Broken God: A Dark Bratva Academy Romance, page 11
“I won’t ask again,” he growls thickly.
“I—can I—“
What, can I go try and shave again? Hope I don’t bleed out in the bathroom?
“Whatever you’re about to say, no. Take them off. Now.”
There’s no escaping this.
I peel them down, looking away from his piercing gaze as I slide them down my legs and kick then away. My face burns hotly, feeling his eyes on me as I curl my legs underneath and twist my hips. I push my hands down over my legs, as if somehow, I’ve got the finger-spread to cover all of them from his gaze.
“Spread your legs.”
My eyes snap to his, bulging.
“What?!”
“Spread them.”
I tremble, shaking my head.
“No.”
“No?”
“I said no.”
“I heard you, but I don’t care. Spread them.”
I chew on my lip. My eyes drop to my un-smooth legs.
“I—” My chest constricts. I feel myself withering in on myself, shrinking under his unmerciful gaze.
Konstantin frowns. Slowly, he stands.
“Come with me.”
“Where are we—”
I watch as he strides across the large bedroom towards the ensuite bathroom door, which he steps into. Inside, I hear the water running in the tub.
“Mara.”
He appears in the doorway, raising a hand to crook his finger at me. Which should not make me shiver with heat.
And feel warm.
And get wet.
But it does.
Screw you, bullet to the head.
I stand, shuffling after him into the huge, gleaming white tile and chrome bathroom. The enormous porcelain claw-foot tub is filling with steaming hot water and bubbles, and I stare at it with furrowed brows.
Konstantin, tyrant demon king incarnate, is running me a bubble bath?
He glances at me coldly, and then nods his chin at the extra wide ledge around the tub. The side closest to the wall, facing him, has an indent that looks intended as a seat.
I glance back at him with puzzlement.
“Sit,” he growls.
“I—what are we—”
“At some point, you’re going to need to learn to stop asking questions and just do as I say.”
My body coils, twisting like it’s unsure if it should be outraged at the patronizing tone, or melting at the implications.
But then, I move in a daze, the dizzying feeling of being in my panties in front of him throbbing in my skin. I step into the tub, gasping at the heat before I turn to sit on the ledge. I try and cross my legs, but then I jolt as his hand lands firmly on my knee, stopping me.
Instead, I keep my legs tight together.
Konstantin tests the water and then shuts off the faucet. He stands and starts to roll his sleeves up, exposing the dark ink on his rippling forearms. But then, he frowns and stops. Instead, he reaches for his chest, and starts to unbutton his shirt entirely.
My breath sucks in. My eyes bulge as he peels the shirt off an absolute chiseled body, covered in even more tattoo ink than I could imagine. I stare, my pulse thudding as my eyes trace over grooved abs and the v-lines of his hips. Over his sculpted chest, and powerful shoulders and arms.
He tosses the shirt away, turns, and pulls open a drawer beneath the sink. When he turns back to me, he’s holding a chrome shaving razor.
My mouth falls open.
“What—” I swallow. “What are you doing?” I whisper breathlessly.
“Your legs.”
I tense, my pulse skipping.
“What about them?”
“Do you want them shaved or not?”
My mouth purses. “I’m guessing you have an opinion?”
“I don’t, actually,” he growls. “I’m asking what your opinion is. Take the win, Mara. It won’t be something I’m overly concerned about while you’re living here.”
I eye him, trying to ignore the throbbing heat between my legs. Trying to pretend that the authoritative way he speaks to me repulses me, instead of igniting me.
“What’s the catch?”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
I sigh. “I just… I kinda forgot how…”
“And?”
I swallow. “And I’d like them smooth.”
He eyes me sternly.
“Please,” I whisper.
He nods, his gray eyes piercing me.
“Take your shirt off.”
I stiffen.
“What? No.”
His jaw grinds, making me tremble.
“Konstantin, no, I—”
“Now.”
I swallow.
“There’s a towel on the rack next to you.”
I glance to my left and see it. Slowly, I stand in the tub and turn away from him. Every nerve in my body jangles with a pulsing heat as I peel my shirt off. I can feel his eyes on my bare back, tracing down my spine… following the curve of my hip.
My ass.
All of me.
I tremble and toss the shirt aside. I wrap the towel around myself, tucking the corner into the front between my breasts.
I turn back and sit, legs tight together.
“Lift your arms.”
I cringe.
“Konstantin—”
“Do it.”
I blush, my mouth tight as I raise my arms. His gaze falls to my armpits.
“And how about there?”
I blush, cringing under his gaze.
“Jesus…”
“Tell me, Mara.”
I look away.
“Shaved,” I mumble, mortified.
He’s silent.
“Please,” I add in a small whisper.
“Fine.”
He turns back to the vanity drawer and grabs a small silver dish, a bar of what might be soap, and a handheld bristle brush. He moves to the side of the tub near me and crouches down, setting the bar on the dish and then dipping the brush into the hot water. He brings it to the white bar and starts to swirl the wet bristles around it, making it frothy with suds.
“Lift,” he grunts, nodding at the arm closest to him.
