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The image sends a rush of hot blood down the length of my shaft, releasing pre-cum at the tip of my dick.
I open my eyes and look at it, then I continue imagining her on her knees before me while I clasp my hand around my length and start pumping, pretending my hand is her hot, wet mouth taking me. Or better yet, her tight little pussy.
I can’t remember the last time I did this, or the last time I was this hard-up for a woman.
I didn’t even fucking do this in prison. Most of my days there were spent cursing myself for my recklessness and counting down the time until I was free.
Fuck, knowing I was in prison didn’t even scare her away. I bet the idea that popped into her pretty little head was that I couldn’t have done anything that terrible if I was only in prison for a year.
Had she known about the Bratva parts of my life, she would understand I’m just as terrible and villainous as the devil.
But that’s what she seems to want. The bad boy. Thevillain.
How fitting that she would do a dark fantasy painting of Romeo and Juliet and make Romeo a demon who’d fallen for an angel.
It sounded like us. Or at the very least a fantasy of a woman like her craving the villain’s touch.
A man who will own her body every way a man can think of claiming a woman and make her scream. Scream the way she did for me tonight.
That was only the beginning and not how I wanted us to end.
The sound of Serenity’s moans fills my ears like an erotic symphony, and I pump my dick so hard the fucking skin feels raw.
The moans in my memory get louder, and I recall the way she tasted.
Her sweet nectar flowed into my mouth, and I couldn’t get enough. Like I knew I would, I wanted more and more and more.
When I imagine how she looked at me, that’s what does it for me, and I come.
Those innocent sea-green eyes make my balls draw up tighter than a glove and send my cum spraying out of my dick and onto the shower walls.
I fist my length to take the impact, but it doesn’t really work. I’m left drained and cum still seeping out of me for a good few moments before it stops. Before I calm.
Before the image of her fades and I’m back to being me.
Except I still can’t forget her, and I know I must.
* * *
I wake to a text coming through on my phone.
When I look at it, I see it’s from Igor. The message is one sentence.
I need you to do a job.
The simple line is exactly that—simple, but it means more between Igor and me. It’s like extending an olive branch to show he trusts me again.
The job request isn’t like the one that got me sent down. This one is to deal with someone who has crimes against the Creed, meaning the details of who Igor needs me to take care of should already be downstairs waiting for me.
These types of jobs are only handled by other members of the Creed, their counterparts, or senior enforcers.
Quickly, I type back a message letting him know I’m taking care of it now, then I get up, pull on my joggers, and make my way downstairs.
When I reach the main door, sure enough, there’s an envelope on the floor with the official seal with the old symbol of the sword and scales of justice.
These letters are only issued by the leader of the Creed.
I pick up the envelope and open it, finding the small parchment leather contract piece inside. The practice is borrowed from one of the groups in the Vory who used to do secret missions.
