Chapter 7 Kon
KON
Taylor coming, clenching and bucking under me as she’s overtaken by her orgasm, is the best thing I’ve ever felt. Her pussy milks me, shoving me over the edge. I’m going to come with her.
Simultaneously, it triggers a cold shower of shocked realisation. She won’t be here tomorrow for whatever contraceptive Yevgeny planned.
I mustn’t spill inside her.
But the perfection of her spasming pussy gripping my cock and the sight of her face creased with pleasure makes stopping an impossibility.
With superhuman effort, I pull out of the heaven of Taylor’s body, grasp the head of my cock, intending to give an extra pump. But I needn’t have bothered.
Ecstasy explodes. The first white ribbon of my release sprays Taylor’s belly, pulsing from the base of my spine. The next I aim higher, over those sweet little tits of hers, my most savage needs taking over.
Mark her.
Mine.
I’ve let go of her hands to support myself, and I roar, a hulking monster over her as I paint her with the pearly evidence of my inability to control myself with this girl.
It’s primal, this need to claim her.
She stiffens, that languid post-orgasm high slipping away immediately, and I look up into her face. Her eyes are so pretty. Patterned pale-blue where mine are plain and almost grey. The only issue is, they’re wide with shock.
Because I held her down, fucked her, and then covered her with sticky ejaculate.
A barely formed thought forms at the back of my head. It’s so basic, it takes a moment to turn into words.
Mine. Taylor is mine. I should have filled her with my seed and made her pregnant. She should be mine in every way.
And what did I call her while I was balls-deep in her perfect, silky wet passage?
Zhizn moya. My life.
It fits. She’s everything to me.
That was intense. She needs aftercare.
But she also needs to escape alive, so sweet words and caresses will have to wait.
I need to be arrogant and a complete pain in the arse for this escape plan to work.
The one thing that’s critical is that they don’t think I’m bothered by her, or certainly no more than as a toy.
It’s been years since I’ve had a woman. After I arrived in London, the situation was too on-edge to risk allowing anyone close, physically or emotionally, even if I’d wanted to.
Separating myself from her should be easy.
It’s like ripping out my heart with my own hands.
I force myself to stand, feeling like I’m made of stone and might shatter with every movement. The need to gather Taylor back into my arms and kiss her, tell her she’s my good girl and she did so well, is almost insurmountable.
My cock is still inconveniently hard, and as I realise with a combination of horror and pride, smeared with not just her cream, but also… Pink. Blood.
“You were a virgin, then.” I force the careless phrase out. “This calls for a celebration.”
Not pausing to see Taylor’s response, I stride to the door. Taylor gasps as I yank it open.
The guard stationed closest turns, sees I’m naked, dips his gaze instinctively down to below my waist then flushes scarlet when he gets an eyeful of my cock, jutting up.
“Pakhan, sir,” he corrects himself.
Yes, good. Think about the sex I’ve been having with the little virgin dancer. Focus on my enormous cock, and how it compares to yours.
“Mr Morosov. What can I do for you?” The other guard turns, and keeps his gaze on my face.
“Champagne,” I say imperiously.
“I don’t think—”
I quell him with a cold stare. “Do not think. Get me champagne and strawberries.”
That should cause them some inconvenience. Taylor is still on the bed when I slam the door shut.
I regard her. She’s pulled the sheet over her torso, loose so she won’t get my sticky mess everywhere.
“You look thoroughly debauched, little dancer. How do you feel?”
“Fuck you.”
I grin. She gets it. Keep up the act.
“Yes, I think you will be fucked by me again,” I state with an obvious perusal of her body, even though it’s covered. “You did well enough.” An understatement equal to saying that the London Mafia Syndicate would rather you didn’t touch any of their wives.
“Clean up.” I flick my fingers dismissively. “Don’t forget to pee.”
Confusion and disgust settle on Taylor’s face, but I note how she can’t help but look at my body as she scurries to the bathroom.
She’s as attracted to me as I am to her. It’s the least likely scenario in all this.
I came here intending to stave off boredom and having some men in my debt by bringing home their wives’ sister.
Instead, I’ve found… Zhizn moya. My reason for living. My soulmate, for lack of a better word.
I hear movement in the bathroom, and satisfied she’s taking my advice, I return to the door.
