3. Ivan

3

IVAN

I know better than to kiss her. I know better than to give in to the desire raging through me right now, the feeling that I need to have her, no matter the consequences.

That feeling has gotten us here. To this moment, right now, with my cheek still stinging from her slap and her eyes sparking angrily at me in the moment before my lips slam against hers. But I can't stop.

I can't fucking stop.

I've lied to her again. I've only told her half the truth. I couldn't keep what my family is from her, not and have any logical reason why she's here with me, in a shitty Illinois motel instead of at her apartment or mine in Chicago. I couldn't keep what I was from her, either.

But the rest?—

I should tell her the whole truth. That I'm Venom. That I was the man at Masquerade, too. That I've been stalking her this entire time, that I broke into her apartment masked to kidnap her—yes, to keep her safe from my family, but also because I needed to buy time. Time to figure out what to do next.

Instead, she thinks I saved her from him. That he was working with my father to kidnap her, that ‘Venom' is some cover for a man who uses the dark web to lure women in as victims for my father's trafficking ring. And it makes sense. It's a story that fits everything that's happened so far.

And I'm willing to let her believe it, because if I told her the rest of the truth, she wouldn't be in my arms right now.

I won't be able to keep her much longer. I have a solution for keeping her safe from my father, but it's not one that keeps us together. And the truth is—I don't think she wants that, anyway. I don't think she'd stay no matter what I said.

Take me home, and leave me alone.

Those words felt like a dagger, one that's still in my heart, twisting as I kiss her. As I lick into her mouth, my tongue tangling with hers, one hand fisted in her hair tightly to keep her from getting away. As I know, even as her mouth softens and she starts to kiss me back, that this is almost certainly the last time I'll ever touch her like this.

Which is just another reason why I can't stop.

I let go of her other wrist, and I wait for her to shove me away. To break the kiss and scream at me again. It's not as if I don't deserve it. I deserve every slap, every curse. Every awful thing she could say to me.

I'm the reason her life is falling apart. Why, even though she doesn't know it yet, it will never be the same again.

And I can't stop myself from taking this one last thing that I don't deserve.

Instead of pushing me away, her hand curls into my shirt. I feel her gasp as my arm slides around her waist, pulling her into me, letting her feel how hard I am for her. How desperately I want her.

I can't stop kissing her for even a moment. If I do, she might remember why she shouldn't want this. It might give her a moment to think. So instead, I kiss her harder. I nip at her lower lip, suck it into my mouth. I slide my tongue against hers, memorizing the taste of her. I kiss her like I'm starving, like I'm a drowning man, and she's air.

She moans, a small, tiny sound of desire, and it snaps something in me. My fingers press against the back of her head as I back her up towards the bed, my hand on her waist, grabbing at her shirt, yanking it up. I need to feel her skin—I need to feel her, to have this one last taste of her before she's gone forever.

I can feel her trying to make the shape of my name against my mouth, but I don't stop kissing her long enough to let her speak. I yank at the buttons of her shirt, ripping them open, hearing the pop of them against the fabric as I tear the shirt away from her. I feel her gasp, hear a small cry of what might be protest, but I'm already spilling her back onto the bed, dragging my own shirt up over my head as I push her down onto the mattress and spread her legs open with my knee.

She lets out another mewling cry against my mouth as I yank open the button of her jeans, grabbing a handful of the denim and the cotton underneath and dragging them both down her thighs. The moment she's even partially bared to me, I drop to my knees in front of the bed, one hand gripping her hip as I lean in and press my mouth between her legs.

"Ivan!" Charlotte cries out my name, her hips bucking against me as I drag a hot line from her entrance to her clit with my tongue, sucking the already-wet flesh into my mouth as her hands grip the duvet. There's nothing slow or gentle about the way I eat her out—I devour her, licking and sucking, nipping at her folds as I feel her hot arousal coat my mouth and chin, and I slide one hand down, roughly shoving two fingers into her as I feel her thighs start to tremble.

"I—I'm going to—" One of her hands catches in my hair, yanking at it as her back arches, as I drive her into an orgasm faster than I ever have before. I feel her clench around my fingers, and my cock throbs against the fly of my jeans, rock-hard and aching to be what she's tightening around instead.

