Chapter 11
I haven’t litthe candles we used that night since. But tonight… tonight, I will recreate that night I spent with my goddaughter here. The night I cut her dress from her lush body, but maintained my honor enough to look away. The night she challenged that very honor by stepping out of the tub and baring her body to me.
The first time I tasted her.
And despite it all, I still resisted her. But my resistance was futile. Because Nikoletta always held tremendous power over me. From the moment I cradled her in my arms nineteen years ago, she’d been my compass through this life. My every move, with her, because of her, and for her.
My chest aches with every ragged breath as I light candle after candle. After shedding my jacket and dress shirt, I pick up her bundle of secrets and pretend her hands were the last to touch the supple leather.
I lie to myself, desperately grasping for the illusion of closeness and connection.
Because without her, I am a dying man. Every bit of me withers under the loss. At first, I was able to hide it, but eventually, my men noticed. Then Nikolaj’s men.
And finally Nikolaj.
Vlad’s words hook themselves in deep because for once he is right.
They eye me warily as I crumble. The more I fall apart, the more bloodshed I unleash on the city in an effort to dig up even a scrap of information as to where Nikoletta may have gone.
Nikolaj will grow tired of cleaning up my messes. I’ve become a full-time job for him. The aftermath of my rage has burned up more favors with his politician connections and law enforcement than he can afford.
He gives me a wide berth, but it is only a matter of time before he’ll be forced to take control. After all, his army had moved aboveground months ago. Soldiers settle, hidden in plain sight, in safe houses, only retreating down here to move about the city secretly.
I have my own safe house, a massive modern space with every convenience. Luxury even. Yet I can’t help but retreat here to wallow in my memories–my regrets.
Silence envelops me, the isolation of it only making the roaring in my ears louder, rivaling the harsh beat echoing behind my ribs. My gaze lands on the claw-foot tub she bathed in that long ago night and the black dress I’d cut from her skin now draped over the edge.
I haven’t allowed myself to touch it since. I’ve hovered over the material in an effort to draw her scent from the supple fabric, but I never let myself touch.
Madness pulses with life here. With my singular focus on her. It crowds the edges of my reason and threatens to drag me from the reality I fiercely cling to as I circle this tub over and over. The urge to caress and the fear of losing the little bit of her still clinging to the fabric creates a war within me that leaves me on the brink of insanity every night I come here.
Tonight, though, I need to see this all through her eyes. How that night played out in her head after I sliced through her clothing and left her bare before me. On the one-year anniversary of taking her virginity on the altar, only to lose her moments later. I need to immerse myself in my last memories of her and pray for relief from the pain of letting her slip through my fingers.
Stepping into the tub, I lean back, bending my legs, fitting my six-foot-six frame in the space as best as I can. My cock strains against my waistband in this position so I drag the leather from the buckle and peel open my belt.
Then in an act of depravity disguised as comfort, I go a step further and release the button and draw down my zipper.
Flexing my hips, I settle in with my pants low and my cock lying hard against my abdomen. I glance down and a memory flashes, of my cock, wet with her arousal, streaked with her virgin blood.
A glistening drop of pre-cum leaks from the tip and I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to clear the haunting image from my mind.
Shame. There is always shame. Perhaps there always will be. But a tsunami of pure fucking heat and longing sweeps it away every time, telling me when I find her, I’ll be helpless to keep myself from touching her again.
With a final deep breath, I flick open the journal. Her scent, just a hint of jasmine and lemon, an intoxicating combination of maturity tinged with innocence, ripples in the air as I fan the pages.
Colors flash past, the paper carved with a rainbow of shades with cool and vibrant themes throughout. Blue, silver, and black bleed her sadness onto the page. A fight with her father. Fear of Vlad. Her confusion and grief when her mother died.
Pink, teal, and purple paint her excitement for summer, spending time with her friends, her absolute awe looking up to her older brother Nikolaj, and dreams of adventures to come.
And in between… the red strokes.
Heavy and crimson.
A bold K at the beginning of my name. The kind of looped movement in the letters indicating a profound excitement to pour out every salacious detail.
Pcholka, why would you expose yourself like this with my name right out there in the open? How could you not realize the danger of this?