I swallow as our eyes lock. Then, I do it. I turn away, shivering as I feel the brush tease over me. I feel the heat of him move close. But before I can say a thing, I tremble as I feel his breath by my ear.
“And your pussy?”
The words send a jolt of pulsing heat directly between my legs. My face burns hotly as I close my eyes, swaying.
“I—I don’t know.”
“We’ll start here.”
The brush slips over my armpit. Then it’s replaced by the feel of warm metal. I breathe shaky breaths as he slowly—tenderly but firmly—shaves the hair away. His motions are determined but delicate; surgical and precise.
He keeps rinsing the razor in the water, and then bringing it back hot to my skin.
“Turn,” he growls.
I do as he requests, turning on the little seat on the edge of the tub, swinging my legs out so my feet are on the tile floor. I raise the other arm, and he does the same to that side, until I feel smooth and clean.
“Turn again.”
Once more, I turn on the seat and put my feet back into the warm water. Konstantin places the blade and shaving cream dish to the side and reaches down. slips his shoes and socks off and starts to roll up the cuffs of his dress pants.
I shiver when he steps into the water, sitting on the edge opposite me. His eyes hold mine without blinking as he reaches down. I gasp when his big hands grip my calf, pulling my leg out and setting my foot again the porcelain edge of the tub between his legs.
He uses the brush to lather every inch of my skin. Then, as with my underarms, the blade cleans it away.
He does my hacked-up leg first, dodging the cuts from my poor attempts. Again and again, the razor removes the soft hair from my legs, until I can feel the air teasing across smooth, sensual skin. When the first leg is done, in utter silence, he places it back into the water and reaches for the next.
“How did you…”
I freeze, and suddenly realize I don’t want to know how Konstantin knows how to shave a girl’s legs.
He’s rich, gorgeous, demanding, and powerful. I’m sure he’s had practice on plenty of girls who were fine with the oddity of him shaving their legs if they got him shirtless like this.
I mean… I am.
He’s says nothing as he deftly, surgically does the same thing to my other leg, until it too is smooth as silk and pulsing with the heat of his touch. When he places it back into the water, he bends, using his hands to scoop sudsy water up onto both of my legs. I bite my lip, throbbing as his hands clean the last flecks of shaving cream from my skin.
When he’s done, his gun-metal grays rise to meet mine.
“Panties,” he mutters thickly.
I tense, my face throbbing.
This is already the single most intimate thing I’ve ever done with another person. And I should not be this aroused by any of it, especially since he’s basically forcing me to be here.
I tell myself that I’m not taking my panties off because of course I’m not doing that for him. But, it’s not just that I’m scandalized.
It’s that I’m wet.
And if I do that, he’s going to know, and he’ll know why.
More ammunition to use against me.
“Konstantin…”
“You do it or I will.”
I swallow, face burning hotly. I’m frozen; paralyzed. Not out of fear or revulsion at any of this, shamefully enough. I just can’t move, at all.
“So be it,” he murmurs thickly.
He sets the razor and brush to the side again. He reaches forward, and I gasp quietly when he pushes the towel up high. I shiver when his fingers hook into the sides of my plain black panties. He doesn’t hesitate, he just starts to tug them off. My butt rises automatically, letting him do it.
Giving in.
Unlocking the door against the barbarian outside the gates.
My skin tingles, and my face burns fiercely as he pulls them down, peeling them away from my pussy as they slide down my thighs. He raises one foot and then the other for me, taking them off and tossing them to the side.
His eyes slowly drag back up my legs.
Drawing it out.
Letting me throb, waiting for his gaze to center between my legs. And then, it does, and my whole body throbs.
Horribly. Mutinously.
The gleaming chrome razor twists slowly in his fingers as his eyes devour my most intimate place. I go to shut my thighs, but he shakes his head.
“No,” he murmurs thickly.
I blush, pausing, my breath catching. I keep closing my legs, but then I gasp as he suddenly reaches for me, gripping a thigh and pulling my legs open.
“I said no,” he snarls, sending a bolt of aching desire through me.
“You won’t cover yourself for me.
“That’s not—”
“It’s part of our deal now,” he hisses quietly, knowing what I was about to say, and daring me to question him again.
Daring me to say no again.
I quiver, my thigh twitching as the shame in me tries one last time to close my legs. Instantly, my world melts, because Konstantin’s hand leaves my thigh to push right between my legs, until he’s covering my sex with his whole hand.
I gasp breathlessly, my eyes bulging as a throbbing sensation surges through my core. He flexes his forearm, and his palm pushes tight against my lips.
“Konstantin…”
“I said keep them open,” he growls.
A single fingertip drags up my lips, and it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before.
My body melts, my eyes rolling back as he draws it slowly higher and higher. But then right before his fingertip hits my clit, he slowly pulls his hand away from me.
My breath is shaky as my eyes try and focus on him.
He’s smirking.
The bastard.
“Razor or no razor, Mara,” he growls quietly.
“I…” I swallow. “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I’ve… I’ve never…”
My face is burning—throbbing with embarrassment, heat, and a desire I should not be feeling. But when my eyes somehow land on his, they’re instantly captivated.
