Oops. How clumsy of me.
Her lips turn up in a twisted, furious smile. “If I want to get off,” she says slowly, “I can handle that myself.”
Then her fingers curl around the edges of her shirt and she pulls it up and over her head. The bra she’s wearing underneath is red and lacy. She discards it unceremoniously. Her breasts spill out, and I admire the soft swells.
She unzips her pants and pulls them down her legs. Once they’re off, she kicks them to the side. The panties she’s wearing aren’t modest like I’m expecting. They match her bra. Red, lacy, and just sheer enough that I can see the milkiness of her skin through the fabric. She pulls them off too and flings them onto the window seat behind her.
I stay where I am. How far is she willing to take this?
She walks to the bed and sits down on the edge of the mattress. She leans back, affording me an uninterrupted view of her tight little pussy.
Jesus…
Willow parts her legs slowly. And with her eyes trained on me, she raises her fingers to her mouth and starts sucking them off. My cock hardens to rock. I know she can see my erection straining against my pants.
She sucks her fingers, then trails them down between her breasts until she reaches her clit. A soft moan escapes her lips as she parts her legs a little wider and runs her wet fingertips up and down her slit.
I stand still. I’m entranced, completely taken up by the confidence in her gaze. The thought of watching her make herself come is too tempting to miss.
So I stand there and watch.
She plays with herself for a few moments, her eyelashes fluttering deliberately. Then she slips her fingers inside of herself.
“Ahh…”
The moan is soft, but it travels through me, giving my dick another reason to strain against my pants. She pushes two fingers inside to the knuckle.
Her breasts tremble with every movement, and I run my tongue over my lips, imagining myself sucking them while she bucks against her own hand.
She picks up speed. Her whole body trembles with it, faster and harder, until she falls back onto the soft mattress and arches her back and cries out a whimper that makes my cock throb.
She isn’t a good enough actor to fake this. It’s real.
As her eyes lock on mine, I realize that she isn’t just getting off on the power play here. She’s getting off on me. Her eyes never waver from mine as the orgasm rocks through her body. I’m as much a tool in her pleasure as her fingers were.
Then it’s over. She rocks back and falls limp on the bed. Her breasts rise and fall with her breathing, and I resist the urge to touch them. To touch her.
Everything about that was sexy. Even her desire to make me suffer.
Maybe there’s more Bratva in the little kukolka than anyone realized.
Including me.
When she’s caught her breath, she sits up and licks the juices off her fingers. Her eyes find mine.
“See?” she says, releasing her fingers from her mouth with a pop. “I don’t need you to get off.”
Then she saunters over to the sofa. She slinks onto it, still naked, pulls a sheet over her body and pretends like she’s no longer aware of my presence.
But this time, I know she’s faking.
17
WILLOW
MONTHS AGO—ANYA’S MOUNTAIN RETREAT
“Tell me about my father.”
“What do you want to know?” She has this way of looking at me where I swear she isn’t blinking. Paired with the piercing blue of her irises, it’s unsettling.
“What’s his name?”
She looks out towards her garden, if you can even call it that. The trees are brittle and covered in snow and the pathways are naked on both sides. It makes the place feel sterile, but I feel like that was an intentional choice. It reflects the woman who made it.
“Mattias Coltrane,” she says.
“Mattias,” I repeat, trying to let his name sit on my tongue for a few moments. I expect to feel something. But nothing comes. “Did you love him?”
She frowns, as though she’s disappointed I even asked. “Love? I was so fucking young. Who knows what I really felt? But at the time, I suppose I thought I loved him.”
My hands are resting on my belly. I’ve gotten so big that I can barely see my feet, even though I’m lying down. I really want to be able to change position, but I doubt Anya will be of any real help. It’s either wait for the nurse or fend for myself.
“Who was he?”
“He was one of your grandfather’s Vors,” she explains. “Although maybe calling him a Vor is overstating things a little. He didn’t have the mark yet. But he was on his way to getting one. A rising star within the Bratva; that was what I heard. That’s what made me pay attention.”