Her Russian Brute: 50 Loving States, Idaho (66 page)

He jerked away like her touch had burned him.

Then he took one step back and then another, nostrils flaring in and out. Yeah, the old Darkness was riding him, she could tell. And she guessed six years hadn’t been enough time apart, because the urge to reach out to him, to calm him down with a song took hold of her, compelled her forward.

“You want me to sing to you, Beast…?” she asked with a sympathetic tilt of her head. “Is that why you brought me all the way out here—?”

He abruptly turned and left. Leaving her in the huge bedroom with her hand in mid-air and an Annie Lennox song chewing on her chest

T
HEL woke on a pillow
, crusty with old tears, to a familiar but long unheard sound. Fists pounding in a steady staccato. The sound of a beast on edge. One who needed to be lulled to sleep.

It all came back to her then. Singing at her sister’s wedding. Bair’s arrival. Crying herself ragged even as she texted back and forth with her sister to let her know she was all right.
Go on your honeymoon,
she’d insisted.
I’m totally fine.

She’d finally gotten her sister off the phone with a promise to text her every single day until she came home. A promise Thel had made, even as she sobbed. Even as she wished she could just go back.

And now it was…she glanced at the bedside clock. Three in the morning and Bair was outside the door, fighting the Darkness.

Like a performer in a well-remembered opera, she got out of bed and headed into the apartment’s main room. There she found him, in nothing but a pair of fighting shorts, pounding on a red bag. He must have hung it from a post in the ceiling himself, because it certainly hadn’t been there when they came in.

She watched him work, the huge Siberian tiger tattoo rippling over his wide, heavily muscled back as he mercilessly went at the bag.

“You okay?” she asked after a few minutes of just standing there, awkward as a Scandinavian pop song.

Finding him like this used to be easier. Back when she’d still been so stupidly addicted to the feelings he gave her, she’d just say, “Come on, Beast. Stop fighting that bag and come fuck me.”

And he’d carry her back to bed, and that would be the end of the scary punching bag episode.

But it was no longer back then. Tonight instead of responding to her question, he froze. But only for a nanosecond, until he started pounding the bag again.
Thwump! thwump! thwump!
without cease.

How long had he been like this, she wondered.

“Bair…” she tried again, crossing the room to stand behind him.

No answer. Just
thwump! thwump! thwump!

“Bair…” she said again. This time she laid a hand on his back.

Only to choke on the rest of her words when he turned on her.

“Do not touch me!” he ground out, pushing her into the nearest wall.

But then contrary to his command, he shoved his entire body into hers. Easily pinning her to the wall as he bent down and yanked up the skirt of her shimmery bridesmaid dress. There came the sound of her panties ripping, and cold air hit her pussy—right before it was filled with Bair’s enormous cock.

“You still stay wet for me,” he groaned into the side of her face when he was all the way in. Then he started hammering into her, so relentless with his thrusts, it felt like he was punishing her for still wanting him like this. Like she’d offended him somehow by being wet and ready when he came for her.

It had been too long. That was the only explanation for how quickly she responded to him. Not caring about how desperate she must look to him as she wrapped her legs around his waist, fingers digging into his hard ass as he pounded into her.

She let out a shuddering sigh. So good. So good. He still made her body feel so good. She’d been little more than a medical specimen for the years they’d been apart. Poked and prodded and medicated by professionals specially trained to handle patients with care.

But the way Bair was pounding into her, it was obvious: he didn’t give a fuck about her comfort, and even less about her care. He fucked her rough and mercilessly. Growling, “You should pay for what you did. I will make you pay!” right before he released into her with one final thrust.

She came, too. She was sure he no longer cared about her pleasure in all of this. Back in the day, it had been a point of pride for him. He’d never come himself before making sure she’d been brought to a screaming climax. But now she could practically feel his cold remove from her, even as he buried himself deep inside her and flooded her womb with his heat. She came right along with him nonetheless, pussy trembling around his jerking dick as her mind unraveled with pleasure.

“Yes! Yes!” she murmured. “So good! Fuck, Bair, so good.”

Caught between then and now, she laughed and her hand came up like it used to, threading around the back of his neck, to pull him down for a kiss. But nothing happened. No mattered how hard she tugged, his head did not come down. And when she opened her eyes to look at him askance, she found them glittering with rage.

The Rustanov perma-sneer etched into his face even deeper than usual as he said, “We did not use birth control.”

