Page 14 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

INDIGO

When we reach our bedroom, the steel in my spine begins to soften. The calm that carried me down in the basement finally starts to crack.

I don't speak as Anatoly leads me to our bathroom. My thoughts are a storm I can't navigate. Part of me feels justified. Grisha would have raped me on that train if I hadn't fought back. He put my sister on a leash and was ready to give her up to monsters.

He deserved to die screaming.

Anatoly turns on the faucet and fills the silence with the sound of running water. His strong fingers wrap around my cold ones and he guides our hands under the warm stream. Pink ribbons swirl down the drain, and I can't help remember the last time I saw something like this.

And I start wondering.

How many more times will I see this?

More importantly. How many more times can I see this before it no longer horrifies me?

Because there's a dark truth that I'm not willing to voice.

My horror isn't at what I ordered my dangerous husband to do to Grisha.

My horror is that I enjoyed it.

I liked watching Grisha suffer. I liked the sound of his screams. I liked the moment when understanding dawned in his eyes. I liked the moment when he realized I held his life in my hands.

Above all, I liked it when Anatoly brought that cleaver up into the air at my command.

And I liked it hearing the sound of it—wet and heavy—slamming down into Grisha's neck to end his worthless life.

My eyes flutter close. Heat rushes up my face. And Anatoly's strong fingers begin working between mine, slow and methodical.

He strokes the soft tender flesh gently, and everywhere his finger touches, heat blooms. It runs up along my knuckles, past my arm, and shoot straight towards my heart until I feel it pulsing at my throat and pooling in my belly.

A warm gentle breeze wafts over the top of my head, and a soft halting gasp tumbles from my throat when I feel the heat of his arms envelope me between them.

The breeze caresses the top of my head again and only when I feel his powerful chest bump into my back do I realize that it's not a breeze but his breath.

Heavy. Hot. Straining for control.

When did he move behind me? Or has he always stood there as he continues to stroke and rub my hands?

"Britvochka?" Anatoly's lips scrape against the lobe of my ear, and liquid fire pours into my veins.

Yes… Your britvochka. Your little blade.

I bite down on my lips before a moan can escape.

How do I tell him that ordering a man's death made me feel more powerful than I've felt in years?

How do I confess to him that after everything that happened to me, after being made to feel so small and insignificant, and after nearly losing everything, that the rush of power is more intoxicating and arousing than anything he can ever offer me?

"Breathe, britvochka." His hot breath tickles my ears, sending goosebumps rising along my arms.

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until he said it. I inhale slowly, my body shuddering as I do.

Electricity dances under my skin as oxygen rushes into my lungs.

Small shivering bursts course through my body from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes.

It moves along my arms, tumbles down my spine, and settles in a familiar throbbing pulse between my legs with a delicious yet terrifying familiarity that makes every nerve ending come alive.

His hand, wet and warm, moves up my arms until they settle heavily around my shoulder.

Gentle and overwhelming all at once.

And from each point of contact comes ripples that move through my body with growing intensity. They begin like tiny lightning strikes where his skin meets mine and grow faster and hotter as they ripple outward until I can feel it everywhere.

When his lips brush against my neck, just below my ear, my knees buckle and I lean back into him to seek his heat. His hardness. The terrible and wonderful power he pours into me.

A power that I and only I can hold.

He killed, yes. But he killed at my command. There's something primally satisfying about that knowledge.

"You did well," he praises me with his deep voice as he continues to kiss my neck. "You didn't look away."

"He deserved it," I whisper, my voice husky. "He touched what is yours. Tried to fuck what is yours."

"Hmm."

He pulls me closer. His hands are still wet and they leave damp prints on my clothes that do nothing to dull the heat growing between us. I slowly rise until I'm on my tiptoes, and wriggle my ass against his pulsing cock.

"And are you mine, britvochka?" he asks, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Yes…" My body responds before my voice, and I press back against him. "Always."

"Open your eyes, britvochka."

He commands, and I obey.

The image in the mirror shocks me. I look like a mad woman in the reflection. My cheeks are flushed. My lips are red and parted. My hair is wild and messy.

But it's my eyes that scare me the most.

The pupils are so dilated that they make my hazel eyes look almost black. And the longer I stare into that darkness, the more it feels like I'm staring into the abyss.

"Who gets to touch you?"

Anatoly's hands start moving apart. One hand reaches forward to run across my collarbone while the other moves down past my stomach towards my legs.

"You," I whisper.

His powerful finger burns a path across the delicate ridge of my collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake before they wrap gently around my neck. My breath catches in my throat when I feel his pulse thumbing my neck for mine.

His other hand slips lower until it slips under the band of my underwear, past the tuft of hair between my legs, and dip into the warm surging wetness that drips for him.

And only for him.

I keep my eyes on the mirror, hypnotized as his hands re-claim me. I'm trapped willingly between his powerful body and the cool surface of the sink. Both our eyes are dark with desire in the reflection.

His lips find my shoulder, and a second later, so do his teeth. I moan softly against the rough touch. There's no hiding how much I want him to take me, how much I need him to mark me.

The rational part of my mind screams that I should feel something other than this desperate hunger. But that part quickly fades away when he pushes a finger inside of me.

"Only me?" he murmurs against my neck between bites.

"Only you," I breathe, my voice barely audible over the sound of water still running in the sink.

Doubts evaporate like smoke. He continues to cradle my throat—a reminder of his strength and my surrender. The weight of his palm alone makes my pulse race wildly against his skin.