I keep fingering her, yanking her jeans down off of her legs and tossing them aside as I spread her wider. I slide my other hand under the curve of her ass, sliding one finger against the tight hole there, teasing the entrance of it as I keep sucking her clit and lapping at it with my tongue.

" Ivan —Ivan!" She cries out my name, the sound of it making me harder with every moan. The need to possess every part of her feels obsessive, primal, and I push my finger against her asshole, the tip slipping inside as her hips buck, and she lets out a startled cry.

I've been inside of her mouth, in her tight, perfect pussy, and even if I never get to fuck her in the ass, I want to know what it feels like for her to come while some part of me is buried there.

She doesn't tell me to stop. She writhes against me instead, her head falling back against the bed, her legs spread wide for me as I roll my tongue over her clit again and again, sliding my finger deeper into her tight asshole as I add a third inside of her pussy, scissoring them back and forth. The sounds she's making turn to helpless gasps and moans that sound like they want to be words, but can't quite make it there. She's dripping wet, every movement of my fingers inside of her, impaling both of her holes, driving her arousal higher and closer to a second climax.

I want to make her come again before I fuck her. I want her so dripping wet that I don't even have to struggle to get my cock inside her. And then I want to feel her come all over it, too.

She's so close. I can feel her trembling underneath me, her thigh muscles tightening, and I curl my fingers inside of her, holding her pinned between my tongue, my fingers in her pussy, and my finger filling her ass. She's going to come for me like this, and I can feel from the way she's shaking how much it turns her on, how filthy this makes her feel, and how much she loves it.

This is what she was chasing, all those nights when she logged on to that website to talk to Venom. That night she came to Masquerade. This feeling is what she wanted, and I'm going to give it to her, even if it's the only chance I get to do it. Especially if it's going to be the only chance.

I feel her thighs tighten around my head, feel her buck against my tongue, and then she comes hard.

The sound she makes is a scream that turns to a shriek, building as she rides my tongue and my fingers, writhing against me. I hold her there, her arousal flooding my mouth, her entire body shaking as she moans something that sounds like my name, clenching around me as she keeps coming, wave after wave of pleasure that leaves her limp and gasping against the bed by the end of it, her eyes tightly closed as she tries to catch her breath.

I don't give her a chance. The moment I feel her orgasm start to ebb, I push myself up with one hand, the other frantically undoing the button and zipper of my jeans as I free my throbbing cock, line it up with her dripping entrance, and thrust hard.

I don't have a condom, and at this moment, I don't care. The feeling of her bare is what I want, wet and tight and hot, gripping my cock in a way that I've never felt before. I've never fucked a woman raw before, not even when I was an idiot teenager, and I shouldn't be doing it now—but if I never do this with her again, I want to know what Charlotte feels like without that thin barrier of latex between us.

And god , it feels so fucking good.

"Ivan!" She cries out as I thrust into her to the hilt, her nails sinking into my shoulders as I thrust so hard that I push her a little further up on the bed. I slide one arm under her, lifting her a little so that there's enough room for me to kneel on the mattress between her legs, holding her up on my cock for a moment before I lay her back down, thrusting hard again. I don't want to slip out of her for even a second. I don't want to lose the feeling of her wrapped around me. It's better than anything I've ever felt in my life, so good that I have to cling to what little bit of self-control I have to keep from coming in her too soon.

"Tell me you're on birth control," I growl as I thrust again, hard, moaning as I draw out to the very tip and then push myself back inside, reveling in the hot, velvet feeling of her wet pussy clenching around my bare cock. I don't know how I'm ever going to stop. I don't know how I'm going to do what I promised myself I'd do to keep her safe. I don't know how I'm going to fucking give her up.

"Wh—what?" she gasps, her nails still digging into my shoulders, her hips arching with every thrust to meet mine. There's no question about her eagerness; as wrung out as she was after those first two orgasms, her body is still responding to mine, meeting me with every rock of my hips against hers. Whether she'd admit it out loud or not, she wants this every bit as much as I do. Including the fact that I'm fucking her without a condom.

"I'm going to come inside of you." I thrust again, moaning as my hands flex against the bed, my cock throbbing dangerously close to the edge. I want it to last, to keep going, but she feels too good. Too perfect, as if she were made just for me. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to hold on. "Tell me you're on birth control, before I fill you up with my cum, Charlotte."

