8

Ravil
Lucy doesn’t attempt to come out of the room when her massage is over, even though I haven’t locked the door nor stationed a guard. I’m still toying with how hard a line I draw with her.
I have to keep reminding myself that she wanted to raise our son without me ever meeting him. That she thinks so little of me, she does not think me worthy of parenting him.
Maybe I’m not. I had lowly beginnings. I was a poor son of a prostitute. I ran through the snow and slush of Leningrad in boots with the soles flapping open, stealing produce or digging in the garbage for enough to eat.
That was where Igor found me. Where I learned the Code of Thieves. Pay for nothing you can steal. Forsake all family for the brotherhood. Rise up through the ranks with my loyalty and courage.
The bratva became my identity. Within it, I am respected. Within my circles, I am God. Outside, though? On the streets of Chicago? A man covered in prison tattoos with a Russian accent doesn’t command a lot of respect.
I suppose that’s why I created the Kremlin. Bought this building in the most coveted area of Chicago and filled it with my own people. It’s why I demand everyone here practice their English. Learn the culture and laws, so they can be manipulated to benefit our kind.
Lucy’s rejection-knowing the beautiful attorney who is well-bred and well-respected in this city-didn’t find me good enough… Well, it stabs me where it hurts.
And so, I intend to hurt her a bit in return.
No one takes my son from me.
I step into the room where I find her standing at the window, looking out at the lights of the yachts out on the water.
My dick gets hard because she’s wearing nothing more than a pair of tiny shorts and a camisole, both stretched tight around her pregnancy curves.
Blyat.
I want her now.
But operating from desire is never a winning strategy. I adjust my straining cock.
She turns and looks over her shoulder at me, her mouth in a tight line.
“What happens to the baby?”
Ah. Finally the question I’ve been anticipating. And yet my answer to it has changed in my own mind several times. Still, I’m going to play hard-ball. She can work on softening me if she likes. She has four months to try.
“The baby stays here, in this building. If you wish to be a part of his life, you will play nice with me.”
She stands very still. Only the slightest flaring of her nostrils and tightening of her fingers show her ire. She expected this.
“You can’t-”
“You know I can, so let’s drop the pretense. Your laws can’t touch me. If you tried, I would go underground with the child in a matter of hours. You’d never see him again.”
I’m ready for any argument she throws my way. What I don’t expect is for her eyes to grow bright with tears.
It does something raspy and harsh to my insides.
She blinks them back without changing anything on her face. I don’t take her for a crier, but I’m sure the hormones make her more susceptible.
I’ll have to make sure not to push her that far again because I dislike how off-balance it makes me feel.
“You tried to keep our son from me,” I say, too harshly. I’m reminding myself as much as her. “I’m being far more generous with you. All you need to do is cooperate with me, and you’ll keep your son. You’ll get to nurse him and raise him. Teach him and watch him grow.
“All the things you wished to deprive me of.”
She turns away from me, back to the window.
I have the impulse to turn and leave. But it’s my room, and I chose to put her in here with me for a reason.
I need to tear her walls down… not strengthen them. Even when I want to build my own.
I go to her. Touching her before was electric. She’d been so responsive. More responsive than Valentine’s night. It was like her body was primed for me, waiting for my touch.
She may have not thought me fit to be a father, but I now know with total certainty how much she loved my mastery at Black Light.
I slide one hand under her camisole to cup her breast, the other across her belly, stroking lower. “There’s still your punishment to deal with,” I say against the shell of her ear.
I’m satisfied to feel the shiver run through her. She doesn’t answer, but I sense her body listening. Waiting. Like before at her apartment, she wants this. Or at least her body does.
I love seeing the transformation her body’s made with the pregnancy. Back in February, she was on the too-thin side. Like she held her body to a rigid standard for weight. Now she has curves-not just her belly and larger breasts, but all of her has a beautiful softness. I knead her breast gently.
“These are much bigger than before. Are they tender?”
“Yes.” She stirs against me-little twitches and jerks, like pockets of resistance absorbed into my hands.
I pinch her nipple, tug it into a stiff, beaded peak. She shifts on her legs, her breath quickening. I slide my other hand into her tiny pajama shorts, curling my fingers to mold them over her mons.
She swallows and gives me more of her weight, leaning back against my body. “Doesn’t punishment counteract the massage? Weren’t you trying to keep me from stress?”
“All the stress I inflict will be relieved by the time I’m through. Unless you disobey.”
I sense a trembling in her-excitement, I assume, not fear. If she was afraid, she’d pull away.
She hasn’t.
I rub my fingers over her sex. She almost instantly gets wet, like her pussy was waiting for me to stroke it. I pull the tiny camisole over her head and toss it on the floor.
“Come.” I turn her toward the bed. “I want you on your knees for me.” She hesitates a little, but then allows me to direct her. “Up,” I command.
For a moment, she goes rigid, like she’s just decided she shouldn’t give in to me.
“Be good, or I won’t give you the satisfaction I know your body craves.”
She glances over her shoulder, searching my face. Her lawyer mask is in place, and it’s hard to read her. I interrupt whatever internal debate she’s having with a sharp smack on her ass, and the slow drag of her booty shorts down her legs.
“On your knees.” I cup her elbow and lift to show her I want her on her knees on the bed. I spent all afternoon researching pregnancy. What’s safe for her, what’s not. Which positions are best. Which are contraindicated. How to make her comfortable. How to punish her.
I plop a bolster and the large body pillow I had Nikolai buy for her today in the center of the bed. “Ass up.” I slap the pale globe of her ass to punctuate the order.
