Dmitri
Chapter Six
I left the bedroom where I kept Larissa prisoner, wanting to put a bullet right between her eyes. She had called me a monster and a murderer, but she had no idea what I was capable of. Her father killed mine, and she deserved to pay for what he did. She was a Zhukov. An enemy. A traitor.
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
Uncle Ivan was my father’s younger brother, my godfather, and part of the Antonov Bratva.
He always told me I was like the son he never had.
He would have been next in line, but his late wife couldn’t bear any children who could carry on the Antonov name.
When she died, he never remarried. He was still young enough, but the desire to marry again was never something he had.
“I said, now that you have the Zhukov woman, what do you plan to do with her? Remember, her father killed Viktor.”
“She is my prisoner, Uncle. I’m well aware of what needs to be done. Once I make her my wife and she gives me an heir, so the Antonov Bratva will carry on for generations to come, she will pay for her father’s transgressions.”
Once Larissa produced the heir to carry on the Antonov name, I would have no use for her. Maybe I would continue to keep her locked up. Not in any of the guest rooms, but in the basement where we kept all the traitors caged.
Several of my men interrupted my conversation with my uncle by walking into my study for a rescheduled meeting I had postponed because of a missing shipment.
Stepan, my brigadier ; Nicoli, my obshchak ; Yerik, my boevik ; Yuri and Maxim, two of my most trusted soldiers under Stepan’s command; and of course, my uncle, stepped into the dining room and took their places at the long mahogany table with me at the head.
As soon as everyone settled into their seats, I began. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As you all know, we have found Larissa Zhukov and she is now my prisoner. No one is to touch her except me. Is that understood?”
I waited for everyone to comply before moving on. Looking at Stepan, I asked, “Is there any more information concerning the disaster at the warehouse?”
“No, Pakhan . No one knows anything. The men watching over the shipment were taken by surprise. Everything was going as planned until the warehouse was raided. They got away with the entire shipment.” Stepan lowered his head with regret. “They knew what they were doing. It’s as if it was planned.”
“What about the security cameras? Certainly, they should have picked up something,” I asked.
“It’s gone. Completely erased,” Yerik announced. “They knew the layout of the warehouse and knew exactly where the security room was. Someone within our ranks is a traitor.”
“Losing these shipments is not good for business, Dmitri,” my uncle spoke sternly. “Maybe taking over the position of Pakhan has displaced your focus on what matters most.”
“I want the names of every man who was on duty. I don’t care what it takes. I want to find out what they know, one by one. I’m not in the position to lose any more shipments.” I pounded my fist on the table, bringing everyone’s attention to me while giving my uncle an unforgiving glare.
The meeting ended, and the only one who stayed behind was my uncle.
Walking over to the corner of my desk, he poured himself a glass of vodka from the crystal decanter.
“I think the Zhukov woman has become a distraction for you. You need to marry that woman, get her with child and delivered of it, and then be done with her.”
I knew my uncle was right. But there was still one thing weighing on my mind ever since we learned that Andrei killed my father and we found Lidia Zhukov in a pool of blood. We never found Andrei’s body.
I pushed from the table and approached my uncle, who had taken my place behind my desk. Pouring myself a drink, I downed half of it before settling in the chair in front of the massive desk and looked at my uncle. “There’s something I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?” he replied, keeping his eyes on me.
“When Stepan and I arrived at the Zhukov estate, only Lidia Zhukov’s body lay rotting in a pool of blood. There was no sign of Andrei or his body. I just think it’s strange. No one has mentioned him, and no one has claimed responsibility for his death.”
“You need to stop this shit! You’ve been dwelling on your father’s death for three years.
Andrei Zhukov is dead. You need to get your head out of your ass and focus on marrying Larissa and getting her pregnant.
” He slammed his drink onto the desk, sending most of the remaining vodka flying from the glass.
No matter what my uncle thought, I would never stop looking for Andrei, whether or not he was dead.
~***~
If there was one thing I despised, it was being told what to do.
My uncle, a seasoned veteran in the business, had years of experience over me, but he still needed to learn to trust my instincts.
Even though his intentions were protective, he had to understand that I needed the freedom to make my own mistakes.
Leaving my study, I realized it was time to check on my defiant kukolka , my doll.
I ascended the stairs, taking them two at a time, my mind replaying the last visit to this room.
I recalled the unexpected fight in her, the shocking moment when she kneed me in the groin, catching me completely off guard.
I vowed that mistake would never happen again.
Yuri stood vigilantly at the door, just as I had instructed.
“Sir,” he acknowledged me with a nod, stepping aside to let me pass.
When I had left the room earlier, Larissa had been hurling curses at me, labeling me a monster and a murderer.
Now, four hours later, the only sound that reached my ears was her soft, relentless crying.
Her suffering was of no importance to me.
I wasn’t a man capable of compassion; I had mourned the loss of many of my finest men, attending each of their funerals with a heavy heart.
I had witnessed the grief etched on the faces of their wives and children, a sight that tore me in two.
But when it came to Larissa, I had no time for the tears she shed.
I slipped the cold metal key into the lock and turned it, pushing the door open with a firm hand.
Larissa’s eyes locked onto mine, her expression of pain morphing into one of seething hatred.
She began to struggle against her restraints, the raw, angry marks around her wrists a testament to her relentless fight.
“Are you back to get off on me to satisfy your disgusting perversion or are you going to kill me just like you did my mama and papa?” she spat, her gaze never wavering from mine, each word dripping with venom.
The irony was almost too rich to bear—she lay there, pointing her finger at me, blaming me for the very crime that her own father had committed against mine.
A laugh, dark and velvety, escaped my lips as I leaned in, close enough to feel her breath hitch.