“I just got tested this summer, and I’m clean. And, ah…” She thought darkly of the disease that had taken five years of her life away from her, and answered, “You don’t have to worry about me accidentally getting pregnant. That definitely won’t be an issue.”

Still, he set her back on her feet, pulling out of her with a snarl, as if he were disgusted with himself for fucking her. Though if that was the case, why had he even brought her here in the first place? Wasn’t that his M.O.? To fuck her silly, then fuck her some more, until she was too sex drunk, not to comply with his every command?

But now he merely growled, “Go back to bed, Sirena.”

Sirena. She hadn’t been called that in so long. And then there was the other half of her name. Just Gale, because Sirena Nightingale felt a little too obvious, even for her, the silly girl from Virginia who couldn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything back then. Including herself.

She felt like a fool as she walked back into her room. A fool for trying to reach him. A fool for once again trying to pull him out of his Dark. She wasn’t a naïve twenty-year-old anymore, she reminded herself as she closed the bedroom door behind her. She knew better now.

And the sound of the door clicking closed served well to remind her what she’d learned the hard way during her five years with Bair. She wasn’t currently and had never been anything more than a possession to him. A songbird he’d decided to keep. And now she’d been returned to a luxurious cage. Just like before.

But this time with rules she didn’t understand. At all. And an owner hell bent on punishing her.

W
HICH was
why she was surprised to wake up to the smell of burning toast the next day.
What the…?

She followed the smell out of the bedroom, expecting to find some poor employee. Some poor, soon to be fired employee, since Bair didn’t tolerate mistakes. However, she only found Bair in the apartment’s stone and adobe open plan kitchen.

“I tried to make us breakfast,” he said when he spotted her. “But it did not turn out.”

He glowered at the toaster, teeth bared like it had done something to him. “I will call driver. Tell him to bring us something to eat.”

“Or you could let me have a go at it,” she said, barely containing her amusement behind a sympathetic smile. “Appliances can be tricky, I know, but I’m an expert after years of making my nephew honey toast every morning.”

He continued to glare heatedly at the toaster, and she had to wonder if this conversation would end with him doing the small kitchen appliance some real harm. But eventually, he moved out of the way, allowing her to step up to his shiny gray adversary.

He didn’t go too far though, just over to the short counter that separated the kitchen from the apartment’s dining area. He stood there with his arms folded across his massive chest, in his perfectly nice pants-and-button-up combo, watching her make them toast in her bridesmaid dress, the skirt of which now sported a huge rip from when they’d fucked against the wall the night before.

Yeah, that kind of made it hard not to feel real self-conscious as she popped the toast into the kitchen appliance after turning the dial down from ten.

“How’s Sascha doing these days?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

“Sascha is dead.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that.” She turned to give him a sympathetic look. “He was a great buddy.” With a sad smile, she remembered the way the large hound would nudge her hand whenever he wanted her to sing him a Coldplay song.

“He was dog. Guard dog.” Bair answered, voice flat. “Dogs die.”

“Did you get another one?” she asked him.

“No. I have men to watch my back. Trained and well-paid. Sascha was from before that time. I have no need of another guard dog now.”

“Still—”

“I do not wish to discuss this subject any further with you.”

Okay, so much for trying to make small talk. With a small sigh, she got down to brass tacks. “So Bair, you planning on bringing my family into this mess of ours or what?”

Silence, and she could swear the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. But she steadfastly continued making the toast, taking another two slices of bread out of the bag in preparation for the first two to pop. Somehow she managed to keep her voice casual as she said, “Because I prefer you leave them out of this. They’re good people and don’t deserve to be in your sights.”

“What makes you think I care what you prefer, Sirena?” he asked. And she didn’t have to be looking directly at him to know he was sneering.

She let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, I know you don’t care about my feelings.”

She thought of their first August together. The first time he’d come home and found her sad. The first and last time. Before that she’d done a pretty good job of hiding Thel. The broken girl from Virginia, drowning in a bottomless well of grief and guilt.

But she’d accidentally looked at a calendar that morning and realized it was the second anniversary of Trevor’s death. She’d ended up not going to classes that day, even though Bair had signed her up for extra summer courses to help her make up for those first few months of school she’d missed. She should have been spending the day improving her talent in the Berlin Arts University’s extremely competitive summer program.

