Текст книги "Pretty When You Cry "

Автор книги: Skye Warren

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The first taste is sharp and shocking, and I gasp as I swallow down the salty come. He’s doing that thing again, where he watches me fumble. I think he likes watching me be awkward and clumsy while I try to please him, fumbling around with more submission than skill.

“Is this right, Daddy?”

“You’re doing great. Lick it again.”

So I do, licking him again and again until his thighs are rock hard with tension and his cock is streaming precum. I almost can’t keep up drinking it. If this is how much he can produce before he comes, I have no idea how I’m going to swallow it all down when he finishes.

“Ahh, that’s good. Now suck me, little one. Take me in as far as you can.”

It feels natural to slide him between my lips—more natural than licking him, even. I coast along the curved edge marking the head of his cock. My tongue flicks at the slit that produces all that precum for me to drink. I can’t go very far, but he doesn’t seem to mind—for now.

I wrap my hands around his legs to support myself and give me leverage. His muscles are completely taut underneath my hands, trembling with the strain of…what? Holding back? Or giving in?

His gaze roams over me like a caress, from the crown of my head to my stretched lips to my exposed breasts. My nipples are hard under his gaze and the open air.

“I’m going to finish.” His voice sounds rough, almost pained. “You’re going to hold my come in your mouth. Don’t swallow. And don’t let any slip out. Understand?”

I nod without releasing him. It’s almost a shock when his hands close behind my head. I jerk away and then catch myself. He doesn’t reprimand me, just holds me inexorably while his hips pump faster than I had done for him.

Then his grip tightens even more, and he slides in farther than before.

His cock nudges the back of my throat, and I struggle not to gag, struggle not to fight him as he holds me in place. “Ah fuck,” he mutters between clenched teeth. “So fucking good. Hold it. Hold it in.”

Hot liquid fills my mouth, almost spilling out of my lips as his cock continues to pump in and out of me. I seal my lips as hard as I can, struggling to keep it in. The urge to swallow it is strong now that my mouth is full. It’s too full, with his come and his cock still pulsing.

As his climax fades, he relaxes back in his chair. “Perfect,” he says, sounding relaxed, almost drugged.

I make an urgent sound, still holding all of him in my mouth.

He looks at me from beneath heavy lashes. His smile is knowing and almost mischievous. “Hold it, girl. Don’t make me spank your ass tonight.”

The sound I make is pure frustration.

It only seems to please him, and he settles into the chair, leaning back, looking supremely comfortable as his cock softens in my mouth. “I know it’s hard,” he says, only sounding a little sympathetic. “But I think you can hold it. Just until I’m hard again. Once you have two loads, you can swallow.”

I know my eyes must be wide as saucers, because I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Two loads? My lips are already trembling with the effort of holding in one.

He doesn’t bother arguing the point. He just sighs with obvious pleasure and caresses the hair at my temple.

The strain of keeping all of it in my mouth, of not being able to swallow, begins to break me apart. It hurts in a way that his rough hands and hard cock couldn’t pierce me last night. I feel my will begin to wear down. I didn’t even know I’d been holding on to something stubborn, something prideful before this, but I feel it crumble now.

My own body works against me, producing saliva to combat the salty, sticky flavor of him. It only produces more liquid for me to hold. Some of it dribbles out of the side of my mouth. I must look dirty. I must look pathetic.

His expression is nothing short of admiring. “You’re beautiful like this,” he says softly.

I can only blink up at him in response. My eyes fill with tears—a physical reaction to the stress of holding my mouth like this. And an emotional reaction to the vulnerability of it. I’m subservient to him in a way I had never imagined I could be. And I realize I was wrong before, to compare him to Leader Allen. Leader Allen may have touched my body. He may have made me kneel. But he would never have dominated me like this, so intensely it feels like I’m ripping apart just to please him for one second longer.

My lower lip is trembling now, almost violently with the effort. I feel the first twitch of his cock, and I realize that it’s my strain, my suffering, that’s getting him hard again.

The first time he came was a long buildup, steady thrusts and tender touches. This time he starts fucking my mouth almost right away. His hands lock behind my head. Short, fierce thrusts take me by surprise, and I can’t keep the come inside anymore. It spills out of my lips and down my chin. I don’t have time to wipe it or even feel embarrassed because he’s going too fast. I can only kneel with my mouth open as he finishes himself off.

In the end he presses deep—deep enough that swallowing isn’t a choice. Thick, hot come pulses at the back of my throat, and I swallow to keep from choking.

He holds me that way, cradling my head until he’s finished. When he pulls away, I move to wipe my face, but he stops me with a soft negative sound. “Wait here,” he says.

