Saved by the Outlaw: A Bad Boy Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  “Soon, solnishka — my sunshine,” Ivan whispers to me, smoothing my hair back from my face with a delicate tenderness. “My place is nearby.”

  Just a minute later, the driver announces, “Stop’s up here on the right, sir.”

  “Fantastic. Pull to the curb, will you?” Ivan says.

  The driver obliges and stops the car alongside the pavement in front of a swanky-looking gray marble building I don’t recognize. I’ve lived in this city nearly my whole life but this is an unfamiliar area for me. This ridiculous city never ceases to amaze me, and neither does Ivan.

  Once again, Ivan pays with an over-the-top gratuity to the driver, and helps me gingerly out of the cab, taking care not to let me step in a slushy snow-covered puddle on the way out. He all but lifts me over it up onto the curb. I smile into his face, which is ruddy-cheeked with the cold and decorated with fragile, tiny snowflakes. I cannot help but kiss him right there and then on the sidewalk, despite the cold, despite the passersby strolling past. I can’t care less about the looks we get from anyone. All that matters is the warm, handsome body in front of me, and the way he makes me feel.

  He hypnotizes me with that steely gaze again, holding me entranced in his arms as he sweeps me out of the snow and through the sparkling revolving doors of the building. Standing in a massive, immaculate lobby illuminated by a row of three glittering chandeliers, I can’t help but spin around like a character in a romantic comedy on her first awe-stricken trip to the city. But I’ve never been anywhere this nice before, and the awe is genuine.

  “This way,” Ivan says, and he pulls me toward the elevator, past the front desk of smiling, beautiful women in form-fitting white receptionist uniforms. We ride the elevator up to the very top floor and step directly into a penthouse with wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling glossy windows. The furniture is smooth, shiny leather and the carpet is so plush that I feel my feet sink at least a centimeter as soon as I step onto it.

  “It’s… breathtaking,” I murmur, my breath literally quite taken away.

  “Take off your clothes,” Ivan orders in a low growl.

  Immediately, I strip out of my layers to stand in my lacy panties and bra. It’s unceremonious and desperate, and I can feel goosebumps of excitement raising up on my skin. Ivan drops his jacket to the floor and rubs his hands together, staring at me with ravenous desire.

  “This apartment is nice. But this,” he says, gesturing with a flourish toward my almost-naked body, “this is breathtaking.”

  He rushes to me and lifts me up in his arms with such effortless ease, kissing me hard, his tongue pressing into my mouth. I wrap my arms around his waist and he pushes me up against the wall, pinning me there. I make a move to try and run my hands through his hair but he stops me, deftly pinning my arms above my head with one hand while his other arm holds me up. I am utterly amazed at his strength — I mean, I knew he was strong, but this is remarkable. I feel his chest muscles rippling against me and the place between my thighs responds with its own need.

  Ivan leans in and nudges my head to the side to get at the soft, ticklish flesh of my neck, kissing his way down from my jaw to my collarbone. His full, luscious lips suck tantalizing love-bruises into my skin, marking me as his own, for all to see. The sensation makes me shiver and moan with pleasure. I need him more than ever, but he is taking his sweet time.

  “Oh God, Ivan,” I whimper breathlessly, “I need you.”

  “Not yet,” he groans, tightening his grip on my wrists above my head. It hurts just a little bit, but it only seems to add to the bliss of the moment, pain mingling with the delicious pressure of his lips on my bare skin. And he knows it.

  “You like it rough, don’t you, mishka?” Ivan whispers gruffly. He grazes my exposed collarbone with his teeth, eliciting a rattling moan from my lips. “Answer me.”

  “Y-yes. Oh yes, I do!” I sputter, my cunt growing slicker by the second. Something about his captivatingly authoritative tone, his unrelenting strength, the knowledge that he could crush me in an instant — it was totally intoxicating.

  “You want me deep inside you?”

  I nod and choke out, “Yes.”

  “Yes, sir,” he corrects me.