Her mouth drops open, her eyes so wide that for a moment, I think she's going to tell me she's not. I'd stop if she said that. I would. I tell myself that, that I'd pull out, that I wouldn't come inside of her with no safety net, leave her with another potential problem that I caused. But even as I think it, I don't know if I could. Only the tortuous pleasure of feeling her rubbing along the length of my cock has me thrusting at all, when part of me just wants to bury myself as deeply inside of her heat as I can, and stay there.

"Yes," she manages, her voice a hushed whisper. "I am."

Her legs wrap around mine, pulling me deeper, an unspoken permission to let me come inside of her, to fill her up. I want to tell her that I've never done this with anyone else, that she's the first woman I'll ever come inside of like this, the first one to ever have my cum dripping down her thighs after we're done, but I can't speak. I'm too close to the edge, her acquiescence pushing me there even faster, the thought of her swollen, pink pussy dripping my cum making my head spin with the need to do just that.

Just a little longer. God, I don't want it to stop. I rock my hips against hers as I sink into her again, reducing the friction, grinding against her in an effort to get her there a third time. I want to feel her come, to feel her rippling along my length, and then?—

"Oh god, Ivan, I—" Her nails bite into my skin, her voice trailing off into a gasp, a high-pitched sound following it as her hips buck upwards and her mouth opens on a cry. "Keep doing that, please, I'm going to come, oh god, please?—"

I feel her clench around me, hear her moan that turns to a shriek as the orgasm shatters her, and I lose all semblance of control. I've felt plenty of women come on my cock, but never like this , never when there's nothing between us but skin, and god, it's indescribable. I feel my hips jerk, my cock throb, my body take over, and I have a split second to be grateful that she told me it is safe to come inside of her, because there's no fucking way I could have pulled out.

Not when it feels like this.

Charlotte's nails rake down my back, stinging hotly as she screams my name, and I feel my cock go stiffer than I ever have in my life, throbbing as I manage one more thrust before the first hot spurts of my cum start to spurt, my balls tight and aching, my entire body rigid as pleasure like nothing I've ever known jolts through me.

I said I was going to ruin her for any other man. But she's ruined me . Nothing else will compare after this. There's nothing in the world that could feel as good as this does, and I bury my face in her throat, breathing her in as my cock throbs and jerks inside of her, twitching as the last of my cum spurts into her. "You're mine ," I breathe into her skin, so quietly that I don't think she hears me, but it's the truth. She is mine. And even though I can't keep her, nothing will ever change that.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. I can feel my cock softening inside of her, but I'm still large enough that even soft, I don't slip out. I want to stay inside of her as long as I can, sweat-slicked and breathing each other's air, and I don't want to let her go.

We have a little time before we have to leave, before it is too dangerous to stay here any longer. I ditched my phone, anything that might allow my brothers to easily track us, and made a few purchases on my credit card to confuse them. Airline tickets to the wrong places, a trip on a Greyhound bus going to New York, things like that. It will take them a little while to realize that all of those are dead ends, and by the time they do, we will have already left here. I paid for the room in cash, and there are burner phones in the car for any calls I need to make. I intend to make both Charlotte and I as difficult for them to track as possible.

But they'll manage, eventually. My father is intelligent and resourceful, and he won't let me go so easily, especially now that it's clear I haven't been dealing truthfully with him all this time. All that matters, though, is that I get Charlotte to safety before they catch up. I'll lead them on a merry chase after me for the rest of my life if I have to, but I need to be sure that Charlotte is out of their reach.

And I know how to do that.

I feel Charlotte shift underneath me, and I reluctantly move away from her, letting myself slip out of her soft warmth as I roll to one side. A shiver of pleasure runs through me at that last bit of contact between us, and I can't help but hope that maybe we'll get to do that at least once more before we get on the road again. That maybe she won't come to her senses so quickly.

One look at her face tells me that she already is. She looks away from me, biting her lip, and she closes her legs just as I get one glimpse of my cum dripping out of her, pearling white in the slick folds of her pussy. It's enough to make my cock twitch again, swelling until I'm half-hard, and I have to stop myself from reaching for her and spilling her back onto the bed.

Her gaze flicks down to my cock, and her eyes widen. "Already?" she whispers, and I have to bite back a laugh.