He returns in a minute with a warm washcloth, which he uses on my breasts, where drops dot my skin, and on my chin. He finds a clean corner of the washcloth and presses it into my mouth. “Suck,” he says, and I suckle the fabric until warm water trickles down my throat.

Only then can I ask him the question I’ve been holding in. “Ivan…tell me you weren’t serious about visiting Leader Allen.”

Okay, so I don’t really phrase it like a question. But I need to hear him say the words. I need him to reassure me that he’ll never confront Leader Allen—especially on his home turf.

Surprise flashes over his face, followed by understanding. He crouches down so we’re at eye level—almost. “You think he’s terrorizing my club. My girls. You have to know I can’t let that stand.”

“But I thought you said it wasn’t him,” I say hopefully, knowing it’s useless.

His expression conveys disapproval. “And you said it was him. The only way we’ll know for sure is to find proof. Since whoever this is covered their tracks very well, the second-best option is to confront him.”

“You can’t—” I struggle for how to say this. “You can’t go there. You can’t trust him. He’ll hurt you.”

That amuses him. “No, little one. That’s not how this will go down.”

“You don’t know him like I do. You don’t know what he’s capable of. People disappear there. Not just girls like me. Grown men. Strong men, gone without a trace.”

His amusement fades. “All the more reason he should be stopped.”

That makes me smile a little. “I didn’t realize you were a vigilante.”

Ivan cups the back of my neck and presses our foreheads together. “He scared you. That’s enough reason for me to kill him without any remorse.”

I twist my hands together on my knees. “You can’t.”

An eyebrow rises. “No?”

“My mother…she loves him.” No, that’s not the right word. “She worships him.” I may have a fucked-up relationship with her—or no relationship, really. But even so, I don’t want to do that to her.

Ivan frowns. “I can’t promise what will happen. If it turns out he’s responsible…”

“Maybe I could come with you. If there’s trouble, I could get her out.” The thought of seeing her after all these years makes my heart pound.

“No,” he says immediately. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You just said it would be fine,” I protest.

“For me. I’m not afraid of him. I know his kind. I understand him.”

“Because you’re a monster too?”

“Yes. And because we both wanted the same girl. The difference is, I have her. Parading you in front of him will only make him want to come after you, even if he wasn’t the perpetrator before. I can protect you, but I don’t need any more religious nut jobs fucking with my club.”

Okay, he has a good point. Still… “They won’t even let you onto Harmony Hills without permission. Or an escort. There are armed guards at the entry points.”

“How is this convincing me to bring you?”

I hesitate, struggling with a truth I didn’t want to admit to myself. “And besides, I really would like to see my mother. One last time. Just to make sure she’s okay. I always had to resign myself to never seeing her again, because I knew that if I went back, I’d never leave alive. But now…”

His eyes are solemn. “I’ll be sure to see her. I’ll offer that she can come with me, to visit you if nothing else. But you have to understand, I meant what I said. You won’t be coming with me. Until this person is found and dealt with, you won’t be leaving at all.”

Chapter Nineteen

I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. This time when I leave, I make sure Ivan is at some important meeting and his guard dog has the night off. There’s a guy watching me in the car across the street, but it’s easy enough to go through my bedroom routine backlit by the lamp. I know he’s watching me, and I give him a little show—it’s only shadows, after all.

And I’m not going to do anything as predictable as hitch a ride. No, that was too easy. He found me the first time, and he’d only find me faster the second. Besides, getting out of the city is nearly impossible. I don’t want to involve Clara again, especially since he’d look to her first. And half the cab drivers in the city are in Ivan’s pocket.

I need to think unconventional. I need to think strategy.

So I sneak to the nearest gas station and put in a call to Fedor Markoff, otherwise known as Ivan’s biggest competitor. He runs a series of underground gambling casinos. I met him during my party days—or rather, party nights. He took an interest in me because of my connection to Ivan.

He’s a total prick, which means he’ll enjoy pulling one over on Ivan.

I have to go through three representatives before I reach him. “Candy! Have you finally decided to dump that miserable bastard and come work for me?”

Yup, total prick. “Actually I was hoping we could do a little business.”

He laughs. “And what is it you want?”

“A ride.” I manage to project the casual, confident tones that will keep him interested. Desperation would be an instant turnoff. And I am desperate. “A ride on one of your gambling riverboats.”

If I can’t leave by ground transportation, I’ll go by water.

“You’ve been on the riverboats before, sweet. What’s different about now?”

“I want to get dropped off on the other side.”

“Ah. And why would I do that?”

