The Petrov Brothers Read online

  Gripping the hem, I pull the shirt up her body and over her head, and she lifts her arms a little bit so I can slip it off of her the rest of the way. I try not to let my gaze linger on her creamy white skin underneath and her small perky breasts, but I can’t help it. It’s been too fucking long since I took a woman, or at least that’s what I tell myself as I continue to take in her body.

  Even with her being a little too skinny for my liking, her body is undeniably beautiful, and I have the sudden urge to kiss her all over. To hear and feel her beneath me.

  Fuck. No. I shake the thought away. Instead, I focus on turning the shower on. I adjust the temperature, waiting for the water to warm. The pipes squeak slightly, and once the water starts to fill the bathroom with steam, I turn toward her.

  She takes an uncertain step toward the shower, and I start to peel my own clothing off. Since there is no fucking way I’m letting her shower alone, I might as well get my shower for the evening in, too. When I’m down to nothing but my boxers, I look up at her. It’s then I realize just how different we look. She’s all smooth creamy white skin, and I’m dark, with scars and tattoos.

  Fear fills her gaze, and I realize that I probably should’ve told her I was going to be taking a shower with her. Gripping the edge of my boxers, I shove them down my muscled thighs.

  If she’s going to be afraid then she is, but either way, we’re taking a shower.

  “Take your underwear off,” I order, stepping into the shower, extending a hand to her. She stands there frozen in place for a few seconds. Frustration fills my veins. Patience isn’t something I have, not with my men, and not with anyone else in my life, but I know I have to be patient with her. At least a little bit. I give her a few more moments. I’m about to grab her and pull her in when she dips two fingers into her panties and pulls them down with shaking hands.

  When she stands back up, she takes my hand and I gently tug her into the shower with me. The space is small, and suddenly, I’m aware of just how fucking bad of an idea this is.

  5

  Violet

  He’s huge. That’s all I can think in that moment. Like huge, and I don’t just mean his penis. I mean his body overall. How is it that he can seem bigger without any clothes on? I look him up and down. His eyes are an intense gray, a color that reminds me of the sky before a storm.

  He’s built, and I do mean built, like a tree standing thick and strong in the forest. A forest with tattoos. He has way more than the neck tattoo I have already seen. One arm is completely covered and the other one is half covered. There are two large ones on his chest and multiple pieces on his back. There are so many I can’t take them all in.

  His hair is a dark brown, almost the color of espresso, and I can’t help but feel invaded by his body. His presence is intimidating and while I feel safe with him, I worry he may only see me as an object, rather than an actual human in this moment. After the way he looked at me when he took my shirt off, I wonder if he even cares about my feelings.

  Another thought pops into my mind as the heated water beats down on us. Is he going to ask for his shirt back? Maybe he is going to send me back completely naked. A shudder of fear moves through my body.

  “Can I still wear your shirt?” I ask as he squirts some shampoo into his hand. I try to keep my eyes trained to the floor rather than his body. There’s only a foot of space between us and if I move even an inch, I’m going to be rubbing some part of my body against his.

  “What?” he asks, as if I’ve asked him a stupid question.

  “Your shirt, the one I’ve been wearing… can I keep it?”

  He starts washing my hair without warning, his thick fingers threading through the strands with surprising tenderness.

  “It’s dirty… I’ll give you something else to wear.”

  My mind relaxes at his words, and my body softens into his touch.

  His large hands gently massage my scalp, and I find myself leaning into him as a low moan escapes my lips. I instantly regret making that noise and secretly hope he didn't hear it, though I know he did. When I open my eyes and peek up at him, his eyes are lustful. I worry for a moment he might try and have his way with me. After all, there isn't anyone who could stop him...

  “Close your eyes.” His voice is low and rougher than before, and fear sneaks up on me. My previous thoughts replay in my mind.

  “W-Why?” I stutter, my body stiffening, making my muscles ache.

  “So I can rinse out your hair.” He takes the sprayer off the wall mount.

  “Oh…” I mumble and close my eyes, feeling him run his fingers through my hair as he rinses it.

  I let my head fall back and the position change has my head spinning. My stomach clenches, and I’m so overcome with dizziness that I think I might fall. Ivan must notice a change in my body because the next thing I know, his arm comes around my midsection, holding me flush to his chest with a steel grip.

  “You okay?” he asks while holding me upright. My bare breasts rub against his muscled chest with every ragged breath I take, and I can't help the heat that creeps up my body.

  “Yeah,” I manage to say, but it comes out more like a breath than a word. “Just a little dizzy is all.”

  “I told you... you need to eat more. If you had finished that sandwich like I asked, you probably wouldn't be so weak.” He attaches the sprayer back to the wall mount and takes a washcloth that’s hanging on a hook, all while keeping a tight hold on me.

  “Hold this,” he says and hands me the washcloth. I take it from him, and he squeezes some soap onto it. It smells woodsy, like grass and the outdoors. He takes the washcloth back and starts to wash my back and my shoulders. My aching muscles relax at his touch, and I melt into him.

  When he is done with that, he continues down my arms before suddenly spinning me around so that my back is against his chest. Another wave of dizziness hits me, but I press my hands to the wall and steady myself.

