed it to the hilt, gagging as it struck the back of her throat, and compressed her lips as she eased it out again. He groaned and tilted his head back.

  She took her time, tasting his every lake-rinsed inch, teasing the thick vein on the underside of his cock with long, hard licks. The velvety mushroom-like head she paid special attention to, wrapping her lips around it and tensing until his breathing came fast. His balls were firm and ripe—she tongued them eagerly, putting one and then the other in her mouth.

  Something clattered to the floor beside her.

  “Tease yourself with this,” he said. “I want to see it go all the way inside your sweet pussy.”

  It was the whip. She would do him one better. Bracing herself on her knees, she grasped the lash end behind her back and the handle in front of her, and slowly drew the length of it across her aching core. The supple leather whispered against her clit, making it pulse, and she rubbed harder, cutting into her delicate flesh. With each sawing stroke, she grew wetter.

  Alexi’s cock made squelching noises as it thrust in and out of her mouth, her ass and pussy were pinned open, naked and helpless to any invasion, and the whip sang as she sawed it back and forth. She cast up her eyes and saw him watching her, his lips open, urging her to abuse herself completely. It was not as thick as his cock, but the ridges of leather wrapped around the handle felt fantastic as she slid it inside her creamy depths.

  He moaned again, gripping the back of her head. “Fuck yourself, slut,” he husked.

  She fell into a rhythm, pumping the whip with one hand and Alexi’s cock with her head. Over and over she pushed the rigid rod deep inside her, yearning to be filled, and crammed her mouth with his throbbing shaft. It was like the night at the Palace, only so much better, because this was just her and Alexi—she angry, fighting and spitting, he masterful, powerful, subduing. Her thumb strayed to her clit and she began to writhe.

  “No,” he snapped. He jerked back his hips. She savored the salty droplet he’d left behind. “I will teach you a new way to come.”

  He threw her down again face-first, this time over the bed, then paused. She heard the bloop of something liquid being spurted and then the whip was inside her again, pushing against her very core. She breathed hard against the sheets, rearing back her head with every shove. It felt so good, the little ridges stimulating her channel, but she wanted more. She wanted his cock inside her again.

  Unfortunately he read her mind once more.

  “You want me to fuck you?”

  “God yes.”

  A cool, wet finger pressed against her most secret place. Her first instinct was to slam her legs shut, but the spreader bar prevented it. He pushed in harder, barely penetrating her ass, finger thick with lube.

  It did feel nasty and dirty, but also incredibly sexy. Both of her nether holes were open, violated, and she could not tell which felt better. His finger stimulated a whole new set of nerves that had never been touched. Hot cream ran down the handle of the whip as he continued fucking her pussy with it. Somehow her sphincter relaxed against his finger the third time he pressed inside, penetrating her fully. She squirmed, trying to rub her clit against the sheets hard enough to make herself come.

  Gently he inserted a second finger. Her muscular ring contracted around them. She felt her pussy suck against the whip handle as it withdrew, as if begging for it to stay, but Alexi dropped it to the floor and began to knead and caress her ass cheeks with his free hand. She arched her back to offer her backside more freely. Her legs were growing tired from being forced apart, but she liked the sensation. It felt like being broken down, piece by piece, made soft. Made free.

  “Beg this time.”

  “Please, Alexi, I want you to fuck me.”

  “In the ass.”

  “No!”

  She reared up but only succeeded in slamming her ass hard against his hand, and she gasped at the pleasure the deep thrust gave her. “Oh fuck, that feels so good.”

  He yanked the fingers from her ass, regarding her prone body coolly, and reached for a condom. “Say it.” He placed the tip of his cock against her hole, teasing it. It was cool and slick with lube, rubbing against her rosy bud and along the downy cleft between her cheeks. He pressed lightly, testing the pressure, and Coco began to thrash helplessly, dying to feel those strange new nerves stoked into flame by his relentless cock.

  “Please fuck my ass, Alexi. I beg you. Please.”

  The pop as his thick head breached her tight ring made her gasp.

  “You are so tight, little one. You choke my cock. Relax.”

  He pulled out a little to lubricate his shaft fully then forced himself inside, inch by inch, igniting bundles of nerves with each push. God, he was huge—her ass felt completely full.

  It was different from the kind of penetration she had known—more concentrated, the sensations distilled. He moved slowly, filling her ass deeply then moaning with pleasure on the outstroke. She opened her eyes and caught sight of them in the mirror. Her sweaty hair stuck to her face, her lips were red and ripe from sucking him, her buttocks high in the air like the slut she felt like, the slut she wanted to be, as his cock pumped patiently in and out of her backside. Alexi was leaning back, hands on her hips, the V of his waist tense with straining muscle.

  He caught her eye in the mirror and smiled thinly.

  “You like it, krahsniy?”

  “Uhn, yes,” she panted, rocking forward again and again.

  “We going to come together now.”

