Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

“Is there a problem, Ms. Carson?”

The vibrations of an incoming call have my phone tap-dancing on the top of his desk loudly enough to put my teeth on edge. “Sorry.” I snatch it up and decline the call. I don’t have to look to know who it is—because it’s been ringing off the hook all weekend, as if my parents and Scummy Jefferson coordinated schedules to make sure that one of them was bothering me at all hours of the day and night.

Ruslan arches one dark eyebrow, his lips pursed. “You’ve been flustered all morning.”

Ah, yes, just what every woman wants to hear. And I thought I’d done such a great job of hiding it.

“Oh. Have I?”

“Yes.” His voice cuts like broken glass. “It’s Monday, Ms. Carson. Most people come back from the weekend with a little gas in their tanks.”

“Clearly, those people don’t have three children to deal with and a lazy freeloader eating all the snacks in the house. Do you know how important snacks are in a house with three children, Rus—Mr. Oryolov? I’ll tell you—really fucking important.”

On second thought, Ruslan might have a point about the whole “flustered” thing.

I wish I could swallow my words back. Cursing on the job, in front of my boss—my infamously vindictive, short-tempered, maybe-not-maybe-a-mob-boss boss—would normally be a shortcut to getting fired. But I’m really hoping Ruslan will go easy on me.

One, because I really did have a hellaciously stressful weekend.

Two, because I backed him up with the skeezy reporter who wanted me to turn informant for his gossip rag.

And three, because—to put it indelicately—we’re fucking.

Well, we have fucked, with more contractually-obligated sessions on the horizon. But judging from the way Ruslan is glaring at me right now, that horizon is getting further and further away.

Before Ruslan can kick me out of his office or reprimand me for using inappropriate language in the workplace, my phone starts vibrating yet again.

“I’m so sorry to take up so much of your time, Ms. Carson,” Ruslan deadpans. “I didn’t realize how busy you were today.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I mutter, trying to shut my phone up. “Ugh, how do you turn the damn vibration off?” I almost drop my phone trying to change the settings. In the end, I just shove it into the pocket of my fitted black pants. I glance up to see that Ruslan is still staring at me with those crackling amber eyes.

“If you need the services of a full-time nanny, I can make some inquiries on your behalf. You can certainly afford one now.”

It takes a few too many seconds for his offer to compute. While it does, I just blink at him. Is he really trying to be helpful? Unless of course he’s just being sarcastic and I’m so turned around that it’s going right over my head. That would make more sense.

“Um—that’s—really nice of you,” I manage to choke out. “But the kids already have a nanny. Amelia is good.”

“But she’s not full-time?”

“No, and I don’t want her to be, either.” I shift uncomfortably. “I want to be able to spend quality time with them on the weekends at least. I barely get to see them during the week.”

I have no idea what he thinks of that. His cheekbones are carved from marble. “At the expense of your own sanity—and by extension, mine?”

I clench my jaw. “I’m not stressed because of the kids. I mean, yes, the weekend was chaotic. Caroline broke a wine glass and Reagan took a marker to the walls. And something’s bothering Josh, but I have no idea what because he doesn’t—” I clam up when Ruslan’s eyebrows knit together. “Well, anyway, my point is that the kids aren’t the problem; my parents are.”

“Is that who’s been calling you?”

“Incessantly.”

Among others. I decide to leave all mention of Remmy aside. The less I think of that slimeball, the better.

For a split second, I detect the shadow of a smile on Ruslan’s face. But one blink later, he seems just as irritated as ever. “Kindly inform them that you don’t take personal calls at work. You’re excused, Ms. Carson.”

It’s a heavy-handed way of saying, ‘I don’t give a shit about your family drama; just keep it out of the office,’ but I still think I’ve gotten off easy. I’m almost at the door when he stops me.

“Oh, and Ms. Carson?”

Burying the flinch, I turn back around. “Yes?”

“Be ready at eight tonight.”

I gulp and nod. Then I levitate back to my desk.

