10. Mackenzie
Chapter 10
Mackenzie
The reason Kirill is acting so strangely hits me.
It’s the dark. Kirill is afraid of the dark.
The moment the lights went out, something changed. I thought things were already bad enough, but it’s as though he’s no longer himself.
He’s panting like he’s running a marathon, and he’s on his feet, pacing. I wish I could see him, but the dark is like peering into black soup. I can sense his movement, though, the vibration of his steps through the metal floor, and the stirring of the air around us.
I can’t reach him properly because of this fucking collar connecting me to the bars, but that doesn’t stop me trying. I reach back, my shoulder straining, just trying to make contact with him. My heart is racing. I’m afraid of what he’s going to do. It’s like being caged with a wild animal, and when wild animals are trapped and afraid, they lash out.
“Fuck,” he growls.
He smashes into something, and then he must have hold of the cage because it starts to shake violently as he rattles the bars.
“Kirill,” I cry. “My neck. Don’t.”
He doesn’t stop. Shit. He’s losing it. Fight or flight has kicked in.
“Got to get out of this cage.” His voice is different. Animalistic. “I can’t fucking breathe.”
“You’re going to break my neck.” I scream the words at him.
The rattling stops, my terror getting through to him somehow and overriding his own fear.
“Please, come closer, I can’t feel you, and I’m scared.”
Verbalizing my own fear seems to make him calmer. I hear him crawling over to me.
He takes my hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the inside of my wrist. He’s shaking violently.
“Kirill,” I whisper. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
There are so many things wrong, I don’t know where to start, but this is something new. Something different.
I suddenly find myself wanting to protect him.
“The lights are out,” he says, but I feel like he’s only speaking to himself. “As long as they had left the lights on, I’d have been okay.”
“You are okay. I’m here.”
He lets out a bitter laugh, and it’s as though he hasn’t heard me at all.
“He knows that, though. He knows I hate the dark. He knows what he’s doing. I fucking hate him. I’ll never forgive him. No matter what. Not for this, and never for what he did to you.”
He’s clearly talking about his father, and I’m glad I didn’t tell him exactly what Grigoriy did to me because I think Kirill would lose it completely.
“I’m here,” I reassure him again. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I almost laugh at that, but I don’t. This situation is way too fucked up for any humor.
“Will they put the lights back on?”
He sounds like a child. A scared little boy, not the confident man I know. I can’t lie to him. They’ve shut me in the dark a couple of times now, and there’s no reason they won’t do it again and again.
“We don’t need the lights,” I say. “We have each other. We’re not alone. It’s the same room, Kirill. We just can’t see it. Nothing else has changed.”
“It presses in on you. You can’t breathe in it.”
He’s talking about the dark, and he’s not wrong. It’s so pitch black it’s oppressive, but I can’t give in to my own fear, because Kirill needs me right now.
“Talk to me,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
Kirill draws a shaky breath. “When I was a young boy, my father liked to lock me in small, dark places, sometimes for days at a time. He did it as a punishment, trying to make me be strong, but it had the opposite effect.”
My heart breaks for him. How could any man treat his own son in such a way? I want to take his pain and absorb it, so it won’t be able to hurt him anymore.
“You’re strong, Kirill. Look at how you came to save me. A weak man wouldn’t have done that.”
“A strong man who is afraid of the dark?” He snorts at that. “I do not think so.”
“A man who is brave enough to confront his fears makes him strong in my eyes.”
I reach out, finding his face in the dark, and cup his cheek in my palm. He buries his face into my touch. His cheeks are wet, and I kiss his damp skin, tasting salt.
“Make love to me,” I whisper.
He stills. “What?”
“They aren’t here now. Use it as a distraction.”
“No, it’s what he wants. Us fucking all the time.”
“Let me soothe you, then.” I reach for his waist and trail my fingers down. He’s not hard, but I cup him and squeeze him. “I want you.”
As soon as I say it, I realize it’s true. I might be trying to distract him, but it will distract me, too.
“ Kukla ,” he breathes. “I don’t think I can. Not in the dark.”
“Yes, you can.” Then I think of something. Kirill and his weird kink, which I find hot, too, these days.
“Those men are in my hair,” I say. “I hate it. Let me make you come, and you can cover me in you, instead. Mark me as yours again.”
“We all need to mark you,” he growls, sounding scarily feral and unhinged. “When we get you back, we’ll clean you and then mark you as ours. Our doll, not theirs.”
It should be degrading for him to talk about me that way, but I find it strangely erotic. “Will you clean me up properly?” I ask.
“Yes, Kukla. I’ll wash you and dry you. I’ll cover you in that rose-scented lotion you like, and then brush your hair.”
“Then what?” My words are breathy.
“Then we’ll lay you down on a bed and we’ll make you ours again.”
He’s hard now and straining under my hand. I rub him up and down, marveling at the size of him. I pause at the tip to swipe my thumb over his slit, finding him wet with precum, and he sucks in a sharp breath and shudders.