“Because you want to fuck with Ivan. He’s already dragged me back once. He’ll be very pissed once he finds out I’ve slipped through his fingers.”

“You intrigue me. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what he’s done to anger you?”

He hasn’t done anything but be himself. Dominant and remote and just the right touch of humiliating. I find everything about him sexy, but nothing about him warm. “Do we have a deal?”

“Well, now. Perhaps I will be satisfied to know he’s lost something important to him, but how will he know that I was the one responsible?”

I have to roll my eyes. “I’m sure you can work it into a conversation. But later. If he finds me, it defeats the purpose—and you won’t have fucked with him at all.”

Fedor is quiet a long moment, and I wonder if he thinks it’s too much trouble just to mess with Ivan. Gambling is technically allowed on the river, unlike the underground casinos. But other things happen on the boats—drugs, prostitution. Naturally, there’s a stripper pole. So they don’t like to dock more than they have to. It leaves them more vulnerable to getting raided.

“The boat called Divina. Do you know it?”

“Yes.” Everyone knows it. The Divina is his flagship riverboat, complete with suite-like guest rooms and gourmet dining. He actually stole the chef from a Michelin-starred restaurant in downtown Tanglewood. And when I say stole, I mean that somewhat literally. The man was deep in gambling debts, and Fedor made it clear how he would pay.

“Be there in thirty minutes, sweet.”

I put the pay phone back on the hook, trying to ignore the sick sensation in my gut. Ivan might eventually pull the records for this phone, but by the time he gets this far, I’ll be long gone.

No matter how much I want to, I can’t pretend I’m happy about that. I want Ivan. I love Ivan, but I can’t be his little girl forever.

That’s all I’ll ever be to him. I know that now.

After that blowjob. Good girls always swallow.

And after him telling me no to going home again, even just to say goodbye. He’ll always see me as someone to be sheltered—and someone to be fucked.

I can’t be his whore either, the woman he keeps in a side room, convenient when he wants to fuck. That’s all my mother was, and I swore to myself I would never do it. I would rather dance for a hundred men and be my own woman than belong to anyone.

Chapter Twenty

The thing about riverboats, especially one as large as the Divina, is that they’re basically floating buildings. They’re huge, so the motion of the water is minimal. There are glamorous rooms for dining and gambling and fucking. And there are back rooms for sleeping it off.

Fedor greets me with a distracted, “There you are. Downstairs, quickly now. We’re pushing off soon.”

I don’t fault him for being distracted. I’m surprised he met me personally at all. Nervousness twists my stomach. Can I trust him? No, that’s a silly question. Of course I can’t trust him. All I can trust is his animosity toward Ivan, which is all-encompassing and universal. He’s always doing things to fuck with Ivan, things like stealing away key employees or encroaching on his turf, and this will be no different.

I get a few strange looks because I’m in street clothes. A pink polka-dot ruffled tank top and cutoff jean shorts. My sandals have rhinestones on them. So I might stand out from the glittering jewels and ball gowns. But even if I were dressed right, I have no desire to gamble. I definitely have no desire to strip. In fact the only thing I want…

The only thing I want is Ivan.

That is the sad truth. I pass by a wall made of mirrors and see myself walking by. I look…young. Is that why he calls me his little girl? But I am a woman. I have the breasts and the ass to prove it. And what’s more, I know how to use them. No matter what I do it’s never enough.

I’ll always be a little girl to him.

I cross my arms as if they can be a shield against these people. Against myself. I don’t want to see what I look like. I don’t want to see how young I look—because I am young, compared to these people. Compared to how I think of myself. I’m nineteen, significantly younger than Ivan. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t take me seriously. Maybe that’s why he can never see me as his equal.

Instead of remaining in the front rooms, I check in with the concierge to claim an empty back room. I can stay here until we reach the other side. I lie down on the bed and drift off to the faint rhythm of the river, dreaming of blood and poles and gray eyes.

A knock at the door startles me awake.

I reach for the door. “Is it time to go—”

My question gets caught in my throat as I look into the gray eyes of my dream.

“Where were you planning on going?” Ivan asks.

Oh shit. “What? How did you…?”

He gives me a dark look, pushing his way into the room and locking the door behind him. I can’t help but swallow hard, fear and anticipation warring in my chest. He found me, again. He’s going to punish me. God help me, the first feeling I have is relief.

“Fedor wants to fuck with me,” Ivan bites out, his tone making it clear that Fedor relayed our entire conversation. “But he doesn’t want to start a fucking war. He’s not stupid. He knows that if he helped you get away, I would never rest until there was nothing left of him.”

I shiver at the certainty in his voice. “But…why?”

