by Nicole Fox
I jump up and begin shadowboxing, beads of sweat flying from me, pools of it gathering on the floor. I duck and slip and jab at imaginary enemies, seeing the guards, seeing Cormac and Timofey in my mind’s eye.
I wonder how Egor is doing on the outside, if he’s making a nuisance of himself. This place must be water-tight or he would’ve tried to rescue me by now. I wish he’d storm it anyway, even if he knows they’d execute me, but he won’t. He values me too much for that, the loyal bastard.
Two days have passed since I brought Jamie to shivering orgasm up against the wall. I meant that to be a chance for me to take control from her, but when she tightened her hand around my manhood, looking sassy and fierce and flushed, I lost myself, too. She made the sweetest moaning sounds when she came, and her sex got so tight, I had to forcibly stop myself from fucking her.
She’s all I’ve thought about.
Well, her … and food.
I didn’t realize how much I valued food until now, when all they’re feeding me is shit gruel. I weigh two hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle, my limbs stacked with thick cords of throbbing tension, every inch of me bulging. That requires a whole lot of fucking calories. I dream of two things: Jamie and food. Sometimes they mix together, and I’m bending Jamie over a banquet table, taking her slick sex for the main course as I eye the dessert.
She has visited me a few times since then, but always kept her distance, allowing her guard—she only comes when Garret is on shift—to enter the room with her. I sense this is to make herself behave, more than me. Not that it stops me from teasing her. She just looks so damn tempting when she flushes red.
Especially last night, when she came in without any makeup on, her face looking fresh and somewhat vulnerable. She’s even more beautiful without cosmetics, her freckles more prominent, her moods easier to read in her reddening cheeks.
After twenty minutes of shadowboxing, I drop down into a series of jump squats. I enjoy the burning feeling in my thighs, and yet I’m aware of a weakness in me, which, of course, comes down to the lack of good food. I’m not weak by any man’s standards except my own. I’d still be able to take any of these guards with one hand tied behind my back.
The shower in my cell is red-hot, which I like. The feeling of the water burning over my skin makes me feel alive. I don’t even care when it moves over the lingering bruises from the rubber bullets. I dry off and change into the filthy rags they bring me every couple of days that serve as ‘clothes.’
Then I hear it: the distinctive noise of Jamie’s footsteps coming down the corridor. She walks in her characteristically hurried way, as though she’s eager to get here to see me. Or perhaps she’s eager to get this over with. Either way, I find myself smiling.
Which is strange. And fucking dangerous.
She’s an Irish girl, I remind myself, the daughter of the man who put me up for goddamn sale and got my second-in-command to betray me.
I just about wipe the smile off my face when the door opens and Jamie struts in, camera bag over her shoulder, and the Minotaur mask in her hand. It’s the first time I’ve seen it. It looks like a Hollywood prop, well-made, with details like nicks on the horns to give it character.
“Do you think by taking it out of the bag I’ll be more tempted to wear it?” I ask, leaning against the wall.
She closes the door behind her. Ah, so it’s one of those visits, is it?
I keep my place against the wall, enjoying how sexy she looks in her pajama shorts and light-fitting hoodie. It’s made of the sort of fabric that rustles when she moves, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts and her belly. She has a tight, fit body that makes her seem bouncy. And I want to bounce her: on the end of my cock until those perfect legs are quivering in lust.
She doesn’t say anything, just holds the mask out. “Put it on,” she says.
“Oh, now I’m convinced,” I say drily. In Russian, I say, “I suppose this is your new persuasion tactic, eh, princess?”
“I’m done messing around!” she says. But she has that hint of a smile, as though she enjoys this as much as I do. I like seeing her conflicted, seeing how badly she’s trying to hide her desires. “Or I’ll make you put it on.”
“No, you won’t.”
She paces across the room, holding the mask up. “You don’t understand how badly I want to start this project,” she says, her words all collapsing together in a rush. Despite the strange circumstances, I find myself respecting her artistic impulse, her evident dedication to her work. “I need to start taking sample photos, getting a clear idea of where this is going to go, what it’s going to be.”
