Chapter 3 – Barbara #2
“You feel so good,” he groaned, a raw sound torn from his throat. “So tight. Perfect.”
He withdrew almost all the way, leaving just the tip inside, before slamming back in to the hilt. The friction was exquisite. My inner walls squeezed around him instinctively, milking him, and he cursed low in Russian.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice guttural. “Clamp down on me, koshechka. Use me.”
He set a punishing rhythm, snapping his hips forward with a force that rocked the bedframe.
The sound of wet skin slapping against skin filled the room.
Every thrust hit that deep, sweet spot inside me, sending sparks behind my eyelids.
I raked my nails down his back, needing to mark him, needing him closer than physically possible.
The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, my body convulsing, my interior muscles clenching violently around his cock. I screamed his name, arching my back, lost in the white-hot sensation.
Feeling my release triggered his own. He groaned, his entire body tensing as he drove into me three more times—hard, fast, desperate—before burying himself deep inside. I felt him throb, spilling his hot seed into me, holding me tight as he poured himself out.
We collapsed together afterward, sheets tangled around us, skin slick with sweat, hearts pounding in time.
His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me against his chest, and I let myself have this.
Let myself pretend, just for a moment, that this could be more than one night.
That I could be someone different. Someone free.
I fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, steady and deep, feeling safer than I had any right to feel.
***
The harsh trill of my phone sliced through the silence like a knife.
I jerked awake, disoriented, my body protesting the sudden movement. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows I didn’t recognize, illuminating a bedroom that definitely wasn’t mine. The sheets smelled like cedar and sex, and for one blissful second, I remembered,
Then my phone rang again, and my blood turned to ice.
I scrambled for my clutch purse, fingers clumsy, heart already racing for all the wrong reasons. The screen’s glow burned my eyes: Bass.
No. No, no, no.
How had I forgotten? How had I let myself forget even for a moment? He was supposed to come to my room last night. I was supposed to have the cash ready. I was supposed to be there, playing my part in this nightmare that never ended.
But I’d been here instead. With Kirill. Living in a fantasy that was about to shatter.
My hand shook as I answered. “Hello?”
“Where the fuck were you?” Sebastian’s voice exploded through the speaker, loud enough that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. He was seething, each word dripping with venom. “I nearly got caught by security at the mansion. They almost saw me, Barbara. Do you understand what that means?”
I swung my legs out of bed, ignoring the way my body ached pleasantly, ignoring the memories of hands and mouths and whispered names. None of that mattered now. Only survival mattered.
“I…I’ll explain later,” I stammered, already reaching for my clothes, scattered across the floor like evidence of my temporary insanity.
“You’ll explain now.” His voice dropped, going cold in a way that made my stomach clench. “Where were you?”
“I was….” My mind raced, searching for a lie that would work, that wouldn’t make things worse. “I got held up. I’m sorry, I’ll have everything ready tonight.”
“You’re lying to me.” He said it like a fact, not an accusation. Like he could see right through me, even over the phone. “Were you with someone, you whore? Is that what this is about? You found yourself a boyfriend and suddenly forgot who owns you?”
“Nobody owns me,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
His laugh was sharp, cruel. “That video says otherwise, sis. Or should I remind you?”
The threat landed like a punch. My eyes burned with tears I refused to shed, with rage and shame and helplessness. Five years. Five years of this, of him holding that moment over my head, of being trapped in a cage made of my own stupid teenage mistake.
Behind me, Kirill stirred.
My entire body went rigid. I couldn’t let Sebastian know where I was, who I was with. Couldn’t drag Kirill into this mess. He deserved better than my broken, blackmailed life.
“I’ll explain everything later,” I said quickly, quietly, praying Kirill was still mostly asleep. “Just…give me until tonight. I’ll have the money. I promise.”
“You better.” Sebastian’s voice was pure ice now. “Because if you don’t, that video goes public. And then your perfect little life, your father’s reputation, everything, it all burns. Got it?”
“Got it,” I whispered, hating how small my voice sounded. Hating him. Hating myself more.
He hung up without another word.
I stood there, frozen, phone clutched in my white-knuckled grip. The tears came then, silent and hot, streaming down my cheeks. I was so tired. So damn tired of being afraid, of being controlled, of living in this hell that I’d accidentally created.
“Everything okay?”
Kirill’s voice, husky with sleep, rough and beautiful, made me flinch. I quickly wiped my eyes, forcing my face into something resembling calm before I turned.
He was propped up on one elbow, sheets pooled around his waist, his hair mussed and his eyes heavy-lidded. He looked like sin and safety all wrapped up together, and I wanted to crawl back into that bed and pretend the phone call never happened.
But I couldn’t.
“There was a break-in,” I blurted out, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “At my mansion. Security just called. I need to go.”
His eyes sharpened immediately, concern replacing the sleepy warmth. “A break-in? Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I cut him off, already pulling on my skirt, my fingers fumbling with the zipper. “It’s just…they need me there. My father’s going to freak out, and I need to—” I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t spin this lie any further without it collapsing under its own weight.
Kirill sat up, and even through my panic, I noticed the way his muscles moved, the lean strength in his shoulders.
Focus, Barbara. Focus on escaping before he sees too much, knows too much.
“Let me drive you,” he offered, already reaching for his jeans.
“No!” The word came out too sharp, too desperate. I softened my tone, tried again. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call a car. You should go back to sleep.”
He studied me for a long moment, those blue eyes seeing right through my pathetic excuse. I held my breath, waiting for him to call me out on the lie, to demand the truth. Part of me wanted him to. Wanted someone to finally force me to stop carrying this alone.
But he just nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I grabbed my blouse from the hallway, my boots from somewhere near the living room. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I pulled everything on, as I tried to look like someone who hadn’t just had her world turned upside down twice in twelve hours.
When I reached the door, I made the mistake of looking back.
Kirill was standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame, watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. Something between concern and suspicion, between wanting to help and knowing better than to push.
“Barbara,” he said quietly. Just my name. Nothing else.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I didn’t know what I was apologizing for. For lying. For leaving. For last night being so perfect when my life was anything but.
Then I ran.
Down the elevator, through the lobby, out into the Chicago morning that was too bright, too normal, too indifferent to my crumbling world. I called a car with shaking hands, standing on the sidewalk outside Kirill’s building like I could outrun what I’d just done.
But you can’t outrun yourself.
And as I climbed into the car and gave the driver my address, I realized that last night had changed everything. That Kirill, dangerous, intense, impossibly understanding Kirill, had somehow slipped past every defense I’d built.