“Where is the champagne?” I bark as soon as it’s open.
The guard jumps, and I can’t help but grin to myself as his gaze goes straight to my crotch.
Yep, still impressive, even soft. Distracting, almost, which is the point.
“On its way.” The guard indicates the stairwell where the other guard has gone on this errand.
“How long have you been with Volk?” It’s going to be a pity to kill him, but I’ll have to. He’s young and stupid. But if that’s the price of getting Taylor out, then fine.
He stammers out a response. The other guard will be more of an issue, I think.
The plan is simple. Be annoying, demanding, and distracting to the guards.
Have them so exasperated by my repeated but reasonable requests that when I finally open the door fully clothed to escape with Taylor, they’ve expected a naked guy asking for mineral water, not a dangerous mafia boss who will slit their throats silently and disappear into the night.
Or, more accurately, away in a car parked across the street with one of my men waiting to take us to my helicopter.
From there, we’ll swap, to another helicopter in Eastern Europe, then to my private jet at another location.
The jet is currently on the airfield just outside the city and will take off as soon as we’re safely in the helicopter.
“Ah, my champagne, thank you.” I add my thanks in Russian as the other guard approaches, a bottle and two glasses in his hands.
Taking them from him, I make a display of closing the door, opening the champagne with a subtle and controlled pop.
I look up just as I’m about to pour to find Taylor watching me with shy curiosity that thankfully could be interpreted as wariness. She’s wrapped herself in a towel.
I smirk and play out my little amateur dramatics performance, examining the glass I was about to use, then taking it to the door.
Taylor gasps as she realises I’m going to do all this totally naked.
“It’s dirty.” I shove the perfectly clean glass at the nearest guard. They’ve swapped around, and he checks out my junk before accepting the champagne flute without comment.
This time I don’t wait as long—as though I’ve just remembered—before I open the door again, and channelling my inner Primadonna ballet dancer, ask, “Where are my strawberries?”
Their expressions are a picture.
“Have you showered?” I demand when I turn back to Taylor. I’ve thoroughly annoyed the guards and have them thinking I’m an idiot. A harmless, frivolous, arsehole, which is ideal for my purposes.
“No,” she replies timidly, a bit confused.
“Dirty girls don’t get strawberries, Taylor. Get in there.” I point to the bathroom, and she scurries away. I consider rechecking about the strawberries, but instead take a swig of champagne and follow Taylor to the bathroom, hoping I can hold this together.
It’s as big as most full bedrooms, with a double sink and a large walk-in shower.
Taylor is under the spray. My cock twitches at the sight of her, rivulets of water running over her lean but feminine body. She’s unbelievably beautiful. I can’t believe I thought petite ballet dancers weren’t my thing.
She’s my thing.
I don’t hesitate, following her under the shower, and pinning her against the tiles.
“Good girl,” I rasp against her neck just beside her ear as I grab her hair and use it to angle her head so she can hear me. “The sound of the water will make it far more difficult to hear us. Do you think they have cameras in here too?”
“Yes,” she says, a bit breathy.
Fuck, her body trapped between me and the wall is far more arousing than I should allow myself.
It’s impossible not to react, even though I’ve just come.
“Okay, so we’ll pretend to have sex in the shower.”
Actually fake it this time, so I don’t lose my whole mind.
She has her back to my front, and the temptation to lift her up and onto my cock is almost unbearable. My cock thickens again, not getting the message that this isn’t an erotic leisure activity, but a situation that will get both of us killed if I mess it up.
“Here’s the plan,” I say.
It’s better that I can’t see her face. I can fool myself she’s less beautiful, less desirable, less perfect for me in every way if I can’t look right at her.
“You’re going to tell me about the guards and the exits.
Everything you know. Then in another hour or so, when the men outside the door are totally bored with this job, we’re going to escape. ”
“I can’t,” she replies tentatively.
What? Did I lose my mind when I fucked her?
“Your sisters sent me, like I said,” I repeat. “I’m rescuing you.”
“No,” she repeats more firmly. “Not without the rest of the ballet troupe.”
“I’ll take you home,” I whisper, and tighten my hold on her.
“I’m not going anywhere without my friends.”
Ahh, fuck. This just got infinitely more complicated.