  “Sir,” I add. He kisses me full on the lips and then lets go of my arms so that they fall at my sides. Then he kneels down slightly and hoists me up higher, without so much as a grimace, so that my legs come around his shoulders, his face level with my crotch. Moving back a little and leaning me back against the wall, he noses at my pussy through the silky fabric of my panties, and I cry out in surprise.

  He glances up at me with a smirk, then tears the fabric aside with his teeth. He gently kisses my cunt, then begins dragging his warm tongue up and down, nibbling delicately at my clit, so that I buck slightly against his face. My hands clutch in vain at the smooth wall for something to grab hold of as he puts harder pressure on that little bundle of nerves. I roll my head back and shut my eyes, my breaths coming quick and short now.

  I’ve never been so adeptly manhandled in my life, held against a wall with a tongue between my thighs. He’s still completely clothed, and I’m so vulnerable and exposed, but that makes it even hotter. I reach down, blindly fumbling for Ivan’s head, then finding it and gently, subtly pushing him into my cunt. He groans in what appears to be a “back-off” warning, and I immediately let go. He is in control. He’s always in control.

  To punish me for my transgression, he sucks at my clit, hard. The shockwave of pleasure tinged ever so minutely with tantalizing pain shoots upward through my body and I yelp his name, my heart hammering in my ribcage.

  Ivan takes this as a sign of encouragement and doesn’t back down, instead lapping harder and faster at the tingling folds of my pussy, swirling his tongue around my clit relentlessly. The feeling is so overwhelming that I almost want to shove him away and close my legs — but damn it, I can’t. It is almost too much, but it still feels fucking amazing.

  Besides, even if I wanted to, I doubt Ivan was ready to give it up.

  The next moment, he pulls back for a breath, and looks up at me. “If you want me to stop, you can say so,” he murmurs, his lips slick with my honey.

  “Please don’t,” I reply quietly. He licks his lips and dives right back in, sucking my clit and rubbing it with the pointed tip of his tongue with vigor. The sudden reprisal of sensation electrifies my nerves and makes me moan, “Oh my God.”

  Ivan quickens the tempo, burying his face in my pussy until I feel my orgasm building rapidly, the pleasure ratcheting up and up until my whole body tenses — and then releases with a violent rush of bliss. Ivan becomes gentler in his motions, but still hungrily lapping up my juices as I come down from climax with a few shuddering twinges.

  Then, in one fluid movement, he takes me down from his shoulders and carries my limp, sated body like a ragdoll down the hallway to a bedroom. I’m still dazed when he sets me down on a massive king-sized bed and begins stripping out of his clothes, dropping them in an unceremonious pile on the floor. When he stands tall and naked, the late-afternoon sun soaking every inch of his glorious flesh, I can’t help but stare in awe and desire.

  Finally regaining some sense of self after my mind-shattering orgasm, I scoot back on the bed and spread my legs open, watching Ivan expectantly. I want to call him to me, beg him to fuck me, please and now. But he holds me under his spell, and I am quiet, waiting.

  At long last, he walks over to the side of the bed and lies down beside me, his huge, glorious cock pressing against my thigh. I ache with the need to have him inside of me, pushing deep into my cunt, filling me up. I want to tell him so. But I resist — I know he will only fuck me when he’s good and ready.

  He pulls me close, turning me away and rubbing his cock against my ass. His thick, strong arm reaches over my side to massage my breast, taking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and drawing light circles around it, causing it to stiffen. The sensation makes me breathe raggedly and thrust back against
him, moving my ass up and down along his shaft.

  Ivan groans, the low sound vibrating down the back of my neck. He pushes my hair out of the way and peppers my shoulders with gentle, teasing kisses.

  “You want me,” he mumbles imperatively.

  “More than anything,” I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Tell me.” Ivan gets up and rolls me back onto my back, positioning himself between my legs. His cock brushes against my clit in the process, and I inhale sharply.

  Looking up at him dazedly I reply, “I want you.”

  “Beg me for it,” he orders.

  “Please, sir. I want you inside of me now. I want you so bad I can hardly stand it,” I answer, with complete honesty. I don’t even get a chance to be surprised at myself, because then Ivan is leaning over to kiss me. He sweetly caresses my cheek, his thumb swiping down the curve of my jaw.

