Owned By The Bratva King by Jagger Cole
11
River
I’min over my head. It’s not even a question at this point. I’ve jumped in the deep end of Yuri Volkov, ruthless Bratva king, and now I’m drowning. The only problem is, drowning in Yuri Volkov feels way too fucking good.
I sizzle as the shower water streams over me. My hands slide over my skin, and I can’t help but follow the map he laid out on my body earlier. I gasp, closing my eyes as my fingers touch me where he touched—everywhere he touched me.
My cheeks burn as tremble. I quickly pull my hands away and groan as I dip my head under the water again.
I mean seriously, what the fuck am I doing? I’m letting myself get pulled into him. I’m letting myself let go of rational thought and caution. Because there is no rational thought or caution when it comes to my dominant, powerful, gorgeous captor.
I shut the water off quickly and pull a towel into the shower stall with me. Cloaked in steam and terrycloth, I cocoon myself in my forbidden thoughts concerning Yuri.
I shouldn’t be doing this. There are a million reasons why I should be repulsed by him, not hopelessly turned on. I frown, listing them on my fingers:
He kidnapped me.
He’s a ruthlessly, violent, notorious bratva kingpin.
He’s what, twenty-five years older than me?
He’s Belle’s dad.
Honestly, the list could go on and on, or have all sorts of sub-lists. But those four are the big ones. Those are the glaring warning flags to stop playing with fucking fire like I have been.
So why the hell does the thought of his mouth and his hands on me make me so hopelessly turned on?
When I’m finished drying off, I step out and wrap myself in a huge fluffy white robe. I walk out into the living area of my lavish quarters, over to the windows overlooking the ocean.
A knock at the door shatters my thoughts though. I turn, wrinkling my brow as I go to answer it. “Yes?”
“Ms. Finn, I’ve been told to bring this to you.”
I recognize Maksim’s voice. So far, he’s the only other person on this entire boat aside from Yuri and Korol, the chef, that I’ve even spoken too. That doesn’t seem by accident, either. Even with free range of roaming the ship, I’ve managed to never cross paths with any of the other men or guards. Again, when it comes to Yuri, I think that’s by design.
Chef Korol is clearly gay. That explains that one. And Maksim is clearly Yuri’s most trusted guy. The fact that he very much never lets his eyes drop lower than my chin supports that.
I unlock the door and swing it open. Sure enough, there’s Maksim’s huge frame filling my doorway, eyes looking nowhere but mine. He’s holding a white garment bag and a black box that must be shoes.
“For this evening’s party,” he grunts. “From Mr. Volkov.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. Well, thanks.”
“It’s next season’s Valentino.”
I grin. “Thank you.”
“And this.”
He passes me the box of shoes and turns to leave.
“Hey Maksim?”
He turns.
“Thanks.”
Yuri’s guard nods with a smile and then disappears down the hallway. I close the door and take the gown and shoes back into my bedroom, where I lay the bag out across the bed. I unzip it and pull out a stunning little black dress—ankle length, but slit all the way up, with a just-shy-of-scandalous plunge in the front and the back.
I blush. Jesus Christ. Forget being “irresistible.” I’m going to be the only thing anyone is talking about at this freaking thing wearing this.
I turn to the shoebox, which is curiously sealed shut with gold seal. I frown as I tear it off and open the lid.
My mouth falls open. My cheeks burn hotly as my eyes land on the contents, which is most certainly not shoes.
“Oh no fucking way.”
“What the fuck is this?!”
Yuri frowns when I barge into his office. But then he slowly smiles at the box in my hand. A smirk crosses his gorgeous face.
“It would appear you have a good idea already what it is, based on your reaction.”
I march over to his desk and slam down the box. The one that doesn’t have shoes in it. The one that has the gleaming silver… my face burns even just thinking of the word.
Butt plug. He’s given me a fucking butt plug. Silver, with a sparkling diamond… handle, or, whatever that part is called.
My face sizzles with heat as I glare at him over the box. Yuri grins.
“Did you try it on?”
I sneer. “Hilarious. I’m not…” I stammer. “No.”
He simply shrugs. “Yes.”
My brows shoot up. “Uh, no, I’m—”
“Yes,” he growls, standing slowly. “You are.”
My mouth purses as I simmer under his fierce gaze.
“Do you need help putting it in?”
I blush deeply. “No, because I’m not—”
“You are,” he says thinly. I tremble. He’s just said the two words without any edge or anger. And yet I know instantly it’s a command that will not be followed.
I swallow, raking my teeth over my bottom lip as I glare back at him.
“Is this some fucking power game?”
He smiles.
“And this party?” I snap.
“Neutral ground. A man both Semyon and I do business with is throwing it and would like for it to be a neutral ground where we can discuss our… arrangement.”
“You mean me,” I mutter.
Yuri’s jaw clenches. But he says nothing.
“And this?” I shove a hand at the black box on the desk. “Is this part of your fucking power game? Part of your arrangement?” I snap. “Because if you think for one fucking second that I’m going to wear that and, what, bend over for that fucking creep to—”
“I wouldn’t let him see you like that in a million fucking years,” Yuri barks, making me jump at the ferocity in his voice. His eyes blaze with heat, and I gasp as he suddenly storms around the desk towards me.
“This,” he hisses, holding up the gleaming little plug between us. “This is because I know you crave this. Because I know the idea of wearing this for me, because I have said so, makes you wet, kiska.”
I gasp when he draws close to me. His hand slips to my jaw, cupping my chin possessively as I tremble against him. His other hand drops to my hip. He traces the little plug down the side of my thigh, and my breath catches sharply.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he growls quietly.
I swallow, shaking my head.
“River,” he purrs. The hand holding the plug drags it over my hip and down the curve of my ass. It hooks under the hem of my skirt, and I shiver as he drags it up the bare skin of my ass underneath. The cool metal slips between my thighs and brushes my panties, and I can’t help it. I moan.
My face burns when I do. My eyes snap up to see him smiling hungrily, and I tremble. My lip sucks between my teeth.
I have no idea how the hell he has this power over me. But he does. And shamefully, I like it.
“I’d check,” he growls quietly. I tremble. “But we must get ready.”
He pulls the plug away from me and steps back, leaving me shaking and aching for him. For more.
“Be ready in an hour.”
I drag my teeth over my lip, glaring up at him. But the defiance I marched in here with has been replaced with something far more… sultry. Scandalous. Something that makes my core tighten and throb.
“Fine,” I murmur. But the sass is gone from my voice. Right now, all I’m doing is trying not to moan again for him.
Yuri places the plug back into the box and hands it to me. “Don’t forget this,” he growls with a smirk.
I blush when I take it and turn to leave.
“Oh, and this.”
I turn back. My face somehow learns a new level of heat when he passes me a little bottle of lube.
“You know where to find me if you need any help,” he murmurs.
I turn and all but run out of the room as my whole body burns with an aching, filthy heat.
Back in my own quarters, I stare at the little silver plug lying in its box on my bed. It’s smooth and bulbous—not too thick, but not exactly thin either. And the hilt, or whatever the hell you call that part of something like this, is glimmering with smooth, shimmering diamonds.
I mean who the fuck even makes diamond-studded butt plugs?
Slowly, I strip. My body tingles and my pulse thuds. I pick it up, holding and twisting it in my hand. Heat throbs in my core.
I pop the top on the lube, hold it up, and then drip it over the bulbous end of the plug.
I shiver, my pulse racing. I’ve never done anything even close to this. But I want to. But I’m going to.
For him.
