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He must feel the difficulty I’m having because he pauses, his jaw locked tight and his green eyes fiercely narrowed on my face. “Am I hurting you?” His voice is rough, hoarse with lust, his powerful shoulders tense above me. There’s no trace of his urbane veneer now, no hint of the smooth sophisticate from the bar. Without his tailored clothes, he looks like the savage predator he is, his large, hard-muscled body as lethal as it is perfectly proportioned.
“No, it’s…” My voice shakes. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but I don’t want him to stop. It might be twisted, but now that we’re here, I feel like I deserve this, both the pain and the pleasure. This man, this killer, he’s my punishment and my reward, a dark gift to myself for making it this far.
His nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing further, and I feel the last shreds of his self-control disintegrate. With a guttural sound deep in his throat, he catches my wrists, pinning them above my head, and surges into me, penetrating me all the way in one hard thrust.
I gasp, my insides burning from the ruthless stretch, yet my body arches against him, my legs wrapping around his hips to take him even deeper. It hurts, but underneath is a perverse kind of comfort, a reassurance that I’m here, that I’m alive to feel this way.
He doesn’t let me catch my breath this time. Dipping his head, he claims my lips in another deep, devouring kiss and begins to move, the power of his thrusts pushing me into the mattress. His mouth is hot and rough, flavored with my slickness and a hint of beer, and I find myself kissing him back with the same aggressive hunger as the pain morphs into wild, primal pleasure. I’ve never come more than once during sex, but my body draws taut again, the tension in my core growing and coiling tighter. Feverish heat pulses through my veins, and my heart races as if trying to escape my chest.
The release that hits me feels like a volcano going off inside my body, incinerating everything within. My vision goes white, my panting breaths deafeningly loud to my ears as every nerve ending I possess sparks to life. With a shattered cry, I arch against him, my inner muscles spasming around his invading cock. It’s too much, too overwhelming, yet somehow, I live through it, and as I’m coming down from the high, he groans hoarsely in my ear as his cock throbs deep inside me in his own release.
I must’ve passed out from sheer exhaustion immediately afterward because all I recall when I wake up is a cool, wet towel between my legs, cleaning and soothing the tender flesh. I don’t remember him withdrawing from me or disposing of the condom, or even letting go of my wrists. I do, however, have a vague recollection of being held against a large, warm male body and feeling oddly peaceful and secure.
Battling residual grogginess, I sit up and look around. Light is seeping through the heavy shades, so it must be morning. Also, I’m alone. However, I can hear the rumble of male voices through the door.
They’re still here, and I’m still their captive.
On the plus side, I’ve obviously made it through the night. Nobody’s offed me in my sleep, which gives me hope that maybe they’ll keep their word and actually let me go.
Quietly, I swing my legs to the floor and stand up, suppressing a wince at the soreness I feel everywhere, but especially between my thighs. I’m also a little weak and dizzy, but that’s nothing new. I feel that way most mornings, though it’s slowly getting better.
Moving as silently as I can, I gather my clothes, minus the torn tank top, and get dressed, then tiptoe to press my ear to the door. The voices outside are getting louder, angrier.
The brothers are arguing about something.
“—not yours,” Ilya growls in Russian. “You can’t just keep her like a stray cat, doing whatever you fucking please—”
“Fuck you.” Yan’s voice is equally hard. “You’re just pissed she chose me last night, and I didn’t share.”
“Don’t fucking delude yourself. You never gave her the option to refuse. She probably figured it’s fuck you or die—”
A loud crash cuts off the rest of the sentence, and I back away from the door, my heart hammering.
This is bad, really bad. If I understood it right, Yan is planning to keep me captive longer, something his brother is objecting to. Not only does that lessen my chances of getting out of this alive—the longer I’m around these killers, the more likely I’m to overhear implicating information—but it also means I won’t be able to do my job.
My real job, not the waitressing that’s my cover.
And if the prospect of pissing off my clients weren’t worrisome enough, Ilya mentioned something about wanting to keep an eye on me until they leave town. Which, considering that the brothers were going to let me go this morning, must be today.
