Cruel Enforcer by Maggie Cole

11

Kora

Curiosity lacedwith arousal and fear takes over. I've never done anything like this. I'm not sure what Sergey will do to me or what I agreed to. Something pulls me to him. He's iron. I'm the magnet, unable to stop myself from wanting and needing him. It's not the fear of the unknown racing through my blood. It's the possibility I may say stop and not have whatever this is again. I saw and heard the finality in his voice. He's not threatening. His requirement for me to submit to him isn't something he will bend on. If I don't, my instinct tells me it will be over between us.

Desperation to please him and keep him wars with my normal stance to be the one in control. I'm not used to feeling like I have to keep a man. There are other men I liked. When things ended between us, I was disappointed, but everything about Sergey is different. Every touch he gives me lights a need within me I didn't know I had. I've not even had him yet, and the craving for all of him is so intense, I've never felt so desperate for someone. It confuses me.

What am I doing?

This isn't like me.

Nothing felt right in the past. This does. How can it be?

It's him. He feels right.

I haven't smoked weed in years. It's something I stay away from most of the time. There's always so much work to do. If I indulge, I relax and can't concentrate on my work. But when Sergey offers me his bowl, I don't hesitate. I need to turn off my mind and obey his every command without analyzing things. The combination of the tequila shot and weed hits me. I lose my inhibitions and forget I'm Kora Kilborn. I stop thinking about how he's a man who has violent tendencies, possible ties to the mob, and how I shouldn't be here with him. I allow the essence of the dungeon and all it may represent to swallow me whole.

The voice in my head that is always in charge tells me to run, but a new woman fights her and wins. She shuts my bossy self up and takes over.

Naked, I drop to my knees, automatically focusing on his feet. I'm unsure why I do. I've never submitted to anyone before to know the protocol.

Sergey steps forward and tilts my chin up. The heady scents of sandalwood, lemons, and weed intoxicate me further. His eyes flare with power and sin, but there's a calmness I didn't expect to see. I assumed a man in his position would have agitation in his expression. The depth of his composure is striking. It's something beyond what you get from a hit of weed or alcohol. Only experience can produce the level of serenity he displays.

It gives me confidence in him and the power I'm handing over to him.

His thumb brushes my lips. "When we leave here, don't forget you belong to me."

"You're the one who left me in the dark and ignored me last time," I remind him.

His face hardens. "Kora—"

I put my hands in the air. "Hey, you brought it up!"

He releases a breath, tilts his head, then traces my cheekbone. "I won't ever make that mistake again. I need your full trust from here on out."

"What are you—"

"Shh." He puts his fingers over my mouth. "Do you trust me, or should we stop?"

I don't answer. His words make me wonder what I'm getting involved in.

He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. His eyes turn to slits. "I think we should go."

"I do trust you," I blurt out.

I shouldn't. He's a bad man in so many ways, with good sprinkled around the corners. It's the crumbs of his goodness I'm betting on won't allow anything horrible to happen to me.

He sniffs hard through his nose then slowly releases it. He studies me until I'm uncomfortable.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"A sculptor could have created your face." He traces my cheek and jawbone. "I do have one question for you."

"What?"

He leans down to my ear. "What's a beautiful, successful woman like you doing here with someone like me?"

The air becomes thick in my lungs. I freeze, unsure how to answer him.

"I know you see the devil in me. Why aren't you running?"

I stay silent.

"Look at me," he growls.

I meet his eyes, and he pins his steely gaze on me. "When the time comes, and the fear inside you grows, remember the devil is on your side. His obsession with you isn't going to wither. It doesn't die unless you cross him. It grows more powerful with time, and when you give in to his temptation, he will reward you in ways you didn't anticipate."

A nervous flutter increases in my gut. I bite my lip.

"Ah. There it is."

"What?"

The corners of his lips turn up. If fire erupted behind him, I might think he is Satan himself. It ignites a strange feeling inside me. I'm not sure what to make of it. My conscience says to run, but an overpowering sense I need to make him mine consumes me.

He pulls me up and guides me to the wall so I'm looking at the iron. He positions me so my face is against the metal opening. "Don't move." He slides his fingers over the sides of my breasts. He steps back. The sound of metal hitting the floor echoes in my ear.

My heart pounds faster. I concentrate on my breathing, staring at the dark wall.

He steps against me, skin to skin, with his warm, hard frame and erection pressing into me.

I whimper from the force of the hum in my blood accelerating. I move my hands to touch him, but he stops me and stretches my arms as far away from me as possible, with his over them. His hot breath hits my ear, and I shudder. His deep voice murmurs, "Have you ever not had the ability to grasp anything?"

"No."

His dick pulses against my spine. His middle finger strokes over mine. "Have you ever not been able to talk?"

I swallow hard. "No."

"Have you ever allowed someone to manipulate your body so you have no control over it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I-I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Tell me. Admit to me why you're letting me do this but no one else." His tongue slides behind my ear, and he flicks it on my lobe.

I squirm between the iron and him.

He demands, "Don't overthink it. Tell me, lapa."