  Her assent was barely a squeal. Intensity built in her most secret place, a tingling and buzzing that felt completely new and overwhelming. Black splashes spotted her vision. Her ears were filled with the sound of her own guttural grunts and moans. The cock pounding her was solid, unrelenting.

  “The other lie. What was it?”

  “Oh god, don’t stop.”

  He bucked his hips against her backside so hard his balls smashed against her. She let out a desperate moan.

  “Tell me or I stop.”

  “I found something!”

  He seemed to thicken, stretching her so tight she nearly screamed. She clawed at the sheets, sweating and panting. Sparks shot through her nerves, her core spasmed and she came in a crashing rumble as he let out a huge groan and splashed his seed deep inside her.

  She collapsed against the bed, spent. “A sat phone,” she gasped. “I found a sat phone.”

  *

  “How many of these does your OSO have—one hundred, one thousand? I would need only two. Is like pennies falling out of pockets for you people.”

  Alexi turned the little device over in his hands. He sounded more disgusted than angry, but that didn’t change the fact that he had produced from the closet the one device Coco could not figure out. She got it now—the cuffs went around her thighs, her wrists locked to the cuffs. Her hands were free, her ankles finally unencumbered, but on her back atop the bed, she could only thrash from side to side like an upturned bug. She had to admire his caution, even as she feared for her life. Her bottom felt sore and used and her leg muscles ached from being forced apart for so long.

  “Is encrypted, what you sent.”

  “Yes.”

&nbs
p; “Too bad. There are no more answers to come. Maybe Umarov’s wife will not mourn too long.”

  “That’s not our way. If we kill him, your little ragtag army swings into action, and countless people—countless more people—will die because of what you created. We’re trying to prevent a war, not start one.”

  “You Americans cannot stop this madness.”

  “No. We’ll bomb your ass into rubble.”

  “Is your answer for everything.”

  “And yours,” she said steadily.

  They stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Your masters, were they happy with this communication, Miss I-have-no-superior? If you lie, it will hurt.”

  She would have to tell him. Just thinking of Rod Templeton made her pussy dry up and her stomach heave.

  “I do have a¼a boss. I might have played with words a little. This man is in no way my superior. He’s the new head of Western Operations and, as you know from my file, I’m new to it too. He wanted more. Said he wasn’t getting his money’s worth, the bastard.”

  Alexi put the sat phone on the table. “You know, in a war—and we are at war, krahsniy, do not think otherwise—I learn very early not to love, not to hate, not to feel. But you hate this man. Why?”

  “He’s kind of my ex-boyfriend.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You fucked your boss?”

  “No! We were colleagues at the time.”

  “Did he make you come like I do?”

  “Harder,” she answered defiantly.

  He seemed unfazed. “Heh, is only lie I will forgive. So he only treats you like a whore at work—nice compromise.”

  “Listen, you’re free to go. You can still go back to London, finish the work you started. I’ll tell the OSO you were unbreakable. Probably take a demotion or worse for it, but at least I won’t be working for that asshole anymore.”

  “So you could think I’m good guy?” he shrugged.

  “I know you are not a good guy.”

  “Then no more games. You tried to do your job, krahsniy. It was good effort. Tell me why I should not kill you.”

  “Because it’s not too late.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She had said too much. Had it been a mistake telling Templeton that the CRF was ready to strike? No, of course not; they needed to stay girded for whatever might happen. She was only doing what was asked of her, with a tiny bit of speculation thrown in. One tiny smidgen of speculation that had the slightest itty-bitty chance of kicking off World War III.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Let me out and let’s go.”

  He looked at her with something like pity in his eyes. “This place, this job you have—was all a joke. We are two pesky gnats our bosses wanted to swat aside while they drink champagne and laugh. Pawns in their game. You play at chess?”

  “I win at chess.”

  “Then you know, pawns can be powerful soldiers, if they choose to be.” He touched a finger to her cheek. “Or they get captured.”

  Something clinked against the wooden floor, but even by turning her head, Coco could not see what he had dropped. The room darkened as he stood in the doorway, blotting out the sunlight.

  “I made my choice. Is your turn now. Goodbye, krahsniy.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was midday bright, with a refreshing chill in the air, as Alexi headed down the only road leading to and away from the safe house, the sat phone knotted into his shirt. He favored his good leg, for the first time letting himself acknowledge the pain of the bullet buried in his muscle.

  He would not worry about the girl starving to death in the cottage. She had use, albeit limited, of her legs, and she was not stupid. She would find the key where he had dropped it. And then? If she gave in to rage and foolishness, she would come after him, go screaming to her bosses. It didn’t matter to him one way or another, but he nurtured a tiny hope that his lesson had sunk in, that the little pawn would make her determined way across the board and take up position as a queen. What did she need to know that he had not already told her? Everything, he supposed—supply lines, munitions, sources, names besides that of his trusted Umarov. Plans¼

  He had had plans before she shot him and brought him to this remote place, before she chained him to the wall, tended to his wound and inspired the strange, sensuous dance they engaged in. But there was something about the way her lips made a straight line when she was serious, binding his leg with her brow furrowed like a little girl attending to her coloring book. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the swing of her hair or her glorious ass as she walked. When he asked her to describe the painting of the Sardinian landscape, he expected scorn or dismissal, but her thoughtful answer made him pause. Like him, she saw what was in front of her. Like him, she was no good guy, whatever the Amerikanski wanted to believe.

