31
Vasilije
My head was a fucking disaster. Rage boiled in my veins, and the need to punch something was overwhelming. Alek was working with the Russians, and Oksana had betrayed me. I was almost as mad at myself as I was at her. I should have seen this coming. The more beautiful the woman, the more likely she was to fuck you over.
And wearing that expensive lingerie I’d bought her, and the whore-colored red lipstick, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I hated her. Goddamn her for twisting me up like this.
I thrust the gun, grinding the top of it against her pussy, and she shuddered. She wanted me to punish her? I’d do it, all right. She needed to feel the way she made me feel.
I’d lost control once. I’d reacted impulsively and taken a life, and swore I wouldn’t again. Death wasn’t something to be decided spur of the moment. But it was still touch-and-go for me now on whether Oksana should live. She said she wanted my help taking down Sergey Petrov, but she’d also said he was her father and had sent her here. It reeked of a setup.
My father’s words haunted my mind. Was it already too late for me?
Her hands slipped down from my neck and fisted my t-shirt when I stroked the gun between her legs. She moved in time with it, fucking the gun in my hand. I didn’t want it to, but it got me hard.
“Whatever I want,” I repeated.
She nodded, distracted by the sensation the weapon was giving her, and whimpered when I pulled all the way back, leaving her quivering.
“Downstairs. At the piano. Now.”
Like the obedient pet she pretended to be, she climbed off the bed and followed my order. When she was gone from the room and her footsteps creaked down the stairs, I raked a hand through my hair, not sure what to do. I felt like I should kill her, but I didn’t want to. The knee-jerk reaction went away as quick as I’d had it, and all I was left with was stinging anger.
Even if I wanted to believe her, I sure as shit couldn’t trust her anymore.
And I needed to. She knew secrets about me no one else did.
I scanned the room, searching for options, and when my gaze landed on the black plastic bag on my nightstand, I went for it. She claimed loyalty to me, but she was going to have to prove it.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I glanced down and hesitated.
She sat at the piano like a statue, her back stiff and her fingers waiting on the keys. Bright moonlight poured from windows, casting a silver glow. Her white skin against all the black lingerie was fucking gorgeous. Picture perfect, but I was too pissed to get out my phone. The image would probably stick in my memory forever anyway.
As I walked across the hardwood toward her, she swiveled just enough to look at me. She sighed softly when she saw I didn’t have my gun anymore, but eyed the bag I held in a fist with a hint of anxiety. Good. She should get used to feeling uncomfortable.
I dropped the bag and it thudded loudly on the floor, making her flinch, and I strode into the kitchen. What I needed was in the bottom cabinet, closest to the basement door. The roll of black duct tape was practically new.
Her anxiety ratcheted up, and her eyes went wide with fear when she saw it.
“Whatever I want,” I reminded in a hiss. “Stand up.”
I ignored how she was trembling, tore a strip off, and plunked the roll down on the piano keys. The noisy, unsettling sound echoed under the ceiling. Her heels clicked frantically and she stumbled when I pulled her around to the other side of the bench. I wanted her behind it, facing the piano, and I put a hand on her back, shoving her forward.
“Down,” I growled. “Knees on the floor.”
Oksana took in huge gulps of breath, but did as told. She knelt behind the black lacquered bench, and tucked a lock of her hair behind an ear, probably too nervous to know what to do.
“Lean over and grab the legs.” I guided her to set her chest against the flat of the wood, and watched her hands curl around the uprights. The piano was my mother’s, and I didn’t want to damage it, so I knelt beside her and wrapped the strip of tape with the sticky side out around both her wrist and the piano bench leg. I fumbled for the roll of tape and tore off another strip. This one I used to cover the sticky part.
“Vasilije, I—” she whispered as I worked to do her other wrist with the same technique.
“Shut the fuck up.” I didn’t want to hear a goddamn thing from her right now.
When I finished, I looked at my work and a surge of lust hit me. I was depraved. The Russian girl kneeling over the bench and bound to it was shuddering, and it got worse when I trailed my fingertips over the length of her spine. Her lies had left me feeling weak, but the control I had now settled the emotions churning inside.
It helped me focus on a goal.