"Who gets to fuck you?" he growls against my ear.

"Only you," I breathe, my body practically vibrating beneath his touch.

His fingers continue toying with my slick folds. The pressure builds as he circles my clit. My legs start trembling. I can't take it anymore.

I need him now.

I need him to take me.

Claim me.

Fuck me.

I reach back with shaking hands and push my leggings down, wiggling my hips to help them slide over my ass. My panties follow, rolling down my thighs until I'm exposed to him. The cool air hits my heated skin, making me shiver with anticipation.

"Please," I whisper, pressing back against his hardness. "Don't make me wait anymore."

He continues to stroke me, and I start fumbling with his pants until the smooth hardness of his cock falls into my palm.

"Please." My voice breaks as desperation takes over. "Remind me what it's like to belong to you."

Precum soaks between my fingers, and I stroke him as I pull him towards my soaked, aching cunt.

Anatoly pauses, his breath hot against my neck. "Tell me, britvochka," he commands softly. "What does belonging to me mean?"

I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "It means you can fuck my wet little hole as hard as you like. It means you can use me whenever you want. It means you and only you can be rough with me. Only you can make me scream. Make me beg. Make me take every fucking inch and fuck me like you own me. "

Anatoly's hand cradles my chin, and pulls my head back until I'm staring up at him upside down. His blue eyes are dark with desire, but there's something tender beneath the hunger.

"No, britvochka," he whispers. "I don't own you."

I try to protest, confusion clouding my mind, but he slips a finger into my mouth, silencing me. Instinctively, I begin sucking, my tongue working against his digit as his other hand pulls away from my pussy to spread my lips apart.

"You own me."

And those were the last words he says to me before he shoves himself all the way in.

My back arches sharply and a desperate cry tears from my throat. The fullness—oh God—the fullness is overwhelming.

It's incredible.

It's everything I want right now.

He gives me barely a second to adjust before he pulls back and starts to fuck me mercilessly. The wet, obscene sound of our bodies colliding echoes off the bathroom tiles and sends fresh heat rushing to my face.

"It means only you can wrap this wet little hole around my cock."

"Yes," I whimper against his finger in my mouth.

He thrusts his hips harder and deeper. "It means only you can make me use you whenever you want."

"Yes, yes, yes." My eyes roll into the back of my head.

His hand tightens around my throat.

"It means only you can know what it means for me to be rough with you."

The pressure of his fingers against my neck sends waves of dizzying pleasure through my body. My inner walls clench around him, drawing a groan from his lips.

"Only you can order me to make you scream," he continues, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "Make you beg. Make me give you every fucking inch."

"Yes," I sob, tears of pleasure streaming down my face. "Yes, yes, please—"

He rewards my desperate pleas by squeezing my neck slightly tighter, his rhythm growing impossibly harder. The sink digs into my hips as he pounds into me from behind, until I'm utterly lost to the pleasure coursing through my veins.

"I am yours as much as you are mine. Mine. MINE."

Yes. Yes. YES!

"I'm coming," I gasp, my voice breaking as the first wave crashes through me. "I'm coming for you, Tolya. Oh god, I'm coming for you—"

My body convulses around him, gripping his cock in rhythmic pulses as I shatter completely. My legs shake so violently that I would collapse if not for his arm holding me to him as he fucks me.

I cry out over and over, each syllable a desperate prayer as my orgasm tears through me.

"Come for me, britvochka," Anatoly growls against my ear, his rhythm never faltering. "I can feel your soaking wet walls squeezing around me as you come for me."

He slides his hand from my throat to grasp my hair and yank my head back into his shoulder.

"You're so fucking beautiful when you come for me," he praises, his eyes locked with mine in the reflection. "You're so fucking perfect when your pussy grips me like it was made for my cock. So wet. So tight."

His words make me clench around him again, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

"Only you," he continues, his voice rough with desire. "Only you can feel this good for me. Only you take all of me like this."

I reach back and grasp his hip, changing our rhythm as I start to move with him rather than just taking what he gives.

My body is still trembling through the aftershocks of my orgasm.

But I want more.

I roll my hips in frantic circles, grinding against him, taking control even as he's buried deep inside me. His groans grow louder, more desperate as I fuck him back. I can feel him getting impossibly harder inside me, stretching me further, hitting places that make stars explode behind my eyes.

"Are you going to come for me?" I pant, watching his face in the mirror. His eyes are nearly black with desire and his jaw is clenched tight. "Are you going to flood my pussy with your cum?"

I reach behind me with one hand to take hold of his heavy, tight balls. I squeeze them gently. They tense immediately under my touch.

"Make me yours," I demand, my voice raw with need. "Claim me so no other man can. So no other man would dare try."

"Yes," he growls, his hips snapping forward with renewed force. "Fuck, yes."

I squeeze his balls again, and feel them grow harder and tighter as his thrusts become erratic.

"Come for me, Tolya," I command. "Now."

He roars as he slams into me one final time, his entire body tensing as he empties himself inside me. I feel every pulse and every throb as he fills me completely.

We collapse forward, my hands bracing against the sink as we both pant heavily. His weight presses me down, but I welcome the solid reminder of his presence.

After a moment, he slowly pulls out, and I feel his cum immediately begin to leak from me, trailing down my inner thigh in warm rivulets.

His lips find my skin again. Soft, reverent kisses dot along my neck, my shoulder blades, and the curve of my spine.

When he finally reaches the crown of my head, he wraps his arms around me protectively and feathers his lips across my fevered brow, whispering.

"Welcome home."