She kneels in front of the bolster. I arrange the body pillow under her torso. “Chest down, kitten. Get comfortable.”
She stands on her hands and knees instead. I let her have her small defiance. The real punishment is my keeping her here. This, in actuality, is the pleasure of the situation.
For both of us.
She looks over her shoulder again, her brown eyes clouded with misgiving. I stroke my palm over her ass.
“Relax, kotyonok. I know what you need.”
I pick up a leather flogger-another afternoon purchase-and trail the soft tendrils across her skin. “The last time I flogged you, you had my dick in your mouth,” I recall.
“And you didn’t let me come,” she says immediately, like the scene is as fresh in her mind as it is in mine.
I chuckle. “No, I made you wait for it. But you saw the benefit of delaying the orgasm.”
She turns her head back to look down at the pillow. I position myself behind her and begin to twirl the flogger in a figure eight motion, swirling it so just the tips graze her skin.
She lets out a surprised little “Mm.” I keep it up, drawing closer, so more of the strands come in contact. I can tell it’s getting stingier by the way her ass clenches, and her breath draws in. She doesn’t move from the position, though. She certainly wants this.
I draw my arm back and let the flogger tassels swing, whipping her soundly once.
“Ow!” She draws in a sharp breath.
“Take it, kitten.” I whip her again. A pink mark blooms where I struck the first time. I return to my more gentle figure-eights to diffuse the sting and warm her ass all over.
She moans and sinks down, first to her elbows then to rest her chest on the pillow I provided.
“Good girl,” I praise, even though she’s not doing it to be obedient-she’s doing it to make herself more comfortable. Still, this is how she learns to trust that my orders are for her own good. This is how she learns to trust.
I remember from Black Light how long it took to win her trust, and that was just as a partner for the night. Now, I’m looking at something altogether different.
My right to father our child.
I increase the power behind the twirls, smacking a little harder, and she flinches, squeezing her buttcheeks. I lighten it again and go down the back of each thigh then over her lovely back. “I should make you suck my dick tonight,” I observe. “Except I’m not sure I trust you not to bite it off.”
She murmurs her assent into the pillow, and I smirk to myself.
“I will have to take my pleasure,” I say, returning my attention to her ass. All her skin has a light pink glow. I set about darkening that hue on her ass.
Her fingers tighten on the pillow, her asshole clenches and releases.
I stop flogging and trail the tassels lightly over her reddened skin between her ass cheeks, against her pussy. I swing it and lightly whip her pussy.
She squeaks. I flick again. And again.
Then I drop the flogger and rub over her slit with my fingers.
So wet. Incredibly swollen. Very inviting.
If I cared more for her pleasure, I would drag this scene out like I did at Black Light. But part of me is still angry. So I consider my own desires first.
Right now, I want to fuck my new attorney until the room spins. I unzip my pants and free my straining erection.
“I am clean,” I tell her, my voice rough with desire. “I haven’t been with anyone since I was with you.”
I didn’t mean to tell her that. I’m not sure why I did.
Annoyance with myself makes me shove into her without waiting for her agreement, for her acknowledgement of my plan to enter and ride her bareback.
“I haven’t either,” she gasps as the force of my thrust pushes her forward.
I catch her hips, my heart suddenly lodged higher in my chest.
I shouldn’t be surprised at her admission, considering what I found on her laptop. It’s more that she willingly shared it with me.
But my thoughts start to unravel because being inside her hot, wet channel feels better than I remember. Better than any fuck I’ve ever had.
Can it be because I know she’s carrying my child? Something primitive and caveman in me finds it so appealing?
Or is it that her body is just so much more welcoming under the influence of all the hormones? Either way, I revel in the way her flesh seems to hold my cock tight as I arc in and out of her.
I grip her long blonde hair and wrap it in a fist, using it to lift her head. “You’ve needed this,” I tell her, my own raging lust making me cocky as hell. “Needed my big Russian cock fucking you senseless. Didn’t you, beautiful?”
She only mewls in reply. I didn’t expect her to agree. “You thought you’d given this up forever, didn’t you? Is that why you’ve been watching Russian porn?”
She bucks her hips in surprise, and I tighten my grip, increase the tempo of the fucking. “You needed a good Russian spanking?”
“Shut up!” she snaps.
I’ve embarrassed her. I don’t mind. I am being a mudak, I know. In the heat of the moment, I’m letting my own hurt show.
“Fuck you, Ravil.”
I chuckle. “As you wish, beautiful.” I slam in harder and harder, closing my eyes to savor how good it feels. Lightning strikes the base of my spine, my thighs shake as my balls draw up with the need to come.
I reach around and rub her clit roughly a couple swipes, but I’m too close. I need it so goddamn badly. I cup her nape to hold her in place as I fuck her hard and fast. I shout as I come-roar, actually-and reach around to give her clit my full attention.
She comes almost immediately, her channel squeezing and releasing around my cock, drawing out more and more of my seed.
“Blyat, Lucy. Blyat.” I stroke my hands all over her body, gratitude following fast on the heels of my pleasure.
Forgiveness.
Affection, even.
I wait until her orgasm has passed and she’s regained her breath before I ease out and get a washcloth to clean her up.
She doesn’t wait but walks past me into the bathroom. I hand her the washcloth, and she points to the door. “A little privacy?”
I shake my head. “Be nice or I’ll use my belt next time I punish you.”
Her eyes flare, but I’m certain it’s half with excitement. I walk out and shut the door. Let her have her privacy. She’ll have very little of it here with me.
I will own her every minute. Monitor her every communication, control her entire existence.
So yeah, if she wants to rinse off alone after I fuck her, she can have that tiny win.
There won’t be all that many.