by Winter Fox
But not this smart, sassy girl who was currently being impaled in the ass by his cock—she wanted it because it felt good. She fucking liked it, even if she hadn’t truly realized it yet. The way her body reacted to him made him want to come, right then and there. Staying in control with Liselle was almost impossible.
But when your tastes ran as dark as Ilya’s, losing control could be very, very dangerous indeed—he needed to be careful.
She yelped as he reached the halfway point inside the tight channel of her ass, and he grinned as he forced another inch from her. He loved to hear her cry out like that—it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
He pulled back from her, far enough to be able to stare at her face, and he smiled to see the pink flush of her cheeks, and crystal droplets of perspiration scattered across her forehead.
“Does it hurt, baby?” he murmured, as he pushed deeper.
“Yes.” She met his gaze as she replied, and the tear which traced its way down her cheek contradicted the dark, lustful look in her eyes.
He loosened his grip on her throat, and brought his thumb up to caress her cheek, softly. “Do you want me to stop?”
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and she shook her head from side to side. “No.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. He braced himself; before slamming the rest of his rock-hard dick, balls deep into the girl’s ass. Only stopping when he felt his stomach pressing against the sensual curve of her mound.
“Ouch. Ow. Ow,” she cried out; more tears springing to her eyes.
Ilya’s cock twitched deep inside her, and for a split second he felt a wash of shame. He was a despicable human being. But as quickly as the guilt arrived, it was overtaken by an insane need to fuck her ass until she couldn’t sit down.
He drew back out of her trembling body, until he was perched at her tight entrance again. “Are you ready, milaya?”
She shook her head frantically back and forth, her dark hair flying everywhere. She was beautiful—an angel. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and although she kept shaking her head, she replied quietly. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” He needed to hear her say it.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
Fuck. He loved playing with her innocence.
“Tell me what you’re ready for, baby? Tell me what I’m going to do to you?” He had no idea how he was managing to hold onto the tiny remaining shreds of his self-control, and not just fuck her senseless.
She stared at him silently, and he watched the conflict of emotions battling in her eyes. She wanted to hate him for what he was doing to her, and she also wanted to beg him to fuck her. It didn’t actually matter what she said at this point, Ilya was far too invested to call things off here and now. But he really did want to hear her say the words.
Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the bed. “I’m ready for you to fuck my ass.”
He hissed in a breath at her words. And he considered leaving it at that, but the sinister side of him wanted to push her one last time—before he gave in to his demons, and fucked her until she howled.
“Look at me, and say it again, Liselle.” He purposely used her proper name. Wanting to remind her who she was, what she was doing, and what she was about to agree to.
Still trembling, she raised her eyes to his. He thought that she liked whatever she saw in his face, because her eyes widened, and her lips parted sensually as she spoke.
“I want you to…” her voice tapered off, and Ilya narrowed his eyes sternly.
“I want you to fuck my ass. Please?”
The whispered “please” on the end was both unexpected, and fucking delicious. And it stole away every last shred of Ilya’s control. Every single muscle in his body tensed, and he thrust himself ruthlessly deep inside her. Her howl of agonized delight only making him speed up his assault on her body.
Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, tearing blood-filled trenches through his flesh, and he was glad of the pain. It felt perfectly justified for her to return the favor, and he kept up his relentless pace, pulling back to the very edge of her opening, before slamming himself back inside.
“Oh my god, I’m going to come,” she howled.
“Do it, baby. Come for me?” He growled, leaning in to nip at the soft flesh of her ear.
She cried out, shuddering uncontrollably as she exploded into pure hedonistic elation. “Ilya. Oh, fuck. Ilya, yes.”
The sound of his name on her lips sent him spiraling over the edge. Losing all control, he joined her in her ecstasy, only slowing his thrusting as he felt himself spilling deep into her ass.
As his high began to subside, his mouth pressed against her ear, and he whispered, “You are fucking amazing, milaya.”
Panting heavily, she dropped her cheek onto his shoulder, thoroughly exhausted—both physically, and mentally he suspected. He grinned, as he trailed a gentle hand up her spine, pulling a shiver from her.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her down onto the bed, so that she ended up lying next to him, with one arm and leg draped lazily across his body. With her head rested against his chest. He felt a moment of sadness as their bodies disconnected, but he knew that he would be back inside her before very long.
And that thought made him very happy.
She thought that they were done, but Ilya still had two more days alone with this girl, and he was going to make every fucking second count.
How much sleep did people really need? He wondered, idly.
Liselle looked up at him from beneath her incredibly long, dark lashes, and he smiled down at her. “Did you enjoy that, baby?”
She frowned a little, knitting her eyebrows together in a gesture that was so sweet he almost pinned her down and fucked her again.
“I think I’d enjoy anything that you did to me,” she whispered.
Ilya growled, as his cock twitched at her words. “Fuck, milaya. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“What does it mean?” She asked, breaking into a sleepy yawn.
Ilya looked to his bedside table, wishing he’d thought to bring a drink with him. “What does what mean?”