“Why?” Ivan’s laugh is a cold, hard sound. “Fuck if I know why, little girl. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. Except I can’t seem to let you go.”

You’re more trouble than you’re worth. The words bang around in my head, an echo of everything I ever heard as a child. “I want to leave,” I say, backing up. “You can’t keep me against my will.”

His expression is unforgiving. “Watch me.”

I close my eyes, feeling hot tears of frustration slide down my cheeks. “Stop it, Ivan.”

He crosses to me in long strides, taking me by the back of the neck. His touch is not painful, but it is firm. “I’m not going to stop. Not until you’re begging me. Not until you’re so wrapped up you never even think about leaving me again.”

I stare into those pale eyes, wondering at the depth in them. Wondering at the heat.

Before I can figure anything out, he gives me a rough shove toward the bed. “Strip,” he says.

This is familiar ground. And so I walk this ground with a strut, giving him a little show as I tease down the shorts and my lacy tank top. You’d think a man would get bored with having seen my body—any woman’s body—so many times. But the repeat customers at the Grand prove otherwise. As do the icy flames in Ivan’s eyes.

“On the bed.” His voice is guttural now. He’s really pissed, and he’s going to fuck me to show just how much. I’m a little nervous. After all, I remember from my first time how much it can hurt. But I want this too, because it means he cares. Doesn’t it? Or maybe that’s just what my mother told herself every time she went to pray.

Subdued, I scoot back on the bed and wait for further instructions.

When he comes close, he puts his hand on the crown of my head. It feels like a benediction, even as I can sense the fury rolling off him in waves. “You keep leaving,” he mutters. “What is it you hope to find?”

I know what he wants. He wants me to give him something specific, something material. Buy me a pony and I’ll stay your docile little girl forever. Except I can’t be that docile little girl. And the more he pushes me to stay that way, the more I sink comfortably into the role, the more sure I am that I will have to leave. A man as powerful as Ivan isn’t easy to trick, but one of these days he won’t be looking—and on that day I’ll leave. And I can’t deny, as I look into his eyes, that I will forever be sad when he doesn’t follow me.

Two fingers tap my thighs. “Open.”

I tremble, spreading wide. “What are you going to do?”

Though the answer seems obvious. He’s going to fuck me, and it’s going to hurt.

And it seems like that’s what will happen when he answers, “I’m going to give you what you deserve, little one.”

He climbs onto the bed between my thighs. He’s still fully clothed, with his dress shirt and jacket—and his pants completely buttoned. Then he bends down and licks my pussy. I almost shoot off the bed in shock. My body was bracing for pain, but it can’t handle this pleasure. I would probably roll right off the bed, but Ivan’s hands catch me and hold me down.

He licks my clit until I’m panting—and he’s panting too. I can feel his hot breaths against my clit between the tender, tortuous licks.

“Ivan,” I whimper. “Please.”

His eyes meet mine across my body. Then he’s—thank God—tearing off his jacket, his shirt. He’s undoing his pants. I only have a second to take in his strong body, his terrible scars, and then he’s on top of me, inside of me.

His cock doesn’t hurt like before. It’s still an invasion, a fullness, a stretch. But without that biting, lingering pain. And I realize now that he’d been holding back, to an extent. I realize it because he doesn’t hold back now. He pounds into me, fucking me with everything he has.

He’s fucking me for his pleasure, not mine. I’m not sure how I know that. Something about the rhythm of it. Or maybe the way his eyes are closed, focused on the sensation in his cock instead of how I’m feeling. It makes me hot to think of the pleasure I’m giving him, makes me hot to be used like an object to get him off. My pussy is pulsing with it, but it’s not enough to come.

Ivan stiffens, and I know he’s coming inside me. His face is beautiful like this, carnal and raw. He looks like an avenging angel, and I push my hips into him, giving him a final squeeze. He gasps and bucks one last time.

Then he pushes off me, rolls over so he’s facing away, and pulls up the sheet. “Good night,” he says, still breathless.

For a minute I can only lie there, legs still spread, pussy still hot with arousal.

Then I sit up. “What?”

He sounds both amused and tired. “Go to sleep, Candy. We’re staying the night.”

“I don’t mind staying the night. I mind…I mind you leaving me like this!”

He looks at me over his shoulder, expression appreciative. “It wouldn’t be a punishment if you liked it.”

I should be pissed, but instead I just feel desperate and horny and deeply regretful. “Please, Ivan. Please…Daddy. I’m sorry I ran away. I won’t do it again.”

His eyebrows lower. “Don’t lie to me, little one.”

I drop my gaze, because we both know I can’t promise that. “Please let me come. I…I need to. It hurts in my private place.”

