Ravaged Throne: A Russian Mafia Romance (Solovev Bratva #2)(15)

I grab her wrists again, but she doesn’t fight me this time. When I align my cock with her wet slit, she arches into me. But I'm in control now. I press her flat against the wall, hoist one leg over my hip, and thrust into her hard.

She bites down on her bottom lip, fighting a moan, but she won't be able to fight it for long. I slide out and thrust into her again and again, setting a brutal pace. I unleash all the pent-up fury and frustration I've carried over the last several months.

I release her wrists so I can pull her against me with both hands. She clings to my shoulders, fighting for purchase against my onslaught.

But there is none. I never slow.

She cries out with each thrust, her strong thighs quivering around my waist. Faster and faster, a blur of hips—and then she goes rigid. Every inch of her clamps onto me, her muscles contracting against her will.

To drive that point home, she releases a string of frustrated curses. But it doesn’t stop what is coming.

Willow comes hard on my cock with her forehead pressed to my shoulder, and it’s not a second too soon. I follow after her almost immediately, emptying into her until I’m wrung dry. I stand there five seconds longer, feeling my seed drip out of her slowly.

Then I walk her to the sofa and dump her on it unceremoniously.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, go to your room and wait.”

She stands on still-shaking legs. “I don’t take orders from anyone. Not even you, Leo Solovev. You don’t own me.”

I give her a calculated smile. “I think I just proved that I do.”





6





WILLOW





I’m going to get out of here.

I don’t know how; I don’t know when. All I know is that I can’t stay under Leo Solovev’s roof for a moment longer.

The room isn’t as large as the one I had in Anya’s mountain mansion, but it’s considerably warmer. It probably has something to do with the entire cabin being escape-proof. The windows in my room angle open, allowing a little mountain air through the top and bottom, but not much else. I certainly won’t fit.

Aside from a huge bed in the center of the room and a built-in wardrobe that spans the eastern wall, there isn’t any other furniture. But with a view like this, there isn’t much need for more decoration.

I walk over to the windows and stare at the snow-capped mountains and the pair of hawks flying low in the distance.

It strikes me that they’re not low at all. We’re just really high up.

I feel trapped. In this cabin, obviously. But also in my clothes. I pulled them back on immediately after sex, but the zipper on my pants is broken and my sweater has a rip down the side. Nothing fits right anymore.

It’s all a reminder of what I did. A decision I don’t particularly care to be confronted with.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask myself aloud.

I walk towards the wardrobe and throw the doors open. But apart from a robe, there’s nothing inside. Gritting my teeth, I pull off my clothes and discard them in the hamper in the bathroom.

I need to wash him off me. His scent clings to my skin, reminding me of how weak I am.

The shower faces the mountains. Sandblasted glass comes up to my chest before giving way to a single, unbroken clear pane. As soon as I close the door, steam clouds the view.

The water pressure feels amazing against my skin. I tip my head back and let it rinse over me. But the relief only lasts a second.

Because it’s Leo’s shower.

In Leo’s house.

And I can’t figure out how I ended up here.

How could I have so severely underestimated him? Or maybe I just overestimated myself.

I worked up to twelve hour days training with Dimitri. I felt strong and capable. I gained in both skill and confidence. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Idiot. You were stupid to think that you could best a man who came out of the womb with fight in his veins. Leo Solovev is a Bratva don. You’re just a Bratva brat.

I can hear her voice in my head. Hear exactly what she’d say to me if she could have seen my pathetic attempt at fighting Leo.

My mother is not one to mince her words. I hated that about her in the beginning, but as time passed, I grew to feel a begrudging respect for her brutal honesty.

As I turn under the shower spray, I feel tender spots on my thighs and around my wrists. Of course he left bruises. You can’t expect to spar with a man like Leo Solovev and walk away without his mark on you.

“Fool,” I whisper to the steam clouds circling over my head.

Once the calming effect of the heat begins to fade, I step out of the shower and slip on the white robe. It’s made of luxuriously soft cotton, and I squeeze my arms tightly around myself.

But comfort never lasts. I crave it—chase it, even—but the gratification is short-lived.

Kind of like the debacle that occurred downstairs.

My resolve had crumbled within seconds. He pressed himself against me, and all I wanted was to feel him inside me again.

It’s just sex, I’d told him. But with Leo, it’s never just sex.

It’s like that old quote: everything in life is about sex. Except sex—that’s about power.

I move around the room, already restless. After months of being continuously active, continuously in motion, being trapped in a room with no escape is suffocating. Correction: being trapped in this life is suffocating.