"Charlotte, I could fuck you for the rest of the afternoon, take a nap, and then fuck you all night if that's what you wanted me to do." I roll towards her, unable to stop myself from pinning her wrists to the bed as I lean over her, and I feel myself hardening, as if I didn't just come. "There's so many fucking things I want to do with you."

"Like what?" she whispers, her voice small, and I groan, clenching my teeth against the urge to thrust into her right now while I tell her.

"I want to pin you down and tell you to lick my cock clean, so I can slide into you and fuck you until I'm covered in your cum and mine again. I want to fill you up a second time, so that you're dripping down your thighs while I'm still inside of you." I shift, pushing her legs apart with my knee as I hover over her, my cock angled between us. I tighten my grip on her wrists, and she moans, making me throb as I lean down.

My shaft is pinned against her clit, wet with both her arousal and mine. I rock my hips, grinding against that oversensitive spot, and Charlotte lets out a gasping moan.

"Tell me to stop." I rock my hips again. "Tell me to stop, and I won't make you come a fourth time. Tell me you weren't thinking when you let me fuck you before. Tell me you didn't realize until it was too late that I was fucking you raw." With every sentence, I slide my hips against her, rubbing her clit with the shaft of my cock. "Tell me, and I won't fuck you and fill you up again after you come on my cock."

The only sound she makes is another breathless, helpless moan. I pull her hands up, pinning her wrists above her head, and start to grind against her in earnest, rubbing my slick length over her as I feel her hips move and her breathing turn to eager pants. "That's right, Charlotte," I growl. "Come for me again. Let me see what a dirty little slut you are. Begging for more of my cum. You want this cock so badly you can't even tell me to stop after I've fucked you once. You want to come again. Greedy girl."

She's so close. I can feel her trembling, and I can see the guilt on her face, the knowledge that she's doing something she shouldn't, and it's turning her on. With every thrust, every wash of pleasure, every orgasm, she knows she should tell me no. That she should tell me to stop.

She knows half the truth now. She knows she's fucking a criminal. A son of a Bratva patriarch. She might not understand exactly what that means, but she gets enough to know that she shouldn't let me inside of her. And she's doing it anyway, so lost to pleasure that she can't make herself stop.

Just the thought has me dripping pre-cum, slick and hot against her, so turned on that I know it won't take me long to come inside her a second time.

"Ivan." She half-sobs my name, writhing under me as her hips arch up greedily. "I—I'm?—"

"Come for me, milaya ," I croon, snapping my hips against her, every thrust pushing me dangerously close to the edge, too. "Let me feel you come."

Her mouth opens on a cry, her hips driving up against me as I feel her clit pulse against my bare cock, her body bucking as she comes for the fourth time. I hold her pinned as she moans and gasps, and just as I feel her start to come down, I pull my hips back and thrust into her still-clenching pussy, hard.

She's wetter than before, full of my cum now too, and I feel it around my cock, feel it dripping out around us, sticky on her thighs. Once, twice, a third hard thrust, and I can't hold back. It's too much, the most erotic thing I've ever done, the best sensation I've ever felt, multiplied with every moment that passes, every filthy way she's let me have her, and my cock explodes for the second time, filling her up as I feel myself spill out of her, wet and hot as I come hard enough that I see stars.

I can hardly breathe as I roll off of her, exhausted and wrung dry. My cock is limp and spent against my thigh, and Charlotte is still next to me, one hand going to her chest as I let go of her wrists.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she says after a long moment. She pushes herself up, her dark hair falling into her face, and she doesn't look at me. "Shit," she breathes a second later. "My shirt is ruined."

"I have an extra one." I push myself up on one elbow, resisting the urge to reach out and nudge her hair away from her face, so that I can see it. Some instinct tells me not to touch her right now, that I've already pushed her further than I should have. "In the top drawer."

She nods, and a shiver runs through her. For a split second, I think she's crying, and I feel a sharp jolt of alarm, but when she starts to get up, and her hair falls back, I can see that her face is clear, if pale.

But she doesn't look at me. Not when she collects her clothes, or takes a shirt out of the top drawer of the dresser where I stashed my things last night, or walks to the bathroom. And as she goes, I can feel the divide between us, the moment when she remembers what she should feel, and not what she does.

And I know I'm going to spend the rest of my life aching to relive the last hour, again and again.