Chapter 4 Taylor
TAYLOR
My emotions explode like confetti as I sway, lightheaded from lack of air. A mess of colour and happiness and dread.
What?
“Hayley and Payton.”
It’s been years since I’ve heard those names aloud.
“Keep screaming,” Kon demands roughly, easing the pressure on my neck, and it’s only then I realise I’ve stopped. “They can hear us outside.”
But he starts to release me, and my brain fires into life. If he really is here because of my sisters, there’s something he needs to know.
“No! Stop!” I scream, then add, in a whisper. “They have cameras too.”
If they suspect Kon is trying to rescue me, he’s dead.
He yanks me with him instead of pinning me to the wall again, and when I stumble because of the yoga pants around my ankles, he bear-hugs me and half carries half drags me to the bedroom and roughly pushes me onto the bed, ripping the covers aside so I’m laid on the pristine white sheets.
When his hands leave me for those seconds, I scramble away, only for him to catch my ankle and ruthlessly drag me, shoving me over onto my back and covering my body with his own.
His skin is both rough and silky, his hair soft prickles and the warm muscles smooth.
He’s so big.
His cock pushes against my belly. Thick, heavy, hot.
And absolutely huge, velvet-covered steel.
My reaction is pure instinct. Primal.
The fact he’s hard might just mean he’s a great actor, but my body interprets it as desire, and I have no idea why, but that excites me.
A lot.
His shoulders block out the light, and his torso is solid muscle.
Tattoos, too. Stark black that makes me all quivery inside. Taking a bite out of one of the lines on his shoulder there’s a circular scar, and once I see that, I notice others that are half beneath the dark ink.
He’s beautiful, and savage.
My heart is pounding, unable to distinguish between the adrenaline of the chase, the surge of hope that perhaps this man can help me, and the sheer relief of hearing my sisters’ names.
The thought that I haven’t been forgotten, even though I’ve long since given up on myself.
I fruitlessly push at his chest. He grabs my hair and holds my head down, and oh my god, the tiny pinpricks of pain set alight the pleasure sensors all over my skin.
He’s powerful.
“Now, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you, and be a good girl, and I won’t hurt you.” With his free hand I feel more than see him push his boxers down, the soft, expensive fabric gliding on the tops of my thighs.
“Oh you’re trembling,” he sneers. “Poor little ballerina, are you cold?” With one hand, he drags the bed covers over us, shielding our chests downwards from any cameras.
“I won’t do it,” I say more loudly.
“You will do exactly as I tell you, or suffer the consequences.” He snatches up my hands and pins them above my head.
Something deep in my belly flips, and my clit flickers, like a lightbulb being switched on and off fast.
I don’t like being pinned by him.
Do I?
I think I might. A lot.
“This has to be realistic,” he mutters. “If you need me to stop, say ‘mercy’. But don’t expect me to be kind about it. This isn’t a game, Taylor.”
My mind spins.
The man who was my enemy is actually my friend? Can I trust him? Is it true?
He’s naked on top of me.
“How do I know my sisters sent you?” I hiss.
I hate it here, but there are plenty of worse fates within mafias than being the entertainment and cover for drug trafficking. We perform all over the world, taking with us suitcases of costumes, sets, and illegal substances.
We’re the lucky ones.
And Kon, although my every instinct is to trust him, is a mafia boss. Harlesden, I heard the Volk men say. Wherever that is.
“Scream,” he instructs in a whisper, then repositions himself.
And as I yell, Kon thrusts against my belly, and grunts. “That’s it. Bleed for me. Your virgin pussy is so tight. Feels so good.”
Oh. My. God.
He’s…
He pumps his hips and rumbles a warning deep in his chest. “Play along.”
“Ahh!” I make pained noises, as he dry humps me, and my brain cannot comprehend what’s going on here.
He’s really… This is…
“Fucking tight, little virgin cunt,” he snarls, then pushes out harsh words in Russian. I recognise some of them. They’re not complimentary, but…
He’s not hurting me.
Or rather, he is. His cock is a rod ramming against my hip, and it hurts like lying on a solid object would. My wrists will be bruised too, from his tight grip. But he’s not doing any of what I feared, and the relief is endorphins flooding my body.
I’m light-headed.
“They did,” he says in an impatient undertone. “They said to tell you about when you went to the beach at Blackpool when you were kids and sang…” He adds a few louder guttural words in Russian, then makes a frustrated sound. “I can’t remember the song.”
My mind fills in the gap.
It was a cold day, and Payton and Hayley and I took turns with the two earphones to listen to our favourite song that had just dropped at midnight. Kon definitely spoke to Hayley & Payton.
“I won’t give in,” I spit, trying to wriggle up. All I succeed in doing is rucking my knickers further, and the next time he pretends to thrust, it’s skin against skin.
His cock is hot, velvet-covered steel.
“Stop it,” he says, raising his head enough to look into my eyes.
I shut up, only making a noise that I don’t know whether is feigned or not. Is it frightened? Or… Something else. Something very different and unexpected.
With our struggle, the thin, cheap white cotton knickers I’m wearing have slipped down. When Kon next flexes his hips, I see his surprise that his skin touches mine.
It’s electric.
I pant, and I don’t know what this feeling is. If either of us breaks character during this, it will be very, very bad. But I suddenly have the weirdest compulsion to lift my head and… Kiss him?
This is insanity.
I want him.