Dancing for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 3) by Hayley Faiman Read Free Book Online

I haven’t slept with Ryan Green or the bartender at the club, either. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t scratched an itch here and there.
    Kirill’s hand leaves the other side of my waist and travels up my thigh and my skirt, all the way to the lace of my panties. He tugs the center to the side before he slams two fingers inside of me and presses his thumb against my throbbing clit.
    “Kirill.” I gasp his name as my hands go straight into his shaggy hair. He lifts his head and his dark gray eyes focus completely on me.
    It’s frightening. He looks terrifying.
    Kirill doesn’t say a word. His hand leaves my breast and I hear his belt clink before the sound of his zipper, then a whoosh of fabric. His hand leaves my body and is replaced by one hard thrust of his dick. I gasp at the intrusion—the size of him. I had forgotten how big he is, how full he makes me feel. How utterly perfect he is.
    “Mine,” he growls as he wraps his hands around my thighs and widens my legs.
    His hips move, pumping in and out of me, his sheer strength pinning me up against the wall. I keep my hands tangled in his hair as my eyes stay completely open and trained on his. He’s expressionless, his eyes void of all emotion, and it makes me so damn sad. Kirill’s eyes always told of his feelings. He was so open with me all those years ago, even if his words didn’t express his emotions, his eyes always did.
    I yelp when his arms slide under my knees and he widens my legs even more, his hands pressing against the wall behind me and his eyes still fully focused on mine, still cold and dead. I shiver when he grinds his pelvis against me, then he stops—fully seated inside of me, his whole body freezes.
    “You belong to me, Tatyana. Your body belongs to me. Your life as you knew it is over,” he announces.
    “You cannot own me, Kirill. I am not your wife. I am not your woman,” I say in almost a whimper.
    I want him to move. I need him to move.
    “I do own you, Tati. I always have. If you run again, I will find you and I will drag you back to me. You won’t like how I do it, either,” he threatens. Considering the cold, dead look in his eyes, he is not fucking with me.
    Kirill begins fucking me with purpose, with strength, and with an abundance of power. I can do nothing but hold on and accept his brutal force. My mind is spinning and my body is climbing toward its release.
    When I come, it is massive. I cry out, screwing my eyes tightly closed as my pussy contracts around his thrusting cock. He comes a few moments later, filling me with his release after he buries his face in my neck.
    I cry.
    I’m unable to control the tears as they fall from my eyes.
    He thinks he owns me, and doesn’t he? I’m in his presence for less than an hour, and I’ve already let him fuck me. The guilt of keeping his daughter from him for nine years is so great that I fear I will let him treat me anyway he wishes. Ignoring my heart, my own feelings, and my own worth just so that he has her and they are happy.
    I have only ever wanted Kiska to be happy. I know with her father in her life, she will be. She will feel whole. I understand the desire, as my father left when I was a small child and a piece of me has been missing since.
    “Do not cry, Tatyana. I may own you, but have you ever known me to mistreat you?” he asks as he slides out of my body and gently places me on my feet. I smooth down my skirt and look up at him before I shake my head.
    “I am angry with you. I will probably be angry with you for a long while. But I will not abuse you. It isn’t me,” he announces.
    “There are different types of abuse, Kirill,” I say quietly. He nods before he pulls his pants up and puts himself back together.
    “Games are not my thing. I don’t want to trick you. You’ll be mine to fuck when I want. Kiska will be under my roof, and we’ll be the family we need to appear to be,” he says. I blink in confusion.
    “And what, exactly, are our roles