Held hostage.
Chained.
I shiver.
“Keep these open,” he growls quietly, nodding at my spread legs.
I just nod. It’s all I’m capable right now. God, what is wrong with me?
He picks up the brush and the dish, sudsing the bristles as I watch, spellbound. Without flinching, without hesitation, he brings the brush between my legs. But when the slick cream brushes over my skin and soft hair…
I moan.
God. Damnit.
Konstantin says nothing. But the corners of his lips curl wickedly. His brow arches in amusement. I stew in my own mortification, mixed with the unhinged desire throbbing between my legs.
He teases the brush over me, sudsing me as I cling to the edge of the tub and desperately try not to make another sound. I look down, my eyes widening, biting my lip as I see his hand moving, pushing the thick white silky foam over my sex.
When he’s done, he pulls back, rinsing the brush and reaching for the razor.
“I…” I swallow. “I didn’t say yes or no yet.”
“I know.”
His eyes drag up to mine.
“But I’m doing it my way.”
I want to say a snippy “of course you are” or some other biting comment. But I say nothing at all. I’m incapable. All I can do is painfully bite my lip and stare as Konstantin brings the gleaming, wet, warm blade to my most inmate area.
The first drag of the razor against the apex of my thigh makes me gasp. The sensation is both frightening and exhilarating—danger mixed with pleasure.
Being near Konstantin, in a nutshell.
He drags it slowly across my skin, then dips it into the water to rinse. The blade comes back up, cleaning more soft hair away from my tender skin. The delicateness of his motions confuses me, but also turns my blood to fire.
Watching Konstantin Reznikov be delicate is like watching a grizzly bear tightrope walk or pour tea.
Slowly, teasingly, achingly, he shaves more and more of me, concentrating at the apex of my thighs, and the lips of my sex. His fingers trace me, sending me reeling as I desperately fight the urge to gasp or moan. I can only pray that he contributes the slick wetness he finds to the water and shaving cream.
Slowly, he pulls back and puts the razor down. He scoops water up into his cupped hand, brings it between my legs, and spills it over my sex. My eyes roll. My teeth almost draw blood on my lip as I fight to keep silent.
To not moan.
To not cry out in pleasure.
The rest of the sudsy cream melts away from me as he pours another two handfuls of water between my thighs. I look down, and I shiver.
He’s left a wide triangle at the top. But the rest of me is bare, clean—pink, tender, tingling, and throbbing with need.
“Much better,” he growls quietly.
He lets another handful of water drip between my thighs. But then slowly, his hand twists. He pushes it against me, and I whimper quietly as he cups my now very, very sensitive pussy.
I’ve tried so hard to hold back, but the feel of his strong fingers—powerful and warm against my bare skin—is more than I can take.
“This is mine.”
I stiffen, throbbing as my eyes drag up to his. His gaze is intense as always, searing into me, sucking the air from my lungs.
“This is mine now,” he rumbles.
“You don’t own—”
“Yes, I do,” he growls thickly.
His hand tightens, and I gasp quietly. He drags a finger up, and when it slips easily between my slick lips, I moan.
“You’re already so wet for me.”
“That’s water…”
“Sure it is.”
His finger sinks in, and I gasp. He sits there across the tub from me, muscles bulging and clenching. Tattoo ink rippling. Eyes turning me to liquid fire. And his powerful hand cupping my pussy as he strokes a finger into me.
His motions are languid and unhurried. His palm adds pressure against my throbbing clit, and I whimper, loudly.
“While you’re here, this will be mine,” he purrs, stroking me. “To do whatever I please with.”
“No,” I shake my head. “No, it—”
The palm of his other hand suddenly slaps smartly against my inner thigh. I gasp, my heart jumping into my throat at the sting.
And my pussy drenching his hand.
“Yes, it is.”
His finger curls deeper. His palm grinds harder. His strokes become faster, harder. And my body begins to come undone.
My head swims. Pleasure I’ve never known before surges through me like wildfire.
“I—”
My hand flies to his wrist. But it’s not to push him away. It’s to hold on tight. His teeth bare, his muscles clench and ripple as he keeps fingering me.
He doesn’t stop. And I don’t want him to.
I grip his arm tighter with one hand, the other clenched to the edge of the tub. My legs shake as I keep them wide open, my breath choking and my core clenching over and over.
Slickness coats his fingers. I want to drop my head back or close my eyes. But I can’t. I can’t escape his gaze, his eyes.
His intensity.
I’m locked on him as I fall towards the edge. And then, he takes me over it.
I cry out, breaking to pieces as I explode for him. I come with his fingers curling against my g-spot and grinding at my clit, clenching as I crash into the abyss. My eyes squeeze shut, and I moan, crying out as I fall.
It hits me suddenly that this “first” comes before another first I’ve never had. I just came on his fingers, and I’ve never been kiss—
His mouth crushes to mine, hard. His lips devour me. His tongue demands entrance, which I give, willingly. Begging for more.
Konstantin kisses like he does anything else.
Without mercy.
Without a care about collateral.
Like a bulldozer crashing through a building.
