Russian Heat Read online

  “Oh.” Now she felt as rancid as she smelled for booting the poor woman out of her own home.

  As the Russians executed a secret-service style sweep of the apartment looking for who-knew-what, she wondered how many family members the woman had lost. The war here had endured long enough to claim both the best people and the worst people and everyone in between.

  She went to the back room to inspect her bed for the night and froze. Instead of two makeshift rooms divided by furniture, or three cots separated by screens, was one room with a single, purple king-sized bed. The memory of Vlad’s grinning face swam by like a shark.

  “Vlad!”

  ~* * *~

  Vlad grinned at Slava. Unlike his stern friend, he loved trouble, and there was no better kind of trouble than the type that involved a petite blonde with a lovely ass, sky-blue eyes and the nerves to keep a steady hand on a hypodermic while serenaded by mortars. Besides, the fantasy of unpeeling Jane Ransom’s winter layers down to her bare, rosy skin had plagued him with a hard-on for the past month. Wasn’t it time to share some of that pain?

  There was no doubt in his mind she wanted what they wanted. Sweaty and stripped down to a tee after wrestling sheep, the nipples of her firm little breasts pebbled each time she sat in the car, sooner if he teased her before they got in.

  And each time they left the car, he scented the sweet perfume of arousal wafting from her, a perfume sadly obscured during the drive by Yuri’s cigarettes. Judging by some of her jokes, she had a delightfully earthy outlook on sex which he hoped extended to practice as well as theory. Most of all, he hoped she was as game in the bedroom as she was on the mountainside, willing to try new things, such as taking on two men at once.

  His mouth watered at the thought of testing her boundaries. One fantasy in particular plagued him night and day. Jane, naked on her hands and knees on the leather backseat of the Zhiguli, Vlad buried to the hilt in her pussy, his hands forcing her thighs wider as she sucked Slava’s cock through the open window. Unlikely to ever happen, but a soldier could dream...

  He saw hesitation in Slava’s eyes. The man worried too much. After watching Jane wrestle a ram with a vacutainer between her teeth, Vlad had no doubts she could take on two mean ex-soldiers, even if their play tended to skew towards the rough and dark.

  She stormed into the room. “One bedroom, one bed.” She held up a single finger to emphasise her point. “Just to be clear, I’ll use military speak. Who’s going to unfuck this situation?”

  God, he loved it when she talked nasty. It was like watching a nun pole dance. Every time she opened her sweet little mouth to drop a filthy cuss word or obscene joke, he wanted to jump her bones on the spot. He waited to see if she’d come out with any similar pearls, disappointed when she settled for folding her arms over her chest and glaring.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll sort something out, won’t we, Slava?” He slid his friend a sideways look. In truth, they already had.

  Slava nodded.

  “Now, don’t you want to try the portable hot-water shower?” he asked.

  Jane blinked. “The what?” Her voice squeaked and Vlad knew he had her.

  “You heard me—shower. We paid extra for it.”

  She gave him a look of wonder usually reserved for three-legged chickens and he had to laugh. “Come on, stinky, let me show you how it works.”

  Her answering smile tickled him. She had a wide heart, forgetting her anger to enjoy what the moment had to offer. He appreciated a woman who, like him, didn’t hold a grudge.

  She followed but Slava stood rigid with disbelief, stunned stock-still by the concept of Jane one room away, wrestling with a shower hose, body gleaming and wet. Vlad braked and grinned. Slava had trouble believing in good luck but Vlad had no such problems, and the month-long torment had only whetted his appetite for “good luck.” Jane was going to be wrestling more than one hose in that shower.

  “Slava, give me a hand. Setting up this thing is a two-man job.”

  Slava snapped to and Vlad could see he was back on board, ready to think on his feet. Just as well, nothing but a dedicated onslaught would breach Jane’s formidable defences, her entrenched denial of what her body so obviously craved.

  He eased the bathroom door open and the three of them stared at the miraculous contraption set up on a plastic table next to the shower stall. A square steel cube, a battery-operated pump, a hose connected to the cold water supply and a clip-on shower hose with a shower head. Vlad hoped like hell the water supply was running, otherwise they’d all being going to bed tired, dirty and mighty frustrated.

  Jane squinted at the set-up and he could see the cogs turning in her sharp brain. He had to act quick or she would throw them both out and work the damn thing herself.

  “Slava, check the gas cartridge to make sure it looks safe to use.” That was a real concern. He definitely didn’t want their fun spoiled by exploding gas. He stripped off his t-shirt, enjoying the way the little vet’s eyes bulged. Cold air, almost as sharp as that on the snow-flecked mountains kissed his skin but he welcomed the chill. He always ran hot.

  ~* * *~

  “What are you doing?”

  Stupid question, it was pretty damn clear what Vlad was up to and she knew she should stop staring and get out of arm’s reach immediately, but holy fucksnacks what a body! Somewhere between cage fighter and Calvin Klein.

  Vlad dragged the rattling shower curtain across its rusty rail, powerful back muscles twitching and sliding over his frame and delivering a hefty clout to her resolve to leave. Her palms pleaded to slather themselves over the godlike expanse of his back and feel the play of muscle there, while the rest of her yearned to buff his steel torso with her breasts.

  She yanked her hungry gaze away. Vlad’s campaign of dropping “dirty bombs” in her ear at every opportunity had finally paid off. Most of his innuendos made her laugh, but now it hit its target, his target, the aching core between her thighs.

  Vlad faced her, the fierce contours of his torso anchoring her feet to the bathroom tiles and abrading her self-control. A teasing cleft of muscle darted from between the hills of his pecs to skim down his centre and cleave a panel of obscenely defined abs that leered at her to inspect below. Slung low over each hip, a handlebar of muscle tapered inward, the V-shape disappearing beneath the low ride of his stiff camouflage pants, begging her to slide the fabric down over his hips and explore further.

  She curled her restless fingers into fists. An evil grin spread over Vlad’s face at her struggle and, under her gaze, a bulge warped the drill fabric of his fatigue pants, driving heat into her cheeks and a pulse of warning through her sex. Who’s going to protect me from my hired protection?

  She took a step back as he hitched his thumb over his waistband, tugging drab fabric down to reveal another inch of sculpted abs, and the