I snap the journal shut before I can read more than a few words and drop my head back on the edge of the tub. Fisting the journal in one hand and squeezing the porcelain with the other, I let out a torrent of expletives. My knuckles scream with the force on my clenched fists.
Blood sizzles through my veins, my heaving breaths filling the thick silence as I fight the urge to read her every fantasy. Rolling my head to the side, my cheek brushes against her dress and my mind flashes to that night. Nikoletta submerged in the warm bath, steam billowing in the air, and her dress floating around her. So much fabric, but because of the design, it covered so very little. The way my blade sliced through the bodice like soft butter.
Her gasp. The heat flaring in her eyes. The way rivulets of bathwater streaked along her lush curves when she finally stood.
When she challenged me to kiss her and I caved.
My cock throbs, the tip helplessly leaking until glistening beads of pre-cum roll along the head onto the skin of my abdomen.
Fuck it.
Every crypt in the catacombs, save for this one, holds the dead.
This crypt… holds secrets. Secrets that will surely have Nikolaj putting a bullet in my head himself if he ever finds out.
As long as what we’ve done and what I’m about to do stay here within these walls, they cannot bring ruin.
Stopping at the first crimson page, my heart thunders in my chest as I devour Nikoletta’s words.
Hey, it’s me again…
I saw Konstantin swimming in the pool tonight. I’ve only ever seen him in suits. This was waaaayyyy better. Not that the suits aren’t hot. They are. I’m just used to them.
I couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of Mama kept me awake. With Vlad always ready to torment me, I knew it was a risk to leave the safety of my room, but I couldn’t stay locked with her ghost anymore.
So I snuck down to the library and pulled out the book Mama used to read to me. Well, not the exact same one. She wasn’t allowed in this house. Our stepmother hated her.
I was staring out the window overlooking the pool a few feet below when he stepped out of the shadows in ONLY swim shorts and a towel over his broad shoulders. I hid behind the curtain, peeking out to get a better look without getting busted. That’s when he turned. Oh my God, his back… black angel wings rounded up over his shoulders, narrowing down on either side of his spine, the tips disappearing under his shorts.
My heart just about exploded out of my chest.
Nadia’s going to die when I tell her!
But I’m glad she’s not here to see him like this. That I can keep this just for me. Plus, she’d start talking about all the things she’d like to do to him, and then I’d be trying to not kill Nadia for crushing on my Kostya.
I already had a fascination with his arms. The bit of his arms I saw anyway. Thick, veiny forearms painted with ink. Was it any wonder the boys at school did nothing for me? With their skinny bodies, pale skin, and knobby elbows. Ick. Sure, some of them were good-looking and one day would probably be great-looking, but none of them could possibly compare to my Konstantin.
He dove in, his long arms cutting through the surface of the water, the angel wings disappearing beneath the surface. I held my breath, my heart pounding in my ears, waiting for him to come up. Finally, his fingers curled along the edge of the pool closest to the window and he hauled himself up just enough to put his full chest on display as he shook his head back, sending water spraying all around him.
And when his eyes opened, they seemed to focus right on me where I hid. Like he could see through the wall and curtain. With his elbows propped on the edge of the pool, his eyebrows slashed low over his eyes, like they did when I frustrated him. When his jaw clenched, tingles exploded through me from head to toe.
I froze there, unable to breathe with so many feelings coursing through me. I ached between my legs and clenched. Not that it helped.
Then he climbed out of the pool and OMG!!!
His shorts stuck to him like a second skin, showing everything. EVERYTHING.
How did women do it without feeling like they were being torn apart from the inside out? Or maybe it was a good feeling? I don’t know, but a part of me really wanted to find out.
But only with him.
I remember the day. I lived in my own house on the estate, but I occasionally used the pool in the early hours of the morning when I couldn’t sleep. That particular night, sleep eluded me entirely. Nastasya Vlasova, coveted only daughter of our Vlasova allies, had been delivered to her family’s estate in pieces as an example of just what would happen if anyone betrayed the Petrov family again.
The same Petrovs Nikoletta had eventually been promised to by Vlad.
Every time I closed my eyes that night, I saw her remains, but the lifeless eyes with blood dried in rivulets down her face peeking through the body parts weren”t Nastasya’s… they were Nikoletta’s.