“I don’t see how any of that is my problem,” I say.
She slams the mask against my chest. “Put. It. On.”
I push away from the wall, looming over her. “I said no.” I twist the knife of my refusal, loving every flicker of annoyance in her sexy-as-hell face. “Are we really going to continue playing this game?”
“What game?” she whispers.
“The game that you’re in charge.”
I grab her by the shoulders and spin her around. She lets out a delighted gasp, a smile tweaking her fuckable lips until she purposefully flattens them. “What the hell is the matter with you?” she sasses, looking over her shoulder.
“I am tired of you ordering me around,” I tell her. “Now it’s my turn. When I let you go, you’re going to strip for me—slowly. I want to savor each reveal of your tempting flesh.”
“Tempting flesh,” she echoes, trying for dismissive. “What are you, a vampire?”
“No, I’m a Beast, remember?”
I lean close to her, bringing my face inches from hers. Her eyes are wide, full of lust, the same lust that must be reflected in mine. “I need to see you,” I insist. “Your perfect petite body as you strut around this cell in those shorts, your pale legs that will turn red with each bite, each touch. I need to see more.” I spin her around again, nudging her into the middle of the room. “Now, Jamie.”
“Who said you’re in charge?” she whispers, but weakly. Her resolve is crumbling. She can say she doesn’t want me all she wants, but we both know the truth.
When I pull down my shorts and begin stroking my manhood, I see her weaken before my eyes. Biting her lip, she shrugs off her camera bag, dropping the mask. “If I strip,” she says slowly, “it’s because I want you, not because you told me to.”
“Of course. Now—strip.”
I’m not sure if I actually expected her to, but she must be as horny as I am. I try and stay calm as she does it, try and keep my cool exterior, but when she starts pulling her hoodie over her head and I see that she’s not wearing anything underneath—no T-shirt, no bra, nothing—I let out a guttural groan.
Her breasts are pert, bouncy, the nipples already hard for me. I bite down until my jaw aches, until my teeth hurt.
“Are you going commando, too?” I ask, sounding breathless.
The tug-of-war of control is definitively going in her favor right now. “Maybe,” she says, with a sexy wink. “Let go of your cock, Andrei. Until I tell you, you can’t touch it.”
“No fucking way.”
“Fine.” She makes as if to pick up her hoodie. “Then we’re done here.”
I let go of my manhood with a grimace. It bounces up and down, rock-solid, pre-come flying. Jamie turns around slowly, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, inching them down in tiny movements, fucking millimeters that have me holding my breath for the next slice of skin.
She is commando, I realize, when I see the crack between her round ass cheeks, and then lower, lower, as she bends over to reveal the shaved pink of her sex. I have to grip the wall to stop myself from grabbing my cock. I feel like I could explode. What started as a game has evolved.
Now I really am her Beast, and I want to devour her.
She steps out of her shorts. “Happy now?” she breathes.
There’s a moment when we lock gazes as if to
say, What now? What the fuck are we doing? She smiles somewhat awkwardly, and I find myself thinking about how cute and endearing she is. As well as sexy. What the fuck?
I leap across the room, pushing those thoughts from my mind. Then my hands are all over her. I spin her around so that I can reach over her shoulder and get at her breasts. I grab them both in my giant hand, pinching one nipple with my thumb and toying with the other with my fingers. I squeeze them together, making her cleavage tight and so hot I think I could come right now. With my other hand, I grab her ass, spanking her lightly.
She gasps. “Who said you could do that, huh?”
I spank her again. She moans, loving every second of it. “Bend over,” I tell her. “I want to see your wet pussy as I spank you.”
“Like this?” she whispers, knees together, bending at the hip. It’s a fucking picture, the sort of thing a man could die happy looking at. “Hmm, Beast?”