  “Good girl,” he says, with true affection warming his voice. With one more kiss, he reaches for the nightstand and retrieves a condom, starting to unwrap it.

  In another move totally out of character for me, I reach up and boldly stop him from opening it. I bite my lip and lift my hips to brush against the head of his cock.

  “Please, I want to feel you inside me — really feel you.”

  Once the words are out of my mouth, Ivan instantly tosses the condom aside and wordlessly positions his shaft at the entrance of my cunt. I hold my breath.

  And then he pushes inside of me and my mind goes temporarily blank.

  The feeling is so entirely overwhelming, so incredibly good, I can feel tears prickling in my eyes. The look on his face tells me that he feels much the same way. Ivan pulls back and thrusts into me, filling me so wholly with his beautiful cock. The feeling of his hot, soft skin moving inside me is delicious, and I can feel my toes curling. I close my eyes and moan his name as he pushes faster and deeper.

  He’s reaching that secret spot, hitting it perfectly with every thrust, and I know I won’t last very long. Ivan pulls my legs up over his shoulders, allowing his cock to push even further into my pussy. He’s so fucking big it almost hurts, but it feels so good that I honestly don’t even care if he splits me in two. I just want him to keep fucking me.

  “You feel so good, malishka,” Ivan groans, the pleasure apparent on his face nearly enough to send me over the edge. “You’re so fucking good.”

  Suddenly my orgasm is coming, and I start breathing heavily, my hips moving in rhythm with his motions. He can sense my impending climax, and starts fucking me harder, each push deliberate and deep. Before long, I cry out in bliss, my pussy clenching with waves of pleasure around his thick cock.

  And he isn’t far behind.

  “Oh fuck, Katy!” he bellows, and with one final thrust I can feel him pull out and spurt a hot, sweet stream of come across my thigh. I can’t explain it, but some part of me wants to cling to every last drop. I want him to mark me and tell me I belong to him.

  And I realize now: I do. I belong to him, utterly and completely. And not just in the transactional manner, but in heart and soul.

  I am his, for as long as he wants me.

  He leans down to kiss me long and sweet. He lies down beside me and I turn to face him, feeling his seed slowly drip down my bare skin into the sheets. Ivan is gazing at me with the same dark blue eyes that have stricken fear and obedience into many a hard-hearted man — except now his eyes are soft, almost docile. There is a sweetness in his expression as he looks at me, and then a slow, beautiful smile lights up his features. I am breathless.

  I run my hand across Ivan’s chest as we lie together, relief washing away any of the real worlds worries once again. I close my eyes for a moment, letting myself revel in the feel of his muscular chest, then down to his impossibly hard abs.

  There’s a silence between us for a moment, but it feels peaceful, somehow. It’s as if both of us know not to speak, just letting the moment hang in the air lazily between us.

  But my eyes open, and my gaze falls on the tattoo on his chest. An eight-pointed star, marking him as one of the Russian mafia’s men.

  Just like that, the magic of the moment is dispelled, and I’m reminded of my debt. Of the fact that I belong to this man. Whatever glue is keeping us stuck together… it’s impossible to separate from the transactional nature of our relationship. It’s not an equal partnership. As much as I want to justify our dynamic by allowing myself to feel for him, to long for him, I can never fully erase the fact that we would not be together under normal circumstances.

  He’s a mobster, Katy. Don’t lose yourself to this.

  But then again, since when has any part of my life qualified as “normal?” And besides, it feels good, damn it! Not just the sex — though, oh God does that feel good — but just simply being with Ivan feels good. The majority of the time we’re together, it doesn’t even occur to me that we aren’t just a regular couple, even with his tattoos, his accent, and the nagging voice in the back of my mind, a voice I’m sure probably belongs to my dad.

  If I’m going to belong to a hit man for a year, then I am for damn sure going to make the most of it, in whatever way I can manage.