“Milaya.” When he heard the Russian word on her lips, he smiled.
“In English, it means a lot of different things. But all of them are good things. It means that I like you.” He paused. “A lot.”
“Okay,” she whispered, snuggling against him.
Ilya looked down at the dark cascade of her hair, which covered the upper half of her body, and part of his own like a sable colored blanket. How was she able to be so relaxed around him? Especially after the things he’d just done to her.
The women that he usually fucked would often require at least a moment or two to get themselves together after he’d finished with them. But this girl had fallen into his arms as though they were Romeo and fucking Juliet.
Although that probably didn’t mean anything good for either of them.
He laid his lips against the top of her head in a tender kiss, and once again he wondered what the fuck was wrong with them both. But even as he questioned his own sanity, alongside Liselle’s, he found himself speaking softly.
“I’ll do it.”
She turned her head to blink up at him with those incredible, amber eyes. “Do what?”
What the fuck are you doing, Ilya? His mind screamed at him.
Ignoring the huge fucking alarms which were ringing inside his head, Ilya answered her. “I’ll get your family out. But we have to move mine at exactly the same time.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Do you mean it? Really?”
The trust he was placing in this woman was confusing the shit out of him. He hadn’t trusted anybody who wasn’t blood, since he was maybe thirteen-years old.
“Da,” he confirmed. “But you have to do everything I say, Liselle. And you have to be sure. Because once you run, you’ll never be able to stop.”
She laid her forehead against his chest, br
eathing deeply. He knew that she was taking him seriously—weighing up the pros, versus the cons—and he was glad. Glad that she was really considering what this decision meant.
Lifting her head, she captured his eyes with her own, and laid her lips against the still hot skin of his chest in the softest of kisses. “I understand. And I’m sure.”
And just like that, a fork in the path—which hadn’t even existed half an hour ago—opened up before them both. This was a moment that would undoubtedly ensure their freedom. Because one way or the other, whether they ran, or whether they died—they were going to finally be free of Mariusz.
23
Liss
I couldn’t believe what Ilya was saying to me. He was going to help me escape from Mariusz. I suspected the cost must have been high for him to feel confident enough to offer his trust to me, and I swore to myself that no matter the consequences, I would never, ever break that trust.
Never.
I locked my gaze on his. “Tell me, Ilya?”
He frowned, not understanding what I was asking. So, I explained. “Tell me how you ended up trapped in the service of Mariusz Sokolov?”
“Ahh.” Understanding dawned, and he breathed out slowly while I guessed he argued with himself internally over whether or not he would tell me his story.
He suddenly rolled away from me, standing up and pulling his jeans on quickly. I bit my lip as I watched him go, wondering if I’d pushed him too far, too soon. His story was not one he was eager to tell—that much was obvious.
“Wait here a minute, baby.” He smiled reassuringly, and slipped out of the bedroom.
Feeling the first hint of cool air across my naked body, I slipped beneath Ilya’s bedsheets. Wrapping myself up against the chill from the air, and also from the coldness which wound its way through me as I anticipated hearing Ilya’s story.
He returned moments later, with a bottle of vodka in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other. He grinned as he flopped back down onto the bed next to me; offering me the water bottle.
“This is a story that needs liquor. Lots of liquor. But first, you need to rehydrate, milaya.”
I took the water, and unscrewing the cap I poured half of the bottle down my throat. But I slightly miscalculated the angle, and a trickle of water ran from the corner of my mouth; before chasing its way down my chest, I shivered at the unexpected cold.
With impressive speed, Ilya leaned forward and caught the errant droplet with his warm mouth, just as it found its way to the swell of my breast. I hissed in a delighted response to his touch, and he hooked the bedsheet down to let him capture the hard peak of my nipple in his mouth.
He looked up at me with his black eyes, and I suddenly would have sworn that they weren’t so cold anymore. He held my gaze for a few seconds longer, as his tongue flicked across the taut skin of my breast; making me gasp in response.
Then he pulled back from me, allowing the cool air to tickle against my wet skin. “You. Are too distracting, milaya.”
I smiled at him, and sat up so that I could reach over to put the water on the bedside table. “I’m sorry. Please tell me? I want to hear it.”
He uncapped the vodka, before taking a long drink. Then his gaze returned to mine, and just like that, the darkness was back.
“You might regret asking for this once I tell you, Liselle.”
I blinked at him, and said nothing, offering him a silent prompt to begin.
“Okay.” He breathed out deeply on the end of the word, and swigged back another long drink of vodka.
I took the bottle gently from his hands, not knowing if I was trying to stop him from getting drunk before he even started. Or whether I needed the drink to prepare myself for what I was about to hear. And as I poured the potent liquid into my mouth, Ilya began.
“My full name is Ilya Volkov, and I was born in Russia, although I have spent a lot of time in unusual places. Which is why I only have half an accent. When I was growing up, I lived in a town in Siberia, called Yakutsk, with my mother, sister, and my brother.”
“You have a brother?” I asked, surprised.
He shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry, Ilya.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago, milaya.”
He took the vodka back, and drank deeply before putting it back in my hand, and continuing. “My brother and I were almost the same age. He was two years older than me, and we went everywhere together. But Sasha got himself involved in gangs when he was only twelve-years old, meaning that I got dragged along for the ride when I was ten.”
My eyes widened. “You were in a gang at ten-years old?”
He nodded. “I don’t know much about street gangs here. I had grown far past that by the time that I arrived. But in Russia, and in Siberia, things can get quite rough. We ran drugs, sure. But most of what makes gang members tick in the long, cold months of a Siberian winter, is killing.
“We would fight, and we would do it to the death. We’d tear each other apart like dogs, in snow-covered fighting rings. Often the temperature would be as low as minus fifty, the cold could just as easily see you off as the violence could.”
I shuddered, it sounded beyond horrific.
“Anyway. My brother came up against Mariusz Sokolov’s youngest sibling in the ring, and he killed him. It was an easy fight, Sasha was seventeen at the time, and he annihilated the other boy.”
I hissed in a breath. “That wouldn’t have pleased Mariusz.”
Ilya shook his head from side to side. “Nope. Marius was nineteen, and he was already in the process of proving himself as one of the most formidable crime lords in Russia. As you know, he comes from fine mafia stock.”
I nodded.
“Mariusz put out the word that he was going to kill Sasha, and that he wasn’t going to do it in a fight. I sort of became my brother’s bodyguard then, going everywhere with him for protection. I trained for three hours every morning, and every night to keep in shape.”
No wonder you have the physique that you do.
“Once a year, there was a meet in a neighboring town. Everyone went to pit their best fighters against each other. I knew that Mariusz would be there, and I begged our boss not to make Sasha go. But it was a gambling event, and he knew that Sasha would make him shitloads of money.
“When we got there, Mariusz was there with his other brother, and weirdly his older sister, Katya. She was twenty-one, and she shouldn’t have been there. She seemed like a good person—she didn’t like to watch people die as much as her brother did. As much as we all did. I begged my brother not to get in that ring for his first fight, but he did.”
I bit my lip, hating the way I knew that this story was going to end.
“Sasha killed his opponent within five minutes. But when he tried to leave the ring Mariusz was waiting. He had brought a gun with him, to ensure that he put my brother down permanently. Unfortunately for Mariusz I had guessed what he might do, and I was a horrible little shit, who didn’t care about anyone but my family.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “No different to how I am now really.”
That’s not true, I thought.
“When Mariusz put that gun to Sasha’s head, I was already waiting behind Katya. I grabbed a hold of her, and put my gun to her temple. Then I shouted my warning to Mariusz. I told him loud and clear that if he hurt my brother, his sister would die.”
“He shot Sasha,” I said softly.
Ilya nodded brokenly. “He shot him, so I shot his sister. She wasn’t unlike you, Liselle—born into a family who were much darker than her. She didn’t deserve to take a bullet to the head that day. But I killed her without hesitation, and I can never take that back.”
He shrugged. “The worst thing is that I’m not even sure I would if I could.”
I reached out to lay a comforting hand on his arm, and he yanked it back as though I had burned him. His capacity for accepting human touch seemed to stop dead outside of sexu
al scenarios.
“You were just a child, Ilya. You were what fifteen?” I knitted my fingers around the vodka bottle as I spoke. Desperate to hide the effect his rejection of my touch had on me.
“She’s still dead.” He snatched the bottle back from me, drinking deeply.
“Why didn’t Mariusz kill you?” I asked curiously.
Ilya met my gaze, and my heart hurt at the pain and sorrow which swam behind the inky blackness of his eyes.
“He tried.” Ilya gestured to the old bullet wound in his back. “He took me down, when I ran like the coward that I was. But when it came to it, he decided that could pay me back in much more ‘interesting’ ways than death.”
“That was when he threatened your family,” I said sadly.
Ilya nodded. “It was. And the bastard has held it over me ever since. He sent me to four different ‘training’ camps in Russia, all before I was twenty. Each one was designed to produce cold, hard killers. They weren’t very nice places, milaya. They liked to beat you, lock you in the dark, break your bones, and starve you until you couldn’t even think straight anymore.”
I felt tears threaten to spill onto my cheeks, and I wiped a furious hand across my face. I wouldn’t cry. I would hear him out to the end of his story—because I suspected that I was the first person he’d ever told it to.
“For the first two years I begged him to stop sending me to those places. They were killing me. But every time I refused to go, he would threaten to kill my mother and Dina. He’s had men watching over them ever since the day I killed his sister. And after the first two years it suddenly wasn’t so bad anymore. I became who and what they wanted me to become.”
He ran his fingers through his dark hair, the first sign he’d given that he was uncomfortable with the things he was telling me.
“Everyone thinks that I’m here because I’m loyal to Mariusz above everything else. Even the rest of the Five do. But I’m not. I’m only here because I haven’t found the right way to kill him yet.”