The image burned in my brain stole every bit of peace left in me.
Then there was the feeling of being watched, staring into the window, waiting for even a fraction of movement.
I felt something. I felt her.
She had just turned sixteen.
Fuck.
I flip through to find the next entry, but the pages fan out faster than I intend and I land on an entry that has me grinding my teeth together.
Hey, it’s me again…
I can’t stop.
Every room I step into, I look for him first. When he guides me into the car whenever we go somewhere, the hand at my back, perfectly innocent to him, has me so worked up I can’t breathe. More than once he’s asked if I feel okay.
No. No, Kostya. I don’t feel okay. I’m trapped in this car with you, with your spicy cologne teasing me. I can actually feel your body heat. All I can think of doing is climbing onto your lap and grinding myself against you until this ache goes away.
I’m wet.
Hot.
My skin is on fire all the time. My heart races whenever I even hear his name, let alone see him. All of a sudden the boys at school are looking more appealing. I could just keep my eyes closed. Picture him the entire time.
I’d regret it immediately. I know I would. If my dad ever found out, he”d have the boy and his family slaughtered. And me, what value would I have to him then? I know what he needs me for. A marriage of convenience. Anyone he promised me to would expect a virgin.
So, grinding myself against my mattress again it is. Sigh.
Fuck, all I can picture now is her straddling me, not the girl she’d been, but the version of her I found at Illusions Cabaret. The barely eighteen temptress who played innocent on the stage, dancing tentative fingers along the lone pole in the spotlight. When she put her virginity up for sale to a room full of ravenous, dangerous men. Where I bought her for half a million dollars to save her from her own recklessness. Only to succumb in less than twenty-four hours, by taking her virginity despite my every intention to turn her over to her brother, Nikolaj, intact where he could keep her safe.
That version of her, now branded in my brain, her dress pushed up to her waist, hugging my hips, that tight pussy dripping all over me as I freed my cock and took her. Those velvety thighs spread impossibly wide, her hips accepting the inconceivable stretch. My hips pummeled her so violently toward the end I had to release her thighs and gain purchase by seizing her soft round ass in my greedy hands to keep her tight to me. Eyes locked on mine, she took me balls deep over and over, her teeth sinking into that full bottom lip as she did. Goddamned right she’d regret fucking one of those boys.
Hey, it’s me again…
My father had one of his parties tonight. The kind we aren’t supposed to interrupt. But tonight he wanted me there. He bought me a beautiful dress and had a hair stylist and makeup artist help me get ready. He even bought a diamond necklace and teardrop diamond earrings for the occasion.
I felt like a princess. A real princess for the first time. Not just someone expected to be seen and not heard until I was useful. He must have said something to his bitch of a wife, fuck if I would call her my stepmother, Elena, because she was nice to me. Okay, not nice, but she smiled. So it was a fake smile. I’d take it.
He had me dance with a few of his associates’ sons. He said it was to get to know them better, but I knew what he was doing. He was shopping me around.
So much for him wanting me there because he loved me. When will I ever stop hoping he’ll care about me as more than just someone he can use to secure an alliance?
The night didn’t completely suck though.
Konstantin asked me to dance. I know he was checking up on me, making sure no one was making me uncomfortable, but I pretended he did it because he wanted me.
The music was so loud, he had to lean in, his lips right next to my ear so I could hear him. I wanted to turn my head so bad. I could have done it, pretended it was an accident. His lips would have been right there.
But if anyone saw it, my father would send him away. I knew he would. He always used Konstantin to keep me in line. Told me if I didn’t behave, he would find someone to protect me who wouldn’t indulge me.
I don’t think Konstantin indulges me. He just loves me. He’s my godfather. He’s supposed to, even if it’s not the way I want him to.
So I kept my face forward. I smiled. Laughed. Whispered into his ear when he bent to hear my reply.
And when I went to bed, for the first time ever, I didn’t wear pajamas.
That’s when it happened. Really happened. Nadia told me she touches herself all the time, but I never have. I’d always been too afraid of getting caught. Until tonight.
I locked the door, but also jammed a chair under the doorknob just in case. If anyone walked in, I’d die.
And OMG, sleeping naked you feel everything. EVERYTHING.