  “Just lean against me. I’ll hold you up.”

  I do as he says and lean into him. My breath hitches when I feel his erection pressed up against my ass. My heart beats furiously against my ribcage. I've never been so close to a man before.

  He starts washing my stomach and my chest, moving gently across my skin. There's a kindness to his touch, one I don't understand.

  How can his touch be so gentle, so kind, when he's doing all the bad things he is? He's a criminal… one who sells women. I should be running from his touch, not embracing it. He's the reason I'm here, isn't he? When the washrag moves lower, all my thoughts fly out the window.

  “Spread your legs,” he orders gruffly. I feel his chest heaving against my back. Against my better judgment, I do as he asks and spread my legs slightly… just enough for his hand to fit between them. When I feel his washcloth-covered fingers between my legs, I gasp, and my hands automatically grab onto his wrist to stop any further movements.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, just relax.”

  I know I shouldn’t trust him, but his words assure me and slowly I release my grip on his wrist once again, allowing him to clean me. I look down, watching as blood mixes in with the water swirling down the drain. Once he’s finished washing me, he tosses the washcloth to the floor of the shower. I twist out of his grip and turn around to face him.

  When I see the look in his gunmetal-gray eyes, I’m frozen into place. He looks so unhinged, so pent up with need or aggression or something I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?

  “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you, but I want you to do something for me.”

  I blink slowly, my lashes fanning against my cheek. A nervous knot unravels in my belly.

  Trusting his word blindly yet again, I nod my head, even though I know for certain that this is going to be something I don’t want to do.

  He looms above me for a moment, gauging my expression most likely, before he loops his arm around me again like he did earlier, holding me up to his left side. My right arm is dan
gling over his, while my left arm is in front of us. My gaze drops to his obscenely large penis.

  “Give me your hand.” His voice cracks, revealing a vulnerability I wouldn’t have expected. I place my hand in his, and he guides me to his shaft.

  “I want you to beat me off. Have you ever given a hand job before?”

  I feel my cheeks heat at the word. Hand job.

  “No,” I whisper, feeling ashamed. I’m not sure why I feel the way I do, maybe because most eighteen-year-olds know more about sex and the male anatomy than I do.

  A part of me wants to give back to him for being so kind to me, while the other part of me knows that being kind to one another is just plain human decency.

  I look up at him, watching as his jaw clenches, the muscles jumping. Is he angry? He seems mad, and that only makes me more nervous. His grip tightens on mine, as he places our hands against his penis. I gasp at the simple touch. It’s smooth and surprisingly soft beneath my hand.

  “I’m going to guide you through it. I’m not going to hurt you or force you to do it, but I won’t let you stop until I’m finished if you do this, okay?” I hear the want in his voice. He wants this, he wants me, and for some reason, that makes me happy.

  “Okay,” I whisper. I feel nervous but surprisingly I’m not really scared, not like I was with the guys who came into my cell. Ivan keeps saying that he won’t hurt me, and I believe him. He doesn’t want to hurt me, and he said he won’t force me. He is giving me a choice, and I want to do this for him.

  Within seconds of my response, he starts guiding my hand up and down his shaft with his hand still wrapped tightly around mine. He goes slow at first but I think that’s just so he doesn’t frighten me, and after a few strokes, he glances over at me to check if I’m okay, like he half expects me to starts screaming or crying.

  I bite at my bottom lip nervously when he catches me looking down at where our hands meet. Heat creeps up my neck and onto my cheeks, and I wonder if I’m doing this right? I know he said he’d guide me, and he is, but I don’t know if this is how it’s done.

  He starts picking up speed with each stroke, and a deep groan of pleasure vibrates from within his chest, slamming into me. I don’t know what it is about that sound, but I suddenly want to hear it again, and I realize I want to be the one drawing that sound from deep within him.

  “Can you do this by yourself?” he asks me with a near breathless voice.

  I eagerly nod my head and see surprise flicker in his gaze. I want to please him. Right now, in this moment, I want nothing more, and it’s not because I feel like I owe him, I just want to do it. I want to be close to someone, anyone. So, when he releases his hold on my hand, I do exactly as he was just doing, watching his facial expressions to determine if I’m doing it right or not.

  He put his hand on the shower wall in front of us and lets his head hang down. I watch him closely as he closes his eyes, and his lips part, a growl emitting from his throat.

  “Faster,” he orders through clenched teeth. A heat settles between my thighs, his voice vibrating through me as I stroke him faster, my thumb rubbing over the slit at the head of his penis with each stroke. I squeeze him as hard as I can, my hand not quite big enough to wrap around him all the way. His eyes flicker open again, and he looks down at my body.

  His arms tighten around me, pulling me close to his body as my hardened nipples rub against his heated skin and my bare pussy rubs against his leg. A number of sensations course through me, fear, excitement, pleasure. I refuse to cling to any one of them, afraid of what may come if I do. Instead, I focus on Ivan.