For a moment, I just stand back, looking at her, captivated. Then I spank her again, a little harder this time. She gasps, but looks at me over her shoulder, clearly wanting more. But I can’t take this. My balls are so blue they could freeze, and yet my manhood is hotter than it’s ever been, the pre-come that slides down me feeling like it’s boiling. I move forward, kneeling so that I can bring my cock to her pussy at the right angle.
“Andrei …”
“Hmm? Tell me to stop, Jamie, and I will. But we both know you want this as much as I do.”
After a pause, she whispers, “I think I want it more. Fuck me hard. Let yourself go on me.”
“Be careful with that kind of talk,” I tell her, stroking my head against her soaked lips, her red-hot clit.
She reaches back, clutching onto my hips, tugging on me. I arch my back and enter her. Jesus, she’s hotter and tighter than I can believe. At first, I don’t think she’s going to be able to take me. But after two thrusts, she opens, her sex welcoming me, making room for me, and we start to grind in tight, close movements.
Bang-bang-bang!
Garret thumping on the cell door interrupts our pleasure.
Jamie flies forward. She wheels on me, hand raised like a lion tamer trying to control her charge.
“What’s going on in there?” Garret snaps.
“We’re working!” Jamie gasps, scrambling for her clothes.
A cruel part of me wants to whip them away, because then that’d mean I’d get to look at her naked some more. My gaze is locked on the redness of her ass as she bends over her hoodie. I can’t help myself. I stroke my hand over it, toying with her pussy. She slaps at my hand.
“I heard … noises.”
“Just setting up the camera,” Jamie says weakly.
“I think you should open this door,” Garret says. “I don’t like this.”
“We’re just working, jeez!” she snaps. “I’m fine, okay?”
There’s a short pause, and then Garret grumbles, “If you need anything, just shout for me.”
Jamie steps away from me, getting dressed hurriedly. She glares as though what we just did—almost did—is my fault. As far as I’m concerned, Garret was just a short interruption and we should get back to it. My cock is still rock-hard, my balls feel so big they could break open. She looks so vivacious with her wild strands of fire-red hair, her lithe legs. I’m starving for another touch of her sex.
“Don’t do that again,” she says.
“Yes, because I acted completely on my own.”
Her eyes flit to my cock. “Can you get dressed, please?”
“Too tempted?”
She bites her lip. When she realizes what she’s doing, she seems annoyed. “No, it’s just off-putting. Really. God.” She laughs, trying to sound casual. “We’ve got work to do, you know?”
I groan as I pull up my shorts, sensing that I’m not getting any further right now. I can see it in the way she’s holding herself, purposefully distant. I’m not about to be one of those men who grovel for a woman’s attention.
“Are we still discussing this?” I groan. “Let it go, Jamie.”
“No!” she snaps. “Jesus, Andrei, you know how much this means to me.”
I shrug. “It means nothing to me.”
My belly chooses the silence that follows this to make the loudest grumbling noise I have ever heard. Jamie laughs, and I find myself laughing along with her. But then her expression shifts. A knowing glint comes into her eyes.
“Hungry?” she asks innocently.
Oh shit. “No,” I lie.
“Hmm, are you sure?” She walks across the room, but is careful to keep her distance from me. “Because, you know, if you agreed to let me take a couple of photos, I could bring you whatever food you wanted.”
My mind fills with the sort of Russian banquets Mother, and then Osip’s wife, used to make for me growing up. I try and keep my face composed, but I know I fail, because the evil spark in her expression only flares all the brighter.
“Pepperoni pizza, meatball pasta, um, I dunno, bruschetta? What do you want?”
I scoff. “More like three steak and cheese pirozhkis, with a massive bowl of borscht to start and a dozen shashlyks on the side.”
She beams and I realize that, by listing non-Russian dishes, she was baiting me. “That can be easily arranged.”
I can’t stop my belly from grumbling furiously now, the thought of the pirozhkis’ pastry driving me insane, the melted cheese, the thick steak.
“How many photos?” I say. “One photo. I am not your performing fucking monkey, Jamie.”
She can barely hold back her smile. Things are made more complicated by how goddamn charming she is when she smiles like that, all excited.