Instead she’d lain around, makeup half done and in the same robe she’d been wearing when she casually glanced at the date on the clock and realized…it was the day after her birthday—a date she’d never shared with Bair, because it was also the day before her brother died in the wee hours of the morning.

She spent all day remembering who she really was when she wasn’t swanning around Berlin, on the arm of Bair Rustanov. She thought about that girl whose name never passed her lips anymore until the sun went away and the room went completely dark, because she’d never gotten around to turning on any lights.

Eventually the door opened and closed. “You were not at your building when I came to pick you up. And you did not answer your phone,” a voice said in the dark, right before a lamp flicked on beside her. “I looked for you everywhere.”

“Sorry,” she’d answered. “I was a little tired today. Decided to stay in.”

“A little tired,” he repeated, taking off his blazer and rolling up his sleeves.

This had been before she knew all of his cues. That him repeating what she said wasn’t for clarification, but because he didn’t like what he was hearing.

“Yeah, just a little.”

She watched him cross the room to the small wet bar next to the fireplace. From the bed, she saw him pour two fingers of something clear, with a label she couldn’t read or pronounce, into a glass. Most likely vodka, his usual go to after a day of classes. Normally she was the one to make it. One of her pet duties.

“I could have done that for you…” she said, voice soft, listless.

But the vodka was already poured. He didn’t pour her one. That had been one of his rules from the start. She wasn’t allowed to drink or smoke. Which was too bad. She could have used a drink.

Instead of answering, he grabbed one of the wingback armchairs near the side table. The thing had to weigh at least one hundred pounds, but he carried it in his free hand like it was nothing.

When he placed it only a few feet away from the bed and sat down, it almost felt like he was sharing a drink with her. Almost.

“Did someone upset you? Say something to you?”

“No,” she answered with a lackluster version of her usual teasing smile. “You know they wouldn’t dare.”

But as was always the case, he didn’t laugh at her teasing. “You are sad. You do not smile. Tell me who has upset you.”

A dead boy, a million miles away.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. I’m just going to…call it early tonight. Okay, Beast?”

“No, it is not okay,” he snarled back with a viciousness that took her by surprise. “Get out of bed now. Stand up and take off robe.”

She hesitated. Not wanting to. Not knowing if she even could.

But then he said, “You have my attention, little siren. You do not want my temper.”

No…no, she supposed she didn’t.

And she guessed this was part of the deal. Boys didn’t give girls jewelry and clothes and a world-class education just so they could go to bed tired whenever they wanted.

But still, it felt like a little piece of the new girl she’d carved out of Thel’s ashes was dying as she heaved herself out of their bed.

Before this moment, it had still been a game for her. A strange relationship contracted in a hotel room, mainly because she was curious about the way the Beast made her feel. Not like Thelxiope Okeanos, the broken girl from Virginia. But Sirena Gale, an aspiring opera singer with an exciting future in front of her.

But tonight it felt like the illusion was splintering. Tonight, she wondered if he could see the thin cracks in her Sirena façade as she disrobed for him.

She tried to flip the siren switch back on, but when the robe fell to the ground, her breath caught. The image of her sixteen-year-old brother’s body crumpled in the road, head bent at an unnatural angle, flashed across her mind. A vicious reminder of who she really was. What she’d done…

“No, little siren, don’t look away.
Look at me
.”

She brought her eyes back up as commanded. Watched his black ones move over her body, naked hunger blazing across his formerly flat gaze.

He leaned back and slowly spread his legs, the material of his tailored pants stretching tight over his large erection. “Come, Siren.”

Once again, she did as he said. Stopping when she was inside the V of his legs.

“You are tired,” he observed with dispassionate remove. “But I am hungry. For you.”

He leaned forward and put his mouth on her, devouring her pussy with ruthless precision. And, oh God…

Her eyes fluttered closed, and soon all thoughts of Trevor flew from her head. Eventually there was only this. Only him. His fingers biting into her hips as his mouth and tongue worked in tandem, bringing her to orgasm as he sucked her engorged button between his lips.

“
Da
, little siren,” he said as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Your pussy understands my meaning, even if your mind does not. Yet.”

He once again leaned back in the armchair, putting her in mind of a king coldly surveying his subjects. “Sit here now, Siren. You will show me how tired you are not.”

In a daze, she climbed into his lap, gingerly putting one leg on each side of him.

“Show me.”