“Show me,” he says softly.

I put my hand over my pussy and give him my most sorrowful expression. I don’t have to fake it at all, because I feel sorrowful. I can’t believe I hurt him that way. And I can’t believe how turned on it made me to have him use me with no thought to my pleasure.

With a sigh, he sits up and puts a pillow in the middle of the bed. Then he arranges my body, without asking me, so I’m on my hands and knees, the pillow underneath me. For a second I think he’s going to fuck me again, from behind this time, and the pillow is for support.

Then he gives me a cruel smile. “You want to come so bad? This is how bad girls come.”

I blink at my position. “What…?”

He slaps my ass. “Move your hips. You know how.”

The impact of his hand goes straight to my pussy, and I do rock my hips against the pillow. Humiliation burns my cheeks as I realize how I must look, humping a pillow in the bed. The worst part is, I could have just gone to sleep. If I wasn’t so turned on by this, I wouldn’t have to do it. It’s my own desire that has trapped me here, fucking this pillow, struggling to get friction from the soft sheets. I have to press down hard to get enough—hard and fast. My cheeks must be red with how embarrassed I feel, but somehow that only makes me hotter. Ivan watches me struggle with my arousal, with my humiliation, offering nothing more than a small, pleased smile and a stroke of my thigh.

When I come, my pussy feels rubbed raw. It feels less like pleasure and more like an end to the pain.

But something is different, because when I collapse onto the sheets, exhausted and wet, Ivan pulls me against him. He doesn’t turn his back on me this time. His arm is supporting my head, and my hand is stroking his chest.

For a few minutes I let myself drowse like this, content despite the indignity of how I came.

Or because of it.

Then the texture of his scars underneath my fingertips becomes too much to ignore. “Who did this to you?” I whisper.

He tenses, and I know I’ve ruined it. He’ll push me away. Maybe he’ll even leave the riverboat.

Maybe he’ll leave me on it.

Except then he does what I least expect. He answers me. “I lived with my father. My mother was… not in the picture. My father, he wasn’t always around either. He left often, for long periods, drinking binges and gambling, shacking up with someone. It was always a relief when he was gone.”

My hand tightens into a fist, and I have to force myself to relax, to stroke him again. Ivan has always been like a force of nature to me. The thought of him as a young boy—vulnerable, hurt—makes me want to punch something.

“It was my grandmother who raised me. It was her house we lived in. She did her best, but she had a soft spot for her son.” He laughs abruptly. “More like a blind eye.”

I flinch.

“When I was eight, he left for the last time. To this day I don’t know what happened to him. I’m assuming he died soon after that, because there was no trace.”

My heart aches to imagine a young Ivan not knowing where his father was, even after what had been done to him. Love can survive in the darkest, coldest places. I know that as well as anyone.

“I stayed with my grandmother for a while. Her house, the land… it’s a beautiful place. Peaceful. But I was wild. Violent. I fought with everyone I met. She was very old, and my presence only made her life harder. I knew that even then, so I came to the city.”

“On your own?”

“I was fourteen.”

A year younger than I was when I came to Tanglewood. I’d been a child then, and he’d taken me in. He’d taken care of me. “Who took care of you?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head, impatient. “I knew enough about the foster care system to know I didn’t want to be in it. Some people I knew from school were in it, and their stories reminded me of what it had been like before my father left. So I lived on the streets for a while.”

I make a rough sound, and he shushes me. “It wasn’t bad. Really, it wasn’t. During that time is when I learned how to deal with people from all walks of life. It’s when I learned to love this city, for all its darkness.”

I kiss one of his scars, closest to me. A low rumble comes from his chest, and it’s another minute before he continues.

“I tried to stay away from adults as much as possible, unless they also lived on the streets. But one day I was too cold and too hungry. I had heard about a shelter in a church. I went there because I thought…I thought they might not turn me in to the authorities.” Ivan’s voice is completely even, almost mechanical, and that’s how I know how much this costs him. “And I was right. Father Michael didn’t turn me over to the authorities. He kept me there for three years.”

In the absolute flatness of that final sentence, I know exactly what happened in those three years. I know exactly how Ivan became the hard man he is today. His father may have left scars on the outside, but someone else left scars on the inside.

And I know that he understands exactly why I had to leave Harmony Hills, more than anyone else ever could. He understands what came after.

We were both born to a different world, one both simple and cruel.

That world spat us out, leaving us to find out own way among the thorns and brush of the city. Ivan had fought with fists and a cold-hearted determination.

I had fought with my body. With sex.

Where does that leave us? Both of us are broken, in our own ways.

Both of us are longing for home.