“Just one … to start with.”
“Just one altogether,” I correct. “And I want the real Russian food, not some knockoff shit. I’ll give you the name of a few restaurants.”
She pouts and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to leap across the cell and push her to her knees, to bring my throbbing manhood to those lips and watch as they part wider and wider around me. I’ll make sure she’s loving every step: the falling to her knees and then the sucking, her eyes getting saucer-like as I tell her all the things I’m going to do to her after she’s done.
But she is exerting a dangerous amount of control on me right now. So I just lean against the wall, casual, and offer her a smile. “Well?”
“Well …” She frowns. “I’m not sure if you understand how photography works. You don’t get one photo from taking one photo. You have to take, like, a lot more than that. And then select the best one, and that’s only your base, you know, before you start editing.”
“One photo,” I repeat, but my belly is still grumbling. Thoughts of good hearty Russian food have taken root in my mind. I’m ravenous … for Jamie, and so much else.
She folds her arms, which has the tantalizing effect of pushing her breasts up in the light fabric of her hoodie. She sees me looking and smirks. She looks so self-possessed, so confident, a sudden thrill of—what?—pride moves through me. How intoxicating must this woman be to make me feel something so twistedly out of place?
“You’re being purposefully dense,” she says. “If you want the food, you have to compromise. Five photos.”
“One.”
She sighs. “Three, at least. Not that that’s even close to being enough.”
“One,” I snarl.
She rolls her eyes. “Three, Andrei.”
I grin savagely. “One, Jamie.”
“Asshole!” she snaps. “Agree to three or no food.”
I shrug. “I want the good Russian food, I won’t deny it.” What I don’t mention is that I’d like to feast on her sex even more, though I’m fairly certain she can read that in the way my whole body is still tense from our exchange. I felt her soaking wet, tight pussy—and then it was gone. What sort of cruelty is that?
“But,” I go on, “I won’t agree to be your damn show pony. One photo, take it or leave it.
”
She bites her bottom lip.
“Do you have any idea how sexy you look when you do that?” I goad.
She smiles. And then catches herself. “Fine! You eat first. Then I’ll take one photo, you stubborn prick!” She turns around quickly. I get the sense that the speed is an effort to stop herself from continuing where we left off.
“See you soon,” I smile.
When she’s gone, I spend some time pacing around the room like a caged beast. Which is what I am, anyway. A caged beast who’s going to take every inch of Jamie’s tempting skin, who’s going to paint it red and blaze hot fire onto her sex to feel the quivers moving up and down her body.
I’m horny, that’s the blunt truth. I’m hornier than I know how to handle. I’ve always prided myself on my ability not to let women captivate me the way they seem to do with other men. I’ve seen harem girls make complete fools of men in the club, Bratva men who should know better. But, now, I feel myself slipping.
Her pussy felt like home; a tight, hot place just for me, my cock filling every wicked inch of her. It was wrong—she’s Irish, I’m Russian, she’s my fucking captor—but it felt so right.
So, unable to fight it anymore, I drop onto my bed and grip the solid shaft of my cock. I can still feel her wetness on me, combining with my pre-come as I stroke from balls to tip, closing my eyes and picturing the way her tight red ass looked when she was bent over, offering herself to me. In my mind, I thrust deep, deeper, until we’re fucking like wild animals and her whole body is bucking forward.
“Argh!” I come so hard that for a few seconds all I feel is intense tingling at the head of my huge cock.
Then I lie back. Jamie is having more of an effect on me than any woman ever has. I need to fight it, I know that.
But I’m not sure I can.
9
Jamie
Lustful thoughts about what Andrei and I did—almost did, I remind myself—chase me for the rest of the day and into the next. They’re with me as I visit Molly at her apartment and we have one of her self-declared famous cocktails, when I’m at the studio, and now, as I sit down for a compulsory dinner with Father, Rafferty Walsh, and, worst of all, Declan, I’m still thinking about Andrei’s manhood inside of me.