  “Fuck... fuck…” he roars, his hand slamming against the tiled wall. The intensity of his pleasure pours out of him, and his hardened length throbs. My arm starts to grow tired, but I know he has to be close. I continue with the same rhythm until I hear him growl and watch eagerly as ropes of semen shoot from his penis and onto the tile in front of us. The sticky substance coats my palm and when I release my hold on him and pull my hand away, I stare down at it.

  His eyes are closed, and his breathing is heavy. He leans against the wall as if he needs it to hold him up straight. It takes him a few moments to recover and when he opens his eyes again, he looks relaxed and satisfied. That is until his gaze meets mine and guilt starts to paint his features. I instantly have this irrational need to reassure him.

  “It’s okay… I didn’t mind.” I force a smile, but I know he can see right through it.

  “I didn't plan this when I brought you up here. It wasn’t my intention, I just...” I can tell he’s sincere and means every word he says. He rinses us off one more time, never loosening his hold on me. I’m more than thankful for it, because I really don’t think I could have stood up for much longer on my own. He has been carrying most of my weight this entire time, and I wonder how the hell he’s still doing it. Then again, if I looked like him, I’m sure I could carry anything and everything around.

  We get out together, and he releases me for a second to grab a towel.

  He dries me off from head to toe before he wraps my body in a large towel and my hair in a smaller one. The way he does it with such ease has my mind kicking into overdrive. It seems like he has done this before and the thought of Ivan giving another woman a shower or bath like this has a lot of unwanted feelings settling into my gut. Curiosity gets the better of me and though I know I shouldn't, I ask anyway.

  “Do you do this a lot? I'm only asking because it seems like you know what you are doing wrapping up my long hair in that towel.”

  “I haven't done this in a very long time, and I don't typically.” Sadness coats his words. I'm relieved at his confession, and again, I don't understand why. It’s not like he really cares about me. Not in a sense that he cares what will happen to me after I leave this place.

  He wraps a towel around himself before leading me to his bedroom. Once there, he deposits me onto his bed. It’s so soft underneath my legs, all I want to do is curl up and go to sleep on it.

  Dread overcomes me like a wave when I remember what he said… I can shower and then I’m going back in the cell. I’ve been trying not to think about it, and I succeeded, but now that I remember what’s going to happen, I’m on the verge of crying.

  This is only a short vacation from my new reality. He is going to bring me back downstairs and leave me and then I might never see him again. My eyes burn with unshed tears. I don’t know why but I don’t want to cry in front of him right now. I watch him dig through his dresser, grabbing a few items and throwing them onto the bedside me.

  He turns back around to face me, and I try to hide that I am on the verge of crying but, of course, he sees the unshed tears in my eyes.

  “I told you… I can let you take a shower, but you have to go back to the cell now.”

  “I know. It’s just... I'm always cold and alone. And scared that those guys will come back.”

  Ivan gives me a conflicted look, and I know I should be thankful for a shower and I am, but I don't want to be down there. I don't want to be away from him.

  “I’ll give you something warmer to wear and like I said before, they won’t come back. They might be dumb but they know how to follow orders… they won’t disobey me.” His gaze flickers over my half-naked body like he might be tempted to want something more from me.

  “I… that's all I can and will do for you. No one is going to mess with you while you’re here.” He doesn’t apologize, and I don't expect him to. I just need to stop hoping for a miracle and realize that soon I’ll be nothing but some rich man’s toy. This is my new life...

  “Here, put these on.” He points at the clothes beside me. A thick gray sweatshirt that looks to be three times too big and a matching pair of sweatpants, with a black pair of boxers.

  “Do you have some paper towels?” I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment as soon as I ask the question. I'll take the embarrassment over bleeding all over myself.

  “Yeah, why?” he asks as I watch him g
et dressed. His movements are effortless.

  “For my… you know… period.” I don’t know what I’m more embarrassed about, talking about my period or the fact that I just watched him get dressed.

  He doesn’t seem to be embarrassed about either thing and walks out of the room, leaving me alone for few moments. I immediately start to panic.

  Until this moment, I thought I just didn’t want him to leave me in the cell by myself but now I realize I don't want him to leave me alone at all. I just want to be with him, near him. Maybe it's the constant being alone that scares me, or something else I don't really know, but the realization hits me hard because I know staying with him is never going to happen.

  He comes back and hands me a roll of paper towels. I take it and pick up the clothes he’s laid out for me. “Can I do this in your bathroom?”

  “Go ahead.” He nods toward the bathroom, and I get up and walk into the bathroom. I close the door behind me but don’t lock it. I don’t see the point. If he wants to come in here, I don't think the flimsy wooden door would stop him even if it was locked. That and if he wanted to hurt me, he already would've. I unwrap my towel and hang it on a hook before I unroll a few pieces of the paper towel and fold it into a pad.

  I put it between my legs and pull the boxers on. I have to roll them up about ten time before they stay on, but this is much better than what I had before. I pick the bloody underwear up off the floor, cringing at the sight of them before tossing them into the waste basket under the sink.

  Then I pull on the oversized sweatpants and sweatshirt, enjoying how heavy the thick material rests on my skin.

  When I step back out moments later, Ivan is standing right in front of the door. He gives me a quick once-over and hands me a pair of socks. His face is void of all emotions and it’s like he’s slipped a mask on.