  And whatever he told her, it was because she was sated by his cock, smelling of him, his sweat on her skin and her mouth filled with the taste of him. In a lifetime of bartering, cajoling and stealing, this had been the best bargain he had ever made.

  He did not regret that he would never trust her. His prime directive, the one that overshadowed all of his rules and kept him alive for thirty-two years, was to trust no one. He had trusted Avala, of course, but when the Feds murdered her before his eyes, the last flicker of faith he held in any human being winked out along with her life. All he had to cling to was what was verifiable—facts ruled him now, not emotions. This one could have killed him at any time, but she had not. Her superiors wanted him alive, and he could have kicked himself for not figuring out why the moment the pockmarked man showed up at the cottage, harassing his little red bird. While he worked to bring peace to the two nations, one great and one small, the great one was readying its boot to descend on the neck of the small. Well, not this time. The wolf would strike first.

  The lane curved into a larger two-lane roadway, lightly rutted, and there, in the valley below, sunlight glinted off a gold church steeple, brown roofs clustered against the blanket of green. A village, perhaps a day’s walk with his injury, but there it was. It even smelled like civilization, the scent of petrol perhaps borne on the wind.

  But there was no wind. There was instead the faint purr of an engine, the sight of a shiny red blot slowly growing in size as it came toward him. He lifted an arm and began to wave.

  *

  Coco could swear she heard an engine of some kind, very faintly, a putt-putt just under the waterfall’s splash and the cries of birds. If the pockmarked man was on his way back, there wasn’t much she could do to stop him even if she ran outside to check. And hell, he’d get quite a show, finding her naked on her knees, her arms cuffed to her upper thighs, bending sideways to poke at the little silver key between the floorboards.

  It had been her own awkwardness that sent the key skittering into the notch. She had use of her feet and hands, but maneuvering wasn’t easy. How long had Alexi been gone, she wondered, grunting as she scraped a fingernail against the rough wood to no avail—ten minutes, an hour? The light had deepened from lemon to gold, the color of his strange eyes. She gritted her teeth and dug again. Fuck his eyes and fuck him. He had abused her for his sick sexual pleasure and given her nothing in return. And now that she had useful information, he’d locked her up in this bondage device and skedaddled away.

  The key winked as her fingernail caught it, catching the sun, then fell back into its notch as if mocking her. Whatever made the sound from the road outside, it was gone now. All she could hear was her own coarse breathing as she worked her pinkie near the key’s slender tip, wishing she didn’t keep her nails so short.

  Rod could stop this. If she could only explain that her message was a warning and not a plan of action, Western Ops would pull a rabbit out of a hat and defuse the situation before it became too dire. At worst, they would leak the news to official channels and endure a nasty dressing-down. She hated acknowledging that Templeton had any real power, but in her curr
ent state¼

  Aha! Success. She had the key just under the tip of her nail. No time for finesse now. With a deep breath, she flicked it as hard as she could and the light little piece of metal flew out, landing with a clatter. Now it was just a matter of fitting the thing into the lock without breaking her wrist.

  By the time she worked the first lock free, her red hair was damp and matted. Her sense of time was still skewed. From the light, it appeared to be late afternoon, but the putt-putt sound was still belching in through the windows, so loud this time it had silenced the birds. She unlocked the second cuff and tore her hands free, rubbing her wrists. The thick wooden door slammed back as she opened it and blinked in the sunlight, naked but for the thigh cuffs, the air unbearably sweet in her lungs. The sun was low and full, directly in her eyes, so if that was west, the road approached the cottage from the south side. She shaded her eyes and turned to look, but the sound of a voice made her freeze.

  “Hello, Coco.”

  “Rod!” She almost collapsed in relief. “Thank god you’re here.” Then she saw the gun.

  *

  “That poor mailman. They are woefully underpaid in this country, dear. Being knocked out by a foreign ruffian is hardly within their job description.”

  Elena Wilkinson always harbored a tsk in her voice, but Alexi had grown used to her motherly ways. At least the woman had a samovar—a gorgeous specimen, sterling silver chased with gold—from which she was now pouring him a cup of steaming tea.

  After he had climbed out of the red mail van, ignoring dubious and outright frightened looks from the sunset dog-walkers on the quiet Glasgow street, he had made straight for the trio of decanters on her buffet. One glass of liquid amber to steel himself was enough. He accepted her tea and her chiding tone, because the former Yelena Vilaeva was the most trustworthy ally he had on United Kingdom soil. It didn’t hurt that, thanks to having written a beloved series of cozy mysteries that counted in the hundreds, she was also the richest woman in the country.

  She patted her platinum coif and gave him a warm smile.