Page 39 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“Tell me more,” he rumbles.

“Hm, I think I’d rather show you.”

Jemma’s hands disappear inside Demyan’s pants. I turn my attention to the two women who’ve been running their hands all over me and murmuring in my ear.

Weirdly, it’s doing nothing for me. Surrounded by the sexiest women the human race has ever made, offering me any kind of pleasure I can name, and my dick doesn’t even stiffen.

“Shoo, ladies,” a confident feminine voice says. “This man needs a real woman.”

I glance up to see Allaynah strutting towards me. She’s a flawless silhouette emerging from the shadows in sky-high heels and nothing else. Her nipples point upwards from perky tits and the tiny, manicured strip of hair between her legs promises much more.

“We’ve got this, Ally,” one of the girls says with a pout.

“Did I ask if you had it?” she snaps harshly. “Get the fuck off him, both of you.”

They both look up at me pitifully, hoping for mercy. “You heard her,” I say with a laughing shrug. “Fuck off.”

The moment I speak, both girls are off me. Allaynah moves forward with a satisfied smile and sits down next to me.

She’s confidence incarnate. Her blonde hair hangs down her left shoulder in soft waves. With a practiced little sigh, she reaches forward and runs her fingers over my arm. “You look like you need a little cheering up, handsome.”

“We’re actually here to celebrate,” I say.

She glances towards Demyan and Jemma. They’ve now sprawled across the black leather sofa. Demyan is sucking on one of her nipples while he finger-fucks her.

“Well, he certainly is. I’m not sure about you, though,” she remarks. “Why don’t I fix that?”

I try to pay attention as she talks. Allaynah usually does a good job of distracting me. She isn’t like the other girls; she can actually hold a conversation. And she pours shots of tequila like it’s going out of style.

But for some reason, it’s not working for me today. Not for lack of her trying, though.

“Why don’t we find ourselves a private room?” she asks, extending a hand to me.

I consider it. On one hand, it would be easy to say no. I’m not in the mood in the slightest, and even Allaynah’s perfect ass isn’t changing that.

But on the other hand, if I stay on that couch and brood, my thoughts will drift to a scared woman locked up in a room in my house.

And that way lies danger.

I take Allaynah’s hand. She leads me to a studded red leather door at the rear of the room. We step inside to the soft thump of hip-hop. More red leather gleams in here—the walls, a couch, a trunk that I know from experience contains a variety of fun toys.

Allaynah prances to the pole in the center of the room and twirls around it slowly. She expects me to follow her, to touch the way I always do.

Instead, I brush right past her and drop onto the couch. It’s soft and comfortable, making me aware that I’d rather sleep right now than fuck. Allaynah frowns, abandons the pole, and sashays over to straddle my lap.

“What’s the matter, gorgeous?” she whispers. “You wanna cut right to the chase?”

I look over her shoulder at nothing in particular. “I just want a moment’s peace.”

“You know there’s no special charge for you, right?” she presses. “I’d fuck you for free any day.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be. No one else is so lucky.”

Her nails glide down my chest, down my abs. The moment she grazes my crotch, though, I pluck them off of me.

“Oh. Are we going rough tonight, baby?” she asks with a wry, arched eyebrow.

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