How cool the sheets are. The way they move over your skin when you shift and turn.
My nipples ached, but the sheets dragging over them felt good. So that’s where I started.
Brushing them with my fingers felt nice, but pinching them felt sooooo much better.
My harsh breathing fills the crypt. This is it. This has to be rock bottom. Taking her virginity on the altar where she was baptized should have been the worst thing I’ve ever done when it comes to Nikoletta. But as I slide my hand into my pants pocket and pull out the panties I ripped from her before taking her virginity, I know what I’m about to do is far worse.
I bury my nose in the material and drag in a greedy lungful of air. She lingers on the fabric even now, a blessing and a curse. My eyelids slide shut as the scent of her moves through me. Every day she remains out of reach, I grow more desperate to touch her. How the hell will I ever control myself when I see her again? The hunt turned me into a reckless version of the man I’d been as I tear through this world, leaving bloody corpses in my wake.
Reading my goddaughter’s fantasies while burying my face in her panties, the ones I’ve kept in my pocket since the day I tore them from her… also is not rock bottom.
Not quite.
I fist my rock-hard cock, the cotton wrapped around my hand, and stroke.
Now this… this is rock bottom.
I reached between my legs and brushed over myself lightly. But after a few minutes, it just wasn’t enough. So I pushed a finger inside. Just a little. Parts felt okay, but nothing like pinching my nipples, until I found my clit.
One glide leads to another, and another.
I had to slap my hand over my mouth to muffle the embarrassing sound I made. I buried my face in my pillow and did it again. I couldn’t stop. After a few minutes, it almost hurt, but also didn’t. I wondered what it would be like if Konstantin did this to me. Would he know just how to touch me to make me feel good? Would he kiss me while he did it? What if we were in the back of the car and he closed the divider so the driver couldn’t see us, would he touch my thigh, his hands moving higher, until he touched me here?
I show no signs of stopping. No flicker of decency. My fist grows greedier, squeezes harder, my hips meeting my depraved, accelerating strokes.
Her name a whisper on my lips.
Just the thought of him while I touched myself had me thrashing. My heels dug into the mattress, my toes curling uncontrollably. I couldn’t stop squirming and clawing at the sheets. Every time I sucked in a breath, the fabric rubbed over my nipples. In just a couple of minutes, I was biting my pillow and crying out. Then I was warm, so warm between my legs, and soaking wet. My fingers were drenched. I tasted them and didn’t hate it. So I flicked my tongue along them again. I didn’t stop until I licked them clean.
Honor dies when I scoop the cum dripping from my aching cock with my thumb and drag it over my tongue, tasting what her fantasies do to me. Much the way she tastes herself.
If he saw me do that, would he think it was gross? I don’t think so. I can’t possibly be the first person who tasted themselves, right?
Pride? I don’t even know what it is anymore. I have none. I squeeze my throbbing shaft, her panties dragging along the veins of my cock with every pump.
Would he taste me then? Draw my fingers into his mouth and lick?
Good? The sliver of good I had in me has withered. In its wake? Bone-shuddering cold, leaving me brittle and empty. But reading her fantasies of us, of what she wanted me to do to her—for once I feel the flicker of heat. I pump harder, the picture she painted alive in my head.
Would he let me taste him?
Gold help me, yes. Yes, I’d let you taste me. I’d demand it. An image of her on her knees for me, her lips wrapped around my cock, her golden eyes wet with tears as she gagged on me, flashes through my mind. The tingling burn starts in my spine, my balls drawing up tight.
What would we taste like together?
I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest heaving. Behind my eyelids, she’s there.
She’s in my bed, splayed wide, my cum dripping out of her.
The fantasy, a movie playing in my head.
She licks her lips and I feel the swipe of her warm wet tongue to my bones. I sink two fingers into the place where our cum meets and scoop up a taste of us for her.
I want to live in this delusion of us forever.
Where her ravenous mouth sucks my fingers in deep, her tongue greedily swiping over my skin, collecting every drop of us I offer to her.
I want him to be my first.
I want him to be my only.
A jagged growl rumbles from my chest as I explode on myself, ropes of warm cum landing on my stomach, and on my goddaughter’s panties, mixing the two of us after all, in the most torturous of ways.