The world seems brighter and less grim now. A visit to the penthouse is exactly what I need tonight. Between Ben and Remmy and my parents, I’m strung out. I want someone to hit my factory reset button and reboot my brain. And apparently, that button is located inside my vagina.

I glance down at my phone. Thirteen texts from Mother Dearest. Groaning, I open the thread and scroll through the messages. They’re all variations on the same old theme: Bring the kids over so that we can show them off, preferably before we die and you regret forever that you kept us from our grandchildren.

I mute the thread and put my phone away. I’ll deal with Mom and Dad tomorrow. Right now, I have sugar baby duties to prepare for.

I feel like a live wire as Ruslan and I ride the elevator up to his penthouse. It’s a totally different experience this time around. I’m not nervous; I’m not shy. What I am is ready. Ready to forget about all my problems and all my stress. Ready to lose myself in the euphoric haze of heated foreplay and sweaty sex.

Honestly? I don’t even really need the foreplay today.

All I want is to have Ruslan fuck me into oblivion, until that urgent sense of pressure in my gut is stamped out altogether. I want his cock so bad I’m actually salivating for it. I want him to give it to me hard. Fast. No holds barred.

Doesn’t seem like the feeling is mutual, though.

He’s still attached to his phone, his eyes fixated on the screen as he scrolls and scrolls. Even when the doors open, he steps out without lifting his gaze.

The sound of my heels disappears into the plush carpet. I take them off along with my coat. I hear the click as Ruslan turns his phone off and something inside me snaps. I’m not interested in playing it cool today. I’m not willing to wait around until he makes the move.

We both know what we’re here for. Why beat around the bush?

So I throw myself at him, lips landing hot against his. I didn’t expect him to kiss me the first time we did this, but once he ripped that Band-Aid off, all I’ve been able to think about since then is doing it again.

That kiss was everything.

This one is somehow more.

I don’t give him any time to react before I’m ripping at the buttons of his shirt. One flies right off and almost pops me in the face. But I’m not willing to let anything slow me down.

My hands slide down his washboard midsection while little shivers run through my body. I trace his tattoos with my fingertips. When I cup his dick through his pants and give it a squeeze, he lets out a soft growl. Then, without warning, I find myself thrown against the wall, hands pinned to the sides of my head, trapped between the wall and the heat of his skin.

“What’s gotten into you today, kiska?” His lips travel along my jaw and down towards my neck.

“The thought of you getting inside me,” I gasp. “I can’t wait today, Ruslan.”

“Hm.”

That sound…

“Fuck me,” I beg. He pushes his hips against me, his erection stabbing at my thigh. “Ahh… please… Just fuck me.”

“You want it rough today?”

He knocks my legs apart with his knee and forces himself between them. His cock is right there, pressing at my pussy through my pants.

“Y-yes,” I moan. “Oh God, yes.”

His lips slide back up to my ear. He circles my lobe with his tongue. “Dirty little kiska. You want me to fuck you like the filthy little minx you are?”

I nod frantically as my eyes roll back in my head. Is it possible to have an orgasm just from dirty talk? I’m game to find out.

His tongue sneaks into my mouth and I’m caught off-guard by how harsh it is. It’s not a kiss at all; it’s a tongue fuck. It’s him saying, You’re mine. Every inch of you, head to toe, inside and out.

My cheeks are flushed and my lips rubbed raw, but still, he demands more. He takes greedily, his tongue demanding payment, his cock threatening to rip through the crotch of my pants.

When he breaks away, I’m gasping for breath. My head is spinning so fast that if he weren’t holding me up, I’d be melted into a puddle on the floor.

He captures my gaze for a split second. Those amber eyes are ablaze. “Be careful what you wish for, little kiska.”

He pushes my hands together and pins them in place over my head. He unbuttons my pants first and then his. His palm presses firmly against my soaked panties before he spins me around and yanks them down around my thighs.

“Ruslan…” I whisper helplessly as his cock teases against my drenched pussy. The head of him parts my lips. One more tease. One more tortured moment of waiting.

Then he thrusts forward. I’m so wet that he slips inside me without any effort. My whole body bears down around him.