  “What are you thinking about?” Ivan asks quietly, his deep voice reverberating in his chest. I can feel the guttural vibrations of his words with my fingertips, and it’s nearly enough to make me want to fuck him again. Almost. But I am so comfortable here, like this. Just being.

  “Your tattoos,” I reply simply. He peers down at his own chest.

  “Do they bother you?”

  I’m taken a little aback by the question. Ivan is certainly not the kind of guy to ask insecure questions — and he generally doesn’t need to ask me what I do and don’t like, either. He just knows. I pause for a moment and he seems to tense up a little, waiting.

  “No,” I begin. Then, thinking better of it, I add, “maybe a little.”

  “I would not have thought you the prudish type, mishka,” he says, bemused.

  “Oh no, it’s not the existence of tattoos that bothers me,” I respond quickly. “Maybe just the, uh, significance of them.”

  “Ah,” Ivan says.

  “It’s just that it’s a little scary, for lack of a better word,” I explain hastily, hoping he isn’t offended. Good move, Katy. Offend your gun-wielding, heavily-muscled, Mafioso pseudo-boyfriend while you’re lying naked beside him. Fantastic.

  Ivan lets out a rare, low laugh. I instantly breathe an internal sigh of relief.

  “Well, I suppose that is to be expected,” he says breezily. “In fact, I would be concerned for your mental health if you were not at least a little bit afraid of my associates.”

  I can’t help but laugh, too, partly in relief and partly just at the absurdity of it all.

  Ivan continues, “But, my solnishka, please understand that you need not fear them as long as you are with me. I can protect you. I promise you that.”

  He turns to look at me, a soft smile on his full lips. I snuggle into his side, feeling very warm and safe. It’s not so bad, this relationship. Besides, I am getting a lot more out of this form of mafia protection than I was as just a debtor months before!

  Suddenly, I find myself itching to confide in him the way he confided in me. I want him to know me, really know me.

  “My mom and brother died, too,” I murmur, with no preamble. Probably not the most tactful start to this particular conversation, but here we are.

  Ivan sits up a little bit, turning his full focus on me. He furrows his thick brows and cocks his head to the side slightly. “When?”

  I sit up, too, and shift around to face him, sitting cross-legged on the bed and pulling a pillow into my lap for moral support. “Many years ago,” I reply. “And it was very much like the way your mother and sister died.”

  “Car accident?” Ivan prompts, looking genuinely interested.

  I nod, fiddling with the hem of the pillowcase nervously. “Yes.”

  “Foul play?” he asks, th
e hardness returning to his expression.

  “No, no. It was really just an accident,” I answer quickly. “Honestly, it was.”

  Ivan runs a large hand back over his head. “Well, either way, it is a horrible thing.”

  “Yeah, it is. I wasn’t as young as you, and I wasn’t in the car at the time. But I still think about them every day, you know.”

  “You never really heal from that kind of wound,” Ivan agrees.

  I’m quiet for a moment, biting my lip. Then, the words just fall from my lips: “But I can understand their deaths. Unlike my father’s.”

  Ivan takes my hand in his, gently rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb supportively. This gives me the strength to continue. “He was murdered a couple months before you met me.”

  “Who killed him?” Ivan demands, his rage suddenly bubbling to the surface.

  I shake my head sadly. “I still don’t know. There was a quick but thorough investigation, but they never did find out. It drives me insane thinking that the murderer is still out there living his life while my dad is gone. It just isn’t fair.”

  I’m surprised at myself for sharing this much. I’ve never found the words to tell anyone else, not like this. But something about Ivan does this to me, makes me act like someone else, someone more open, less afraid.

  So I go on. “I was away at college when it happened. I grew up here, you know, and after my mom and Steven died, I never imagined I would leave my dad. I couldn’t just abandon him to run the club alone. But he encouraged me to leave, to go off on my own and live my own life. So finally, I did. And I was having so much fun, Ivan, just being myself, being a college girl. And then somebody killed my dad while I was gone.”

  I stop to catch my breath and swallow back the lump in my throat. Ivan gives my hand a quick squeeze of encouragement and I resume the story.