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Tatyana wraps her arms around my shoulders and lifts her hips, begging me to slide further in. When I reach the full length of my cock, she lets out a moan that wakens something feral in me. My skin rises in goosebumps as I withdraw, feeling every ridge inside her hug against my shaft. The lids of my eyes draw low, opening and closing, mixing the incredible feelings with the view of Tatyana’s pale, soft body laying below me. My pumps into her grow faster. I want more of her pussy, her moans, her bucking hips against mine.
Because sheismine.
There is no clearer proof of that than right now, with Tatyana surrendering her body to me, wanting me to take her.
Our lips collide, kissing at a frenzied pace as a warm sensation collects in my balls. I fuck harder, pulling Tatyana’s hair and grunting with every pass in and out of her. She looks at me with the same blissful gaze she had the first night I fucked her. The only look I ever want to see from her eyes.
I growl, and a moment later I’m releasing all of myself into her, filling her. Claiming her.
My shaft contracts and releases with each pass, slowing until I’ve drained every bit of myself inside Tatyana’s body. I relax and lower myself down, feeling her arms and legs wrap around me. We do what we didn’t have time for the first night we fucked in the stairwell; hold each other. My head falls to the side of hers, kissing the side of her face as we both recover our breath. My cock is still inside her warmth, pulsing occasionally as our bodies shift against each other.
The euphoria dissolves and I find myself back in the real world with the very real problems I’m facing. The Bratva. Vadim. My men back in America. I look at Tatyana and know I want her, but she doesn’t deserve to suffer the life I live. She deserves better than that. I use an arm to prop myself up, sitting on the edge of the sofa.
Tatyana rises, curling herself at the opposite end of the sofa with her arms hugging her knees.
I don’t think either of us can make sense of what just happened.
The flames inside the fireplace lick up the wooden edges of the frame built to contain it. Embers float out of the center of the fire and land on the rug in front of it, causing fibers in the old rug to glow before fading to a thread of smoke.
I rise from the edge of the sofa and walk to the place where Tatyana’s coat lays crumpled on the floor, picking it up and shaking dust from it. I find her bra hiding in the folds. Tatyana straightens her clothes and I carry her belongings to her. When she puts her bra on, I can’t stop staring at her. Her eyes dart around the room as she buttons her shirt and then her coat, all while my eyes stay on her, wanting to devour her again. She takes a few steps away from me before fully turning her back and heading for the door.
“Tatyana,” I call out as I walk towards her. She comes to a tense stop ahead of the door and turns her head to the sound of my voice. I take the knife she pointed at me earlier and slide it into her palm. When her fingers wrap around the blade, I hold her hand in mine. She shrinks back as I stand closer to her. My free hand passes through her hair, feeling the dark curls wind through my fingers once more.
“You’re mine now,” I say before releasing her hand. With her mouth open, she stumbles back.
“What does that mean?” she asks in her sweet innocent voice.
"You’ll find out,” I promise her.
Tatyana disappears through the doorway. The rusted driver door of her car creaks as she opens it and hurries to sit inside. The engine turns and headlights from the car flood the front of my home with light. Tatyana is barely visible in the driver’s seat, and I can feel her watching me as she backs her car towards the road. She wants to escape. She wants to be safe. But there is no safety here, and there is no escape from me.
She ismine.
A puff of exhaust sputters out of Tatyana’s car as she shifts into drive and speeds down the road out of the village, disappearing into the woods.
I turn back to the reason I came here in the first place. Adrik told me he left some of my parent’s belongings here. I head towards the hall leading to the bedrooms.
The great room is a cavernous entryway into our home, but our bedrooms were left the way the original builders had intended, as separate living quarters for entire families. My room was actually a full apartment with a door to enter on both floors. I pass further down the hall, stepping over random piles of trash mixed with our belongings, stuff that people likely meant to steal, but in the end decided wasn’t worth carrying outside. A massive hole is broken into the wall leading to what’s left of my mother’s leisure room. I think of the times she’d spend doing what she loved, sewing, playing piano, or reading books to me. There’s nothing but a worn rug and broken furniture left. At some point, someone bothered to steal the piano. I gather that’s why the gigantic hole in the wall was created.
The door to my room is caked with dust and peeling varnish, looking almost unrecognizable from the last time I saw it the morning of the attack on our village.
I didn’t make it inside my house during the attack. I was planning on running away but darted back when I saw men pull my mother outside and throw her down the stairs. They made her kneel with her arms behind her.
A vision that’s invaded my thoughts many times in my dreams comes back to me; my body pressed tight against a cement wall, aiming my pistol at the man holding my mother hostage. I’ll never forget that gravelly voice shouting questions with his rifle pointed at my mother’s head.
Where is the boy!
She didn’t answer. Instead, she spit at the ground near his feet and turned away.
The man lowered his rifle to her chest and shot her.
My childhood ended right at that moment. Torn from me by the man who killed my mother.
My finger curls in a trigger-like motion when I think of what I did next. I raised my handgun, struggling to keep it steady with my hands, and pointed it at the gunman exactly as my father taught me. I pulled the trigger, but my first shot missed. When I saw the gunman spin on his heels, the flesh on my back burned in terror. I had to fire another round or he’d fire at me. It almost felt like a scene that was playing out in front of me, as if I watched some kid who wasn’t me fire and hit him at the base of his throat. When the gunman fell to the ground, that brave boy who shot the gunman vanished and left me behind. I ran to my mother and threw myself on her body, pleading for her to live and feeling her body shake under my sobs as I cursed the man who took her from me.
Before I knew what was happening, someone grabbed me and dragged me away.
It was Adrik. He pulled me to his van, returning the gunfire his presence had attracted while his brother sat in the driver's window, firing to cover us as we escaped.
