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My stomach churns as I remember the feel of Vik’s body shaking as he cried into my shoulder. I don’t forgive them for bringing me here, but the more they tell me, the more I’m starting to understand why they did it.
Pavel Orlov is a monster and he needs to pay for his sins. The man who impregnated my mother was a greedy, maniacal asshole, but in comparison with the atrocities of his successor, he was a fucking saint.
It bothers me more that I’m not at all bothered that my sperm donor is dead. A part of me thinks that maybe I should feel something, regret at never having known him maybe. But all I feel is nothing. I don’t care that he’s gone. He meant nothing to me in life, and even less in death.
I’ve allowed all three of the men who orchestrated his death to touch me. To fuck me, and lick me, and pleasure me, and even though I’ve felt guilt for doing it, none of that guilt was because they openly told me they murdered my father.
Lev dressed me in this bikini because he wanted to teach me to swim, but after the revelations at breakfast, all of the guys headed to the cushioned loungers by the pool instead of disappearing into their office like they did yesterday.
Dimi removed the shirt I had over my swimsuit, while Lev insisted in coating me in sunscreen. Now I’m laid out with Vik’s head resting in my lap, Dimi on a lounger to the right of me and Lev on one to the left.
The mood is quiet, but not somber, more contemplative as we all digest everything we talked about over breakfast. Their plan is oddly simple. Now that they have effectively dismantled the Avtoritets’ businesses and left them each on the verge of bankruptcy, they plan to lure Orlov out of Russia by using me as bait.
Not literal bait, because according to my husbands/captors I won’t actually be leaving the island, but Orlov won’t know that. Apparently, parts of Russia are still backward enough to have literal betrothal contracts. The guys are anticipating that once Orlov finds out all of the money in Polakoff’s offshore accounts is now legally mine. Money that, in theory, belongs to the new Pakhan, he’ll throw the betrothal paperwork into the ring and demand that I go to Russia and marry the devil.
Obviously, I’m not going to marry him. My new keepers are refusing to even allow me in the same country as him, but they’re going to suggest we meet in Alaska to agree on a settlement to buy my way out of the contract. Once he hits US soil, the guys plan to kidnap him and then kill him in a painful and murderous way. All while I stay here and wait for them.
When I’d asked if anyone would go looking for Orlov, they told me that by that point the old Bratva will have been dismantled and the new school Pakhan will be in place, who will claim responsibility for Orlov’s death, enabling them to take his crown.
As plans go, I guess it’s not too bad. But then, beyond what I’ve watched in films and read in books, I’ve never been involved in plotting someone’s death before.
For the first time since I woke up with them standing over me in their living room, I feel like one of them, not just a pawn in their game, and I like it. Even before my mom died, I was alone. Aunt Darla tolerated me and then I survived off my own wits until they took me. Now all of a sudden, I’m part of something.
Yesterday Vik called us a family. I’m not sure how captive and capturers become family, but right now, lying here in comfortable silence with them surrounding me, it’s easy to feel the pull and enticement of the idea.
The soft touches, sweet endearments and lust-filled glances are getting to me and I’m starting to wonder how long it’ll be until I succumb to them completely. Even Lev, who I was furious at last night, has softened my anger with a morning orgasm, that really is the best way to start any day.
They’re wearing me down. It’s barely been three days, and the fury I felt has morphed into angry understanding. How long will it take until I look past their sins, and just see the sexy men who think they’re in love with me?
The rest of the day passes in companionable quiet. Lev lures me into the pool and teaches me to doggy paddle. It’s not elegant or pretty, but he assures me it’ll save my life in an emergency.
Having all of their attention focused on me is intense. Vik’s pulled me away twice and pushed his dick into my mouth to gift me with his cum. A part of me knows I should feel demeaned when he calls me his little cum slut, then shoves his dick into my throat and fills it with his release, but I’m so turned on I’ve begged him to fuck me both times.
The first time, he told me he wouldn’t fuck me because I was too sore, the second time, he stood me up, then took my place on his knees and licked my clit until I orgasmed with a cry. During lunch, Dimi dragged me onto his lap, and played with my pussy until I came, right then and there on the patio for everyone to see.
I have never orgasmed so many times, in such a short space of time in my entire life and it’s glorious. Anyone who says you can have too much of a good thing, has never had three men eager to make you come as often as possible.
My mind and body are so relaxed that after dinner, I actually suggest we get into the big bed and watch some more of the baking show we had on last night. Dimi slides into the shower behind me, washing me, then carefully playing with my pussy and ass until I’m desperate for relief and grinding my butt into his hard dick. “Please,” I beg.
“No, Malishka, no more orgasms tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll come with my cock buried in one of your holes. But tonight, you can wait.”
Pouting, I glare at him, washing and conditioning my hair quickly before heading into the closet. Intending to wear one of the guys’ shirts, I aim for Vik’s section only to catch my half of the closet from the corner of my eye.
Spinning around, I stare at the rails in confusion. The collection of frothy pinks, lilacs and floral clothes are gone and in their place are hangers full of reds, blues, blacks and greens. Earth tones, mixed with denim and even a pair of leather trousers that I want to put on now just to see how they feel.
“What do you think? More your style?” Lev asks from behind me, standing at a half lean against the door frame.
“What happened to all the clothes?”
“I changed them for things that were a little more… you.”
“This is…” I pause, running my fingers down the skirt of an elegant black silk dress that’s a classier version of the nineties slip dress, and that I desperately want to try on. “Why?”
“Because even if we pick out every single thing you wear, I still want you to feel like you in it. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t matter if you’re wearing jeans and boots you took from a dumpster, or haute couture, it’s you I want, just as you are.”
My heart starts to race in my chest as I stare dumbfounded at this confusing man. That is quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me, and I don’t know if I want to cry, throw myself at him, or run away, because this is all too much.