I asked for rough and that’s exactly what he gives me. There’s no easing into things tonight. We’ve been in the door for all of two minutes and he’s already driving into me with every ounce of force he has.

“Yes, yes!” I moan. My head keeps banging against the wall every time he thrusts into me, but I can’t feel a thing. The only thing I’m capable of feeling is his huge cock, the tension of his fingers cuffed around my wrists, the way my body fires off sparks that feel like electricity every time his hips collide with mine.

He crashes against me until my body clenches into one raw sensation. My pussy contracts violently and then it releases in a series of explosions that set my skin on fire.

“Oh, God,” I gasp, falling back against Ruslan’s shoulder.

He releases my arms and they fall limp to the sides. Then he slides his hands down towards my ass and grips me a little tighter, before hoisting me into his arms. “You have a habit of coming early, kiska. That’s going to have to stop or I’ll have to punish you.”

He carries me into the living room while my body still courses with residual shivers. “Yes,” I breathe. “Punish me.”

“Such an eager little kiska. You’ll learn soon enough not to ask for more than you can handle.”

He sets me down on the arm of his sofa. A part of me cringes at the thought of my bare butt on the cashmere upholstery, like my peasant ass doesn’t belong anywhere near furniture this expensive.

Then he tears off my blouse and all thoughts of that variety go right out of the floor-to-ceiling window.

Ruslan’s simmering amber eyes are still fixated on my swollen lips. He passes his thumb across them in one swoop, frowning intently like something about the beautiful damage he does to my body bothers him.

Then he withdraws his touch abruptly and any trace of tenderness I thought I might’ve seen in his face disappears. That snarling mask snaps back into place.

Grabbing me by the hips, he flips me facedown across the arm of the couch. Suddenly, part of me is afraid.

Be careful what you wish for, kiska.

“Ruslan?”

“Silence.”

My mouth snaps shut.

“You’ve been a bad girl.”

Tendrils of pleasure erupt inside me.

“And you know what bad girls get, don’t you?”

“Punished?”

His hand smooths over my right cheek. “They get broken.”

Thwack! I yelp when his hand makes contact with my ass. The sting makes my eyes water.

“Did that hurt, baby?”

“Y-yes.”

“But you know you deserved it. Don’t you?”

I find myself nodding. “Yes, I’m a bad girl. I need you to punish me. I want you to punish me with your dick.”

Ruslan’s dark chuckle drips of foreboding. He presses the thick head of his cock into my slit, but doesn’t actually penetrate. He’s driving me insane, one inch at a time.

Thwack!

This time, I’m a little more prepared. I jerk forward, but I don’t yelp. I’ve never felt the warm, tingling sensation of pain twisting into pleasure before now. And yet, between his large hand landing hot blows before massaging the sting into a quickly-spreading warmth and the way his thick head keeps rubbing over my clit to my ass…

I’m not just wet; I’m fucking dripping.

I bite down on my lower lip, bracing myself for more. I can’t believe I even want more, but here I am—and truth be told, I can’t believe I’m in this position at all. Quivering nerves and aching pussy all screaming for Mr. Oryolov to do whatever deliciously naughty things he wants—including spanking me until I come on command.

“Have you learned your lesson now, my little kiska?”

“Yes,” I gasp.

“Hm. I’m not so sure.”

I’m literally writhing against the sofa. The frame digs into my stomach as I struggle to maintain balance on my toes instead of collapsing onto the floor like I want to.

Thwack!

I suck in a breath and let out a low moan.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” I whimper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!”

I hear his dark chuckle again and I can feel my arousal dripping down my inner thighs. My toes curl as they try to grip the shag carpet beneath my feet and my fingers work to clutch the smooth suede of the couch cushion.

THWACK!

I gasp, but the pain lasts maybe two seconds before it’s drowned in a flood of endorphins. For a moment, I have no idea what I’m feeling. All my body and mind register is the warm sting of pain swirling with the cooling ooze of pleasure.

Oh, God—he really is gonna break me.

My eyes fly open when I suddenly feel his tongue slide up and down my slit. My knees quiver with the anticipation building between my thighs. I’ve never been eaten out from this position before. It’s primal. It’s dirty.