She reached down, started to fumble with his belt buckle, but he stopped her, pushing away her hands.

“No, you will not have that yet, little siren,” he said tersely. “First you will show me you are not tired.”

She stared back at him, honestly confused.

And he bit out, “Move. Move now. Show me you are siren, not tired girl in my bed.”

He couldn’t mean…surely he didn’t want her to…

She gingerly started moving against his covered erection and was surprised by how good it felt. The smooth material sliding back and forth under her wet pussy, making for an easy glide even as his massive erection anchored her with its sheer size and solid weight.

It was so dirty. Literally dirty. She could feel herself dripping all over the crotch of his nice pants.

“You do not seem so tired to me, Siren,” he informed her, still not moving. “I can feel your pussy’s heat even through my pants. So hot and wet. No, you are not tired…”

He was right. She wasn’t tired. Not anymore, and her body coiled with anticipation of the rising tide.

“Bair, please don’t make me…” she gasped out. Wanting him. Wanting this. But not in this way. Not with him watching her so impassively with his cold, black eyes.

He caught her by the throat, not quite choking, not quite massaging. Something in between that walked a thin edge of caress and possession.

“Take me out,” he snarled, granting her plea. Generous but not kind.

She did as he said, and found him hard as stone, his heavily-ridged erection swelling even larger inside her palm.

Yet his voice remained perfectly level as he said, “You are smart siren. Clever siren. Not tired girl. Show me.”

She did as he asked. Lifting her hips and impaling herself on his long, thick length. It wasn’t romantic by any means, but she couldn’t help but groan as he filled her all the way up.

Her head fell forward over the hand around her throat, hips lifting up and down. He was so hard. Like a steel beam between her legs. But he didn’t move. Wouldn’t move. Just stared hard at her with those fathomless black eyes. Watching as she fellated him with her wet pussy, her hips bouncing faster and faster until she came with a violent shudder all over his dick.

Only then did he start moving underneath her. Slowly. The hand on her neck tracing down to manipulate the hard bud of her small breast. “
Da
, you are my smart siren. You understand how it must be between us. No lying in dark bedroom sad all day. No not being where you are supposed to be when I come to pick you up at your school. When I come home hungry—and I will always come home hungry—you cannot be tired. Never again do I want to see you like this. Do you understand?”

She’d nodded whimpering as yet another orgasm began to build inside her. He was in so deep, every nerve ending below her waist went up in flames with each stroke of his strong hips. No feelings. She wasn’t allowed to have any feelings except the ones he gave her when they were fucking. There would be no more sad remembrances of her brother that night. Only this…only this…

“You care so much about your family?”

His question brought her back into the present. To the kitchen in New Mexico, where she was making Bair toast. The first set of toast had popped while she’d been remembering that first August.

Taking it out and putting another two pieces in, she busied herself with buttering it. “Yes, I care about them.” she answered carefully, still uneasy about going against Natascha’s original edict and giving Bair something he could use against her.

“Yet, when I find you living in Greece like dog, you are alone. You did not have any contact with them for all the years you were with me. And even though your mother was poor, you sent her none of the money I gave you.”

“No,” she admitted.

She waited for the next question. The why of it all. And wondered how she’d explain her actions. The fact that she’d been Sirena, not Thel when she was with him. Glamorous Sirena had been born from nothing. Broken Thel had a crazy mother who was poor, not because she didn’t make money, but because she’d spent every penny she had on books. Sirena flirted with him because it was fun. Thel had honed her flirting skills in order to siren meals out of boys when her mother spent entire paychecks on book requests from the spirits she communed with. Sirena had no one but him. Thel had a dead brother who no longer depended on her, and an overachieving sister who’d never really needed her. A tragedy had kept Thel from returning to her home in Greenlee… until it became the perfect safe haven. The perfect place to hide Sirena from him.

But his next question didn’t have anything to do with any of that. “The man who bought those breasts for you. Did he know about your family?”

She thought about his ridiculous question, and found herself answering with the barest kernel of truth. “My family didn’t factor into it.”

Another long bout of dark silence, during which Annie Lennox chewed on her chest. Despite that, despite him, Thel took a big girl breath and crossed the kitchen.

“Here you go,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes as she handed him the first plate of toast. Like she used to do easily, when she was stupid addicted to him. She might not be a bold twenty-something anymore, but she’d be damned if she’d let him intimidate her.