She reached out for the T-shirt Ash had been wearing and pulled it over her head. It swam on her, reaching midway down her thighs. She pulled on her boots, snatched up her phone again and stomped back into the kitchen where Bane greeted her excitedly. She patted his head absently as she headed for the front door. Boris was waiting for her next to one of a fleet of her brother's tastefully armoured cars. She dialled her brother while making a beeline for Boris, the expression on his scarred up face one of amusement. She would be more than happy to change that. If Vlad planned on ruining her evening, she planned on ruining Boris' by extension. Vlad answered his phone. "Anastasia." "Vladimir," she responded in clipped Russian, "Why are you trying to ruin my life?" "Don't be melodramatic, solstne. Is Boris there with you?" "Yes," she snapped. "I am about to inform him that he may leave. Without me!" He sighed heavily. "I am trying to protect you, Anastasia. This man, Asher Bowl
He ignored her, continuing his assault. She barely noticed when his wandering fingers moved up her ass to the puckered hole of her anus. She tried to move when she felt him begin to massage her there, but he held her immobile. His feet, on the inside of hers, stopped her from closing her legs and the heavy hand on her back prevented her from standing. She was forced to submit to whatever ministrations he chose to play out on her body. "Ash!" she gasped as pleasure streaked uncontrollably through her. "What are you doing to me?" "I promised," he grunted, forcing his thumb through the soapy outer ring of her asshole. "That I would make you come harder than ever before. Now, come for me, baby." As his thumb slid into her ass, his other fingers continued to torture her engorged clit. Anya keened wildly, her hips bucking under his hands as she came for him, harder than she'd done ever before. Her body collapsed forward in a boneless heap. He caught her, sliding an arm under her waist.
After the best sleep of her life, Anya had woken to the wicked sensation of Ash's lips and tongue on her pussy. She wasn't sure how long he had been down there, but she was definitely good and wet when he finally finished wringing orgasms from her and crawled up her body. He held her arms over her head, pressed his chest to her breasts and kissed her thoroughly while sliding his thick penis into her slick vagina. She had gasped into his mouth and arched her body up against his. He made love to her slowly and thoroughly, capturing the expressions of ecstasy that crossed her features as though they belonged to him. They drifted back from the edge of their mutual pleasure sprawled across the bed, limbs entwined. They lingered in bed, as the morning sun rose, warming their naked bodies. They talked quietly, conversing about nothing and everything. After an hour of enjoying the simple pleasure of being together Ash insisted they get up and eat. Anya giggled when he told her he needed her
"Fuck it. I'm a pussy whipped motherfucker," Ash grumbled to himself as he drove up to the gates of the Sitnikov mansion. It had taken three hours after Anya's departure before he decided to go look for her. He realized he didn't care if she was spoiled brat. He loved the little troublemaker. He would just have to do his best to meet her standards, and if he came up short, he would take her to bed, where he knew he was capable of fulfilling her every wish. He just had to brave the lion's den and convince her he was in it for the long run. He would then see about purchasing some restraints so when she got mad he could tie her down and keep her from flying away back to the gilded cage, under her brothers supervision. Hopefully he didn't get himself shot in the process. "Asher Bowles to see Anastasia Sitnikov," he announced himself when the speaker box demanded to know who he was. "Drive around," demanded the voice with a thick Russian accent. Ash knew without a doubt that the v
Anya gritted her teeth in pain as a rope tightened around her wrists. "Ease the fuck up, you twat!" she snapped at the guy securing her to a chair. He responded by tightening the bonds even more. Anya fantasized about all the gory things she was going to do to his scrawny ass when she, a) got loose, and b) found something sharp and pointy, like the knife that lived in her boot since her last kidnapping. She had already tipped them off to her self-defence capabilities when she'd fought like a wild cat after they grabbed her. She hoped those cracks she'd heard as they struggled to get her into the trunk of a car were broken bones. If not then she'd be sure to remedy that situation when she finished exacting her revenge on her friend, Idiot Twat, who couldn't tie a knot to save his life. Anya continued to think vicious, bloody thoughts so she wouldn't give in to the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She knew her brother would come for her. Eventually. Anya just hoped he found
Anya had never been so nervous in her life. Her brother was the biggest, baddest mob boss the city had ever known. Her boyfriend was a well-known championship cage fighter that would destroy anyone who even sneezed wrong in her direction. Hell, she had killed three kidnappers with only a knife and a bad attitude. Yet, when faced with an eighty-nine year old woman who owned the admiration and respect of Anya's boyfriend, she was ready to pretend she had the plague and cut her losses. "She has blue hair," stated Evelyn Schmidt, glaring at Anya and her offensive hair through thick glasses. Anya tried an experimental, plaguey sounding cough. Nope. She never had been good at lying. "It's also black," she pointed out lamely. The silence that greeted her reply instigated more babbling. "And sometimes it's red, pink or platinum! It changes with my moods, really." "Humph," Evelyn snorted. "Also, too much makeup." Anya glared desperately at Ash who was guffawing at their interaction.
Book Three: King's CommandTyson King felt her presence the moment she stepped across the threshold and into the city's most dangerous illegal gambling den. His shoulders stiffened as he glanced up and spotted her. Tyson didn't so much as twitch a muscle to give away his sudden tension, but his bodyguard, Daniel Mercer, went instantly to attention and scanned the room. Tyson knew the moment his deadly man set eyes on Claudia Cantore, because his alarm dropped and he relaxed back into position behind Tyson. Tyson forcibly quelled the surge of jealous rage that flared to life as male eyes all over the room focused on her. The tall, beautiful blond was starting to draw stares from some of the city's most dangerous men. Tonight Claudia had packed her delicious curves into a thigh length blue bandage dress with her waist length honey-coloured hair flowing loose around her bare shoulders. Her long legs were made longer by the four-inch spiked, black heels she wore. His rational self ack
"I don't know what you're talking about." Claudia tried to make her voice sound normal as she was steered toward the front entrance of the gambling club she had foolishly allowed herself to be dragged to. Cool air washed over her heated skin when they stepped out of the club and into the dark night. She shivered and blinked several times, trying to adjust her eyes to the sudden darkness. The man that held her arm in a vice grip, Tyson King, ignored her words completely. He looked around impatiently, his sharp eyes taking in the traffic on the street, and then dragged her toward a car parked at the curb. Another man, not as big as Tyson but just as frightening, opened the door to the car. This guy had a brutal, chilling look about him that made Claudia shiver. He looked like he ate babies for breakfast, women for lunch and Navy Seals for supper. There was no way she was getting in the car with these people. Claudia tried to pull away from Tyson, digging her heels against the pavemen