I reached out, slowly, deliberately, and swept away a stray hair that had become plastered to her cheek, clinging there like a desperate, lonely thing.
I couldn’t explain what drove me, but I needed to touch her again, to feel that spark against my fingertips.
“My kukolka , little doll,” I murmured, my voice a low growl. “You are mistaken. I had no part in your father’s or your mother’s death.”
Even with rivulets of tears carving paths down her cheeks, she was still the most breathtakingly beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on.
Every line, every curve of her was exquisite perfection.
It was a shame that once she had given me what I desired, I would have no further use for her.
Or perhaps , I mused, I would keep her for myself .
“You’re a fucking liar,” she spat, her voice laced with venom.
My hand found its way to her neck, my fingers wrapping around her slender throat.
I had had enough of her foul mouth. “I am many things, Larissa, but a liar is not one of them. If you continue to disrespect me with your filthy words, I will have no choice but to silence you by shoving my cock down your throat. I bet you would enjoy that, wouldn’t you? ”
I kept my grip on her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under my touch, while my other hand began to explore her body.
I cupped her perfectly shaped breasts through her lacy bra, rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, never breaking eye contact.
Her hatred for me only served to fuel the fire of desire burning within me, making me crave her even more.
Sliding my hand lower, I felt her body tremble beneath my touch.
But behind the hatred in her eyes, I could see the unmistakable glimmer of want as I inched my hand beneath her panties and between her legs.
I teased her slick folds, finding her clit and circling it gently, drawing a soft, involuntary moan from her lips.
“You are so wet for me,” I rasped, leaning over to tug her earlobe between my teeth. “I’m going to make you come so hard, you’re going to forget your own name, kukolka .”
“Fuck you,” she spat, venom lacing her voice as she vainly tried to squirm away from the pleasure I was about to inflict. Her eyes blazed with a mix of defiance and desire; a combination that only served to further ignite my own lust.
I gently slid one finger into her, and she gasped sharply at the invasion.
She was so tight, her walls clamping down on my digit, and I couldn’t help but imagine how exquisite it would feel to have my cock buried deep within her.
Adding another finger, I began to pump them in and out of her tight, velvety heat, a smile playing on my lips as she involuntarily mimicked the movements, her hips undulating in sync with my rhythm.
When I found that special spot, the one I was sure no man had ever reached, I curled my finger and stroked it over and over again, her slick walls gripping me tightly.
“You like that, don’t you, shlyukha , slut?” I growled, my voice low and feral as I twisted my hand, placing my thumb on her clit. I pushed and circled the sensitive nub until her release was mine to command. “Do you want me to continue?”
When she didn’t answer, I stilled my movements, and her body bucked wildly against my hand, desperate for the friction she needed to find her release.
“Is that a ‘yes,’ my kukolka ?” I purred, using the Russian endearment that rolled off my tongue like sweet poison.
“Yes, yes. Please don’t stop,” she panted, her voice breathy and desperate.
Slowly, I resumed pumping my fingers in and out of her, drawing out her release, punishing her for her initial defiance.
I could feel her tightening around my fingers, her body coiling like a spring ready to release.
But just as she was about to shatter, I pulled my fingers out and stood up.
Her eyes flew open; her cheeks flushed with the release I had denied her.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and frustration as she lifted her head off the pillow.
“Disobedient sluts don’t deserve to come,” I said coldly, pulling the key from my pocket and unlocking her cuffs. “Maybe next time you will learn to be more respectful.” I stepped back, putting some distance between us. “Take a shower. Marta will be up with your dinner.”
Standing to my full six-foot-three height, I opened the door and left the room, my heart pounding in my chest. If I had stayed in that room like I wanted, if I had made sure she did as I commanded, I would have taken her right then and there.
The way she felt against my fingers, her slick heat and tight walls, had nearly made me explode like a horny teenager.
But I wanted more than to just explore her body, to trail my fingers down the soft curves of her breasts.
I wanted to taste every inch of her, to drag my tongue over her porcelain skin, to make her writhe and scream beneath me.
Leaving her room, I felt as though I had lost all sense of control over myself.
The memory of her soft, pale skin resting in the palm of my hands, the way her breath hitched, a staccato rhythm, when she was on the verge of release.
And that filthy mouth of hers—so tempting, so inviting.
I longed to fill it, to feel those lush, pouty, pink lips sliding up and down my length as I thrust into her throat, my hand wrapped tightly around her slender neck.
It was as though I could feel my desire pressing against her very flesh.
“Fucking get it together, Dmitri.”
As I pushed open the door to my bedroom, an unyielding ache persisted within me, a relentless throb that refused to subside.
The sensation was like a smoldering fire in my loins, clouding my thoughts and making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.
Despite the tumult of emotions, there remained an undeniable need to claim her as mine, to make her my wife.
Until that moment arrived, I desperately craved some form of release.
Unbuttoning my pants, I leaned against the door, pulling out my throbbing desire.
With a sharp intake of breath, I spat into my hand, widening my stance, and firmly grasped my length, spreading the slick moisture along the shaft.
My breathing was rapid and uneven as I continued to stroke along my length, my hips instinctively flexing to meet each movement.
Images of Larissa flooded my mind, her mouth enveloping me as I thrust deeply, my hands tightly fisting her hair, driving forward with a relentless rhythm that barely allowed her to breathe.
Her hands bound, she surrendered willingly, letting me take my fill.
A deep groan rumbled from my chest and sweat glistened on my forearm as I continued to pump my desire through the tight circle of my fist. Knowing that this could never truly compare to the warmth of Larissa’s eager mouth, my hips stuttered, and my release spilled across my hand.
Closing my eyes, I saw her eagerly swallow every drop, her eyes locked onto mine with burning intensity.