It’s also exactly what I need.

The moment his lips wrap around my clit and suck, my belly clenches and aches with tension. I’m so fucking close… and when his tongue flicks between the tugging of his lips, I feel myself start to tumble over that sweet, sweet edge.

“Fuck! Yes!”

“No.”

I freeze. “W-what?” I don’t even have the strength to crane my neck to the side so I can see his expression.

“Did I say you could come?”

He slaps my ass again but this time, it’s not painful; it’s simply a reminder. His tongue returns to my clit with slower, smoother strokes and I moan low, holding in breaths because I’m worried I’m going to lose control and orgasm all over his face.

Oh, wouldn’t that be a beautiful sight?

“You like that, baby?”

“Yesss,” I hiss. “Please… more…”

“Greedy little kitten.”

As his tongue swirls around my clit, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on anything else to keep from coming. Death. Taxes. The way balding old rich guys insist on maintaining that weird ring of hair around their otherwise shiny scalps.

None of it helps. Somewhere, in the midst of all these out-of-control emotions, I find a sense of self that I thought I’d lost. I’m here tonight for me and there’s no guilt attached to that realization.

“Fuck, Ruslan… please… ahh… please… I’m gonna… come…”

His mouth pulls away. But before the disappointment crystalizes, his hands grab my hips and he sinks his dick all the way inside me.

Ruslan smooths a hand along my spine as he rocks into me, making sure I feel every inch stretch me open and fill me to the brim. His fingers thread through my hair at the nape of my neck until he grabs a fistful and pulls just hard enough to make me arch deeper for him. Every thrust is timed with a tug; every resounding slap in the air is the sound of his hips connecting with my ass.

I have no idea what I’m screaming—I just know my lungs burn and my throat is hoarse.

I also know that I’m going to get the first layer of skin slapped off my ass for breaking his rules, because there’s no way I can hold the orgasm back anymore.

“Come for me, my little kiska,” Ruslan growls.

Oh, thank God.

I shudder and sob as the orgasm rips through my body. He’s close behind me, pulling me harder onto him and grinding in so fucking deep as he fills my body with his own release.

He doesn’t wait long before he pulls out of me. I collapse face-first onto the sofa. I’m not complaining; I’d gladly bury myself inside this couch if I could.

Ruslan grabs a couple of tissues from a fancy metal holder. I think he’s going to pass them to me for a second, but before I can respond, he bends down and cleans me up himself. His hands are gentle, his gaze staying fixated on his work. I just lie there in awe and let him.

Then, head still woozy, I watch as he rises back up to his full height. Even after coming, his cock is still a dangerous weapon, nearly the size of my forearm. He turns and pulls his boxer briefs back on, then walks over to the bar in the corner.

“Drink?”

It’s tempting. Especially because the offer suggests that he wants me to stay a little longer. The thing is, I feel good. Like, really good. But I don’t want to burst the bubble by overstaying my welcome. And since I’m almost certain that being kicked out again is going to bring my high crashing down, I decide to stick to my guns and leave immediately.

“No, thanks. Don’t wanna risk a hangover. I have work tomorrow and my boss can be a nightmare.”

He smirks. “Is that so?”

I nod. “But he isn’t all bad. At least he pays me well.”

“Hm. As you wish.” Ruslan gives me a little smile that makes me suddenly wish I hadn’t just turned down his offer to stay.

No. Distance is better. Distance keeps you safe.

“Goodnight, Mr. Oryolov.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

I dress quickly, cheeks burning—both sets of cheeks—then leave without looking back. On the way down in the elevator, I let out a low breath that turns into a disbelieving laugh. This whole thing still feels too surreal to be happening to me.

This time, when I pass the guard at the security desk, I give him a huge, confident smile. A smile that says, Yeah that’s right. I had hot, sweaty, nasty sex with a hot, sweaty, nasty man, but I am no one’s prostitute. I am my own woman. I protect my own heart.

And when I do leave one day—whenever that day comes—I’m going to leave Ruslan wanting more.