Page 72 of The Lazarov Bratva

I’m only required in the cage when he’s had a bad day and wants to watch me get off by humping a pillow like a dog.

It used to be humiliating, but now I kind of like it.

The part of me that tells me I shouldn’t grows smaller by the day. Sure, the lack of windows and view of the outside world is a little jarring, but everything else is cozy enough that life is good, in a way. Kristof softened up within a few days and supplied me with more books to read than I’ve had time for, and that’s just a small part of how he goes above and beyond.

For a man who puts himself out there as the scariest, most intimidating man anyone could come across, he has a soft heart hidden underneath.

One mention of wanting to read and he brought me armfuls of books. A wistful comment about missing fried chicken and he brought me fast food four days straight, and we binged a whole collection of junk I’ve never been allowed to try before so Kristof could find out what my favorites were. He isn’t much of a cook, and while eating out all the time isn’t great, the amount of sex has me working up an appetite constantly. He even brought me all my favorite soaps and conditioners, enough to fully pamper myself in the shower.

He treats me like a princess.

And I love it more than I can put into words. I’ve been doted on before by my father, but all that luxury felt empty. It was just things to appease me and weak apologies to try and make up for his absence. With Kristof, everything is tailored to me, and more than once, I’ve caught him watching me, as if my reaction will tell him how good of a job he’s doing. It’s enough to warm anyone’s heart.

Even the sex is constantly incredible. I always thought that it would change at some point, become mundane, but so far, everything we’ve done together has been incredible. He pulls hidden parts of me to the light and strokes some deep, dark fantasy inside me so that I find it almost too easy to obey his rules.

How can I resist when my reward is Kristof going down on me?

The things that man can do with his tongue should be illegal. It’s so good I think about it constantly—not that there’s much else here for me to think about—and when he’s not here, when it’s not time for a reward, I miss him.

The orgasms he pulls from me are mind-blowing, but coming on his tongue is extra special.

My thoughts tumble to an end as my core clenches at that thought and I realize I haven’t read the page in front of me. I shift on the bed and try to focus on the book rather than Kristof, but it’s difficult. In fact, it’s almost impossible with the decorations he’s left inside me.

After fucking me in both holes this morning, he plugged my ass with a sleek princess plug which keeps all the cum he filled me with safe inside. My pussy is filled with a thick, pink vibrator that he has the controls for, and the vibrations have been low enough that I notice them but not enough to stimulate me to completion. Especially since I’m completely banned from touching my clit. Two silver clamps decorate my nipples with a delicate silver chain linking them together that loops up and connects to the pendant around my neck. The pendant he gifted me.

Fitting, really.

The more my mind wanders, distracted from the story in front of me, the more the subtle vibrations of the toy inside me come to the forefront of my mind. I’ve been turned on for hours, and showering had been a challenge since every touch to my body had only heightened my arousal.

Now, my plan of distracting myself with a book is failing because I can’t stop thinking about Kristof.

Rolling my eyes, I flatten the book against my raised thighs and try to force myself to read the words. I get halfway through before I get distracted once again, but this time, the book is the cause. A sentence about the main character missing her homeland catches in my mind.

I don’t miss home. Not really.

Or do I?

Thinking of Mara and my father ignites a complicated nest of emotions in my chest that I have no idea how to unravel. For a long time, I thought it was a yearning desire to return home to normality, but these past few days, I’ve realized that it’s anger. Anger that in such a short time, Kristof has treated me with more love and care than my family ever did in my entire nineteen years. All they cared about was that stupid marriage.

A marriage that definitely didn’t happen. The date has passed, and Kristof hasn’t mentioned it. I can only imagine how well all of that went down. Picturing Mikhail standing at the altar waiting for a bride who will never come gives me a twisted sort of pleasure.

Kristof’s kidnapping me might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Maybe one day, we can go back together and I can show them what kind of woman I’ve grown to be around someone who loves me.

Suddenly, the vibrations inside me ramp up in strength, and I yelp. The book slips from my fingers, and I double over as the toy continues to increase in vibration.

Fuck.

Kristof must nearly be home.

Pleasure explodes through me as the entire stimulation for the day suddenly swells to the surface. I shove one hand between my legs, whimpering as the slightest contact with my clit brings me right to the edge of orgasm, and I have to pull myself back with force. I can’t come. Not without permission.

Each breath that escapes me is tinged with a moan, and I roll over, shoving my face into the pillow. My hips move with a mind of their own, rocking back against the air as if trying to fuck myself on the toy buried so deep inside me.

He’s almost home.

Excitement rises inside me, and my heart skips a beat as I roll onto my back, fighting to ignore the vibrations teasing every oversensitive nerve leading to my core.

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