Her head hung down and the curtain of her hair draped to the floor. I had total access to her body, and she had to be expecting me to start taking my anger out on her ass any second. But she’d be wrong. I jerked the back of her panties down, exposing her nakedness, and jammed two fingers inside her pussy.
“Oh,” she groaned. Didn’t sound like she’d enjoyed what I’d done, but I didn’t fucking care. I didn’t do it for her benefit.
“I want you wet, so I can shove my cock inside you, you lying cunt.”
She gasped at my brutal words, but her body tightened on my fingers. I pumped them in and out, watching them grow slicker with each deep thrust. The muscles flexed in her back as she tried to move her arms. Did she hate being tied up? Completely at my mercy? Or did the girl like it?
I did.
I yanked my fingers out of her, undid my jeans, and dug out my nearly hard dick. My brain was still beyond pissed, but I needed my body to get on board. I spat in my hand and stroked myself. Liar or spy, the whore was still my property.
Wasn’t she a whore? Fucking me only because she needed something?
I moved behind her and urged her knees apart. They slid easily across the wood because of the sexy thigh-highs I’d bought her. I held my dick steady and ran the tip along her seam, half expecting her to tell me to stop, and not sure I would if she did.
Instead, she sighed.
I gave her all of my dick in one cruel thrust. She gasped and made a choked sound, but said nothing. I delivered another vicious thrust, stabbing into her tight heat, and tried not to lose focus.
For the first time, I was fucking with the goal of not getting the girl off. Oksana needed to feel as used as I did, and I established a brutal tempo, driving my body deep inside her. I let the anger at her betrayal fuel me.
She groaned when I clenched a handful of hair at the top of her head and jerked her back so she was staring at the ceiling. I was savage with her. I braced my other hand on her hip while I fucked her, and the slap of my body hitting hers was as loud as it was whenever I spanked her.
She grunted. It sounded like pain mixed with pleasure.
I let go of her hair and tore my shirt up over my head. I was on goddamn fire, consumed with rage. “Tell me to stop,” I challenged.
She stayed silent.
I knew a way to get her to back down. I snatched up the plastic bag, stuck a hand inside, and grabbed the bottle of lube. I dumped two pumps’-worth in between her cheeks and, as she tensed, a joyless grin spread across my face.
“Tell me to stop,” I goaded.
Her silence was infuriating, but it made me harder. I flexed inside her, strangling back the need to fuck her until my cum dripped out of her pussy. I moved my hand onto a cheek, my thumb seeking the spot between that she’d ruled off limits.
“If you don’t say anything, you’re gonna get a thumb in your ass.”
Her chest was heaving, and her body ricocheted with the impact of my punishing thrusts, but no words came from her. Not in English or Russian. I pushed the pad of my thumb down, burying the finger inside.
“Oh,” she cried, and sucked in breath through clenched teeth.
Fuck me, it was hot. It was wrong and dirty, but I couldn’t stop. I’d push her until she made me stop. Oksana was stubborn, but so was I, and she’d be the one to break first. “Say you want to stop.” My tone dared her to do it. “Say it, or I’ll give you another finger.”
Her voice was clipped. “Do it.”
“Yeah? God, you’re filthy. What a filthy, fucking slut you are.”
I had no idea if her reaction was to my words, or the way I retracted my thumb and began to work my first two fingers inside her virgin ass. It was so tight, and I could feel the fingers moving against my cock as I fucked her. The sensation was amazing.
“Oh, my God,” she whined.
I jerked to a stop, throbbing inside her pussy, and pulled myself together. I’d gotten right to the edge and needed to back off. I pulled out my fingers and slapped her ass, making her yelp. “You better tell me to stop, or I’m going to fuck this ass.”
She jerked against the tape, and the bench squealed an inch across the floor. “Nyet.”
“Da.” I knew the Russian word for ‘no,’ just as I knew the one for ‘yes.’ I pulled out of her, sat back on my haunches, and gave her a matching red handprint on her other cheek. “You tell me no in English.”
Her legs shook as she knelt over the bench, and her hands squeezed the uprights so tightly, her knuckles were white. Her muscles were tense, and her back rose and fell with hurried, uneven pants. “Do whatever you want,” she said. “I’m yours.”
“If you say so,” I patronized.