“How?” I ask, wanting to hear him.
It’s as though my voice drives away whatever monsters might be lurking in the dark. He’s stopped shaking now, and I know my attempt to calm him is working.
“Tino will come in your pussy, and Dom in your ass.” He chuckles softly. “He loves your ass. Then I’ll come all over your tits and your pussy. We’ll be inside you and outside you and you’ll be ours again.”
“And you’ll be mine,” I say.
He gives a soft murmur of agreement, and I continue to work him, feeling him growing harder.
“Come on me now,” I beg. “I want your cum all over my face.”
“I can’t see your face,” he says.
“Here,” I take his hand and guide it to my cheek. “Wash those bastards away.”
He pulls away from me slightly. “Fuck, Mackenzie, this feels wrong.”
“No, it doesn’t. It feels entirely right.”
I lower my head as much as I can before the collar stops me. On my knees like this, my head bent, I feel like I’m praying.
“Stand,” I say. “Then come on me.”
“Fuck,” he groans. “Jesus, Duchess, you’ll be the death of us, I swear.”
The sound of his cock fucking my fist in the dark is depraved and fucked up, but I love it. I reach up with my other hand to cup his balls, lightly tugging and squeezing as I masturbate him. He groans, and his hands find my hair, his fingers knotting in the strands. While I continue to move my hand up and down his cock, I let the other hand trail back, behind his balls to his perineum, where I apply pressure. He gives a groan, and his hips move, thrusting his cock as though it’s my pussy he’s fucking. Curious, and feeling experimental, I go back farther still, the tip of one finger trailing over his asshole.
“Ah, fuck, Kukla . What are you doing to me?”
“Distracting you, remember?” I purr.
I apply a little more pressure—not enough to penetrate him, but enough to make him think I might. He lets out a sound that’s purely primal, and, for a second, I think he’s going to yank out of my grip and spread my legs and fuck me hard, but instead he gasps.
“Christ, I’m going to come.”
“Do it,” I encourage him. “Come all over me. I love how much you come for me, Kirill.”
“Oh, fuck,” he shouts.
Warmth hits me, splattering on my mouth, throat, and cheeks. I close my eyes just in time as a powerful spurt kisses my forehead. When he’s finished, he’s panting.
“I can’t clean you up,” he says, “but I covered up their filth.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I need to taste you.”
He shuffles about, and I find myself propped up at an odd angle. I gasp as my panties are pulled to one side. He lies on his back on the floor, positioning himself beneath me. His hot mouth against me is a shock when I can’t see a thing.
It’s so silent and dark in this room that all I can do is feel .
He works me with his tongue, flicking my clit and groaning against me as if I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. I know he must be tasting himself, too—it’s not been long since he came inside me. Lots of men would be disgusted at the thought of tasting themselves, but not him.
He grabs my hips, holding me in place as he sucks and licks and nibbles. I cling to the bars, grinding my pussy into his face.
My core has nothing to clamp down around, and he senses my needs.
Roughly, he pushes two fingers inside me and curls them to hit the fleshy pad of my G-spot. Guttural moans escape me, and I cry his name. Chasing my high, I’m barely aware of the words spilling from my lips.
“Oh, yes, Kirill, don’t stop. I’m so close… more, give me more.”
My climax builds, and I forget where I am. He’s taking me away from the horrors of our situation, just as I did for him. Tension and heat build at my core, spreading outward, pleasure cascading over my skin.
I come in soft, powerful waves, and the tears come with it, too.
The release takes away some of the terror but only seems to enable the sadness.
Kirill slides out from under me. His big hands cup my cheeks and brush the tears away. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m going to die here,” I say. “Kirill, I can’t stay kneeling like this. Everything hurts. If they don’t take the collar off, I will end up fainting, or worse having a seizure, and then I’ll choke.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll fucking hold you up.”
“I’m so exhausted.” I close my eyes and press my forehead to the bars. It’s not only choking I’m afraid of. It’s been more than twenty-four hours since I last took any meds, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll last before a seizure hits.
In the dark, Kirill helps put my sweatpants back on, and then he goes to the bars.
“Hey,” he shouts. “Hey, we need to talk to you. Fuckers, come down here. Hey.”
He moves away from me, the loss of his heat adding another layer of despair.
He must have one of the bowls in his hands because he bangs the metal against the floor of the cage. “Hey, fuckers, come down here.”
I grab hold of the bars and hold myself up, the sheer exhaustion washing over me, threatening to drag me under.
The sound of heavy booted feet at the door has me sobbing in gratitude.
The light flashes on, and I groan and slam my eyes shut against the glare. Gradually, I edge them open again, and I draw a breath of shock.
“Time to get ready.” It’s Grigoriy, and he’s holding up a cheap-ass wedding dress. “The priest is here.”