It rolls out of my mouth. "I want you. So badly."

He groans. "Close your eyes."

I obey even though he can't see me.

He speaks Russian, between kissing and biting the curve of my neck, pulling my hands higher until they are flat against cold metal. He splays his hands over mine then takes his foot and moves my ankles farther apart, until I'm slightly uncomfortable and don't want to stretch any farther.

I gasp.

He swiftly clasps something around my wrists, and another piece of cold metal replaces where his hands were, taking away my ability to move my fingers. I'm the filling in a sandwich, and my pulse beats harder with anxiety.

Tingles of fire erupt from where his fingertips and lips caress me, slowly moving over my spine and sides of my torso to my right leg. He restrains my ankle, moves back up my leg, pausing over my ass, and inhaling. A soft groan echoes in my ears then he continues to torment my left leg until he locks the cuff around it.

The air hits my skin. My breath calms as I get used to the position he locked me in. The music changes. The sound of whines and cries fills the room.

He's listening to Afghan Whigs?

I got into the band when I was in college. Most people haven't heard of them. It was the first time I heard anything that wasn't hip-hop or pop. The gritty voice of the singer rings in my ears.

"Sweet Son of a Bitch" plays and moves into "66." Sergey steps behind me and slides something smooth over my pussy, rolling it on my clit, then dipping it in and out of me, twirling it against my walls.

Heat flies through me. I arch into the iron but can't go very far. I'm too tightly restrained.

He reaches around the iron. His forearm slides on my nipple while his fingers twist my other one. Whatever he has in his other hand, he pulls out of me and slowly circles it on my clit.

"Oh God," I whisper, already shaking, wanting to grip anything but unable to bend my fingers.

"Relax, my little lapa. Don't fight what you can't win."

"Sergey," I whisper, on the verge of falling but not only over the cliff of pleasure but into whatever he and this world of his represents.

His lips are sparks on my neck. "Good girls get rewarded," he reminds me, removes whatever was in my lower body, then slides his arm up. He sticks his hand through the iron and pushes it into my mouth. "Suck."

I obey. Sugar and my salty arousal mix on my tongue. A strap tightens against my cheeks.

He gagged me.

Something about it freaks me out. I begin to panic, but I can barely budge an inch.

Sergey's hand palms the back of my head. He barks, "Stop moving and be quiet."

I still.

He lowers his voice, and his warm torso covers my back, calming me. "Do you taste how fucking sweet you are?"

I stay silent, not sure how to respond.

He tugs my hair, and my face comes away from the iron enough to see him in my peripheral vision. His lips move to my cheek. "This is what I thought about all day. My mouth on your sweet, throbbing pussy."

Every part of my body pulses, remembering how he drove me to insanity the last time he took control of me.

He repositions my head against the iron, drags his hand through the metal, and fingers me, putting me back on the peak of the mountain, ready to fall. "You'll suck all of it until it's gone. Otherwise, we'll stop. Do you want me to stop?" His hand freezes.

I can't speak, so I stay silent, continuing to hold the sucker in my mouth so I don't drool. I couldn't release it if I tried anyway. It's securely fastened. Something about not letting anything escape out of my mouth becomes a challenge.

He moves his hand again, and I moan. He stops. "I assume you want me to keep going?"

I whimper, desperate for him to continue.

"Good girl." He slowly resumes his movement, never letting me come, torturing me until my skin is slick with sweat.

He palms my sex and slaps my ass. It's hard. Then he slides his fingers back in me and rubs the sting on my cheek. He pinches my nipple until it's painful while shimmying his forearm against my other. Then he switches his hands and repeats the process, creating a new sensation in my tender breast.

I love and hate him all at once. It's cruel then almost pleasurable until he continues to refuse to send me soaring. I don't understand why he's keeping me this way. His erection is hard as steel against my spine. I'm shaking when the gag falls out of my mouth from sucking it down to nothing. "Please...oh...please," my raspy voice cries out in a desperate voice I've never heard before.

He groans and sniffs the crook of my neck. "I'm so hard for you, Kora."

"Please, Sergey," I beg.

"Surrender to me, lapa."

"I am… I have."

"You haven't."

"Please," I try again, not sure what else I'm supposed to do.

"When I slide my cock in your tight, pretty cunt, I want you as mine, Kora."

"I am...please."

His lips hit my ear. "You're still fighting me, my lapa."

"How," I whimper. "Tell me."

A new song comes on. It's something about the devil and sin. He takes some sort of tool, and little electric jolts prick my spine. Tears begin to stream down my cheeks. It's too intense, yet I miss it when he removes it.

"You can tell me to stop," he suggests, as if to test me.

For a sliver of a second, I consider it. "Don't stop. Please, I need you."

He tugs my hair again. "Is it just my cock you need, Kora? Hmm?" he quietly says, studying my eyes.

My thoughts aren't logical at this point. I hardly know the man. I should stay away from him, but every cell in my body craves him. "No. I need all of you. Please."

He speaks in Russian, speeds up his fingers, and puts the tool on my belly button.

"I can't...oh fuck!" I scream as an intense surge of endorphins explodes through my body. It's a strange thing, not being able to move. Spasms filled with adrenaline consume every fiber of my being. When I cross the line and fully surrender, I realize how much I didn't understand. It becomes clear why Sergey tortured me like this.

The high is more powerful than anything I've ever experienced. It goes on and on. He continues to keep his arms wrapped around me. The tool falls out of his hands. He manipulates my breasts and sex while growling Russian in my ear.

I don't know what he says. I have no control over anything. The power of his body against mine, wrapped around me, is the safest I've ever felt— even during the hurricane of intense pleasure that's so excruciatingly good, it might destroy me.

The instant it's over, he unlocks my wrists and ankles. He spins me so my back is against the iron then reattaches my wrists and sandwiches them with metal again.

It happens quickly. He drops to his knees and throws my thighs over his shoulders then devours me with his mouth.

I'm sensitive from everything he already did. The instant his tongue and lips hit me, the tremors reignite. My cries compete with the music. I surrender to him and every sensation he gives me.

He slowly rises to his feet, sliding along my shaking body on his way, then ravishes my mouth with the same intensity he just bestowed upon my pussy. His hands glide up my arms, and he releases them. They fall over his shoulders, limp and exhausted.

He circles his arms around me and carries me to a bed I didn't even know was in the room.

I sink into the mattress, my skin humming against his, new need racing through my veins.

The head of his cock presses into me. It's warm and wet, and I spread my legs wider.

"Are you on the pill?" he murmurs between kisses.

I barely come up for air. "Yes."

He freezes, and his gaze pierces mine. "I'm clean. Do you want me to get a condom?"

"No. I'm yours." Not once in my entire life have I ever told a man not to wear a condom. The need to not have anything between us digs into my soul.

He doesn't wait. He thrusts his hips, and I cry out.

"Shhh." He strokes my damp hair. He speaks in Russian and begins moving.

Holy shit...oh God...

He's not all the way in, and I'm clenching against him. The girth of him feels as if he might split me in two.

"Relax, my lapa." He takes my wrists, puts them over my head, then pins them with one hand. His other arm slides under me, and he palms my head.

The weight of his body is heaven. I'm used to being on top. The men I'm with usually want me to ride them. I like it, but this feels incredible. He's a blanket of zings, and I want him to stay wrapped around me forever.

He thrusts harder, inching deeper and deeper in me until our hip bones meet. Our chests heave against one another. He retreats from kissing me and pauses, letting me adjust to all of him. His eyes study me. "No more pain tonight. Relax so I can take care of you."

I'm not sure how to take what he means, but I don't respond or argue. I surrender fully to him.

"Good girl," he praises then pushes my arms tauter, returns to kissing me, and thrusts in and out of me, faster and faster.

My moans become too loud to silence. He buries his face in my neck and grunts while sucking on my skin. He slides his other hand up my arm then laces his fingers through mine, resting them on the bed next to my head.

The warmth of his skin creates torturous friction on my walls. He pounds harder, and I spiral. A new type of high pulses within me. Fluids soak the sheets. I continue quivering. He says something else in Russian. His erection pumps hard in me, spurting his hot seed deep, and I soar once more. A low, throaty groan escapes him.

In our aftermath, he lies on top of me. His chest heaves against mine. His hot breath in the curve of my neck gives me goose bumps. I shudder under him, trying to understand everything he just did to me.

He lifts his head, releases his hands from mine, then rolls off me.

Did I seriously tell him not to use a condom?

What was I thinking?

Our fluids soak the mattress. Everything is wet and sticky, and I slowly sit up. I focus on the mess we made and then turn. "Sergey."

He raises his eyebrows.

"I haven't ever…umm..." I swallow hard.

He closes his eyes. "Please don't tell me I made you feel cheap again."

"No. That's not it."

His eyes open. "Then what is it?"

"I've always used a condom. You're clean though? You've had a test?"

Anger fills his face. "You think I would lie to you about that?"

"No. I just..." I put my hand on my stomach. I flip it on him. "Why didn't you ask me if I was clean?"

"If you had something, I trust you would tell me so we could talk about it."

"You're right. I would, but I don't."

"Yeah. That's the difference between you and me. I already know you would."

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, turning away from me. His back is an artwork of tattoos. I've never seen anything like it. Even in the dark, its brilliance is stunning.

I crawl on my knees, press my body to his back, and put my arms around him. "I'm sorry."

He freezes, as if something is wrong, then puts his hands over my arms, gripping tightly. He turns. "I would never hurt you or do something to damage you, Kora."

"I know. I'm sorry. I had a freak-out moment. You know I'm a control freak, right?" I tease.

His lips twitch. "Not always."

"So you forgive me then?"

He reaches around me and rises, holding the side of my hips. "Yep. I think it's time to show you what a real shower is like."

"There's a shower here?"

"Mmhmm." He glances back, drilling his eyes into mine. "Do you still trust me?"

"Yes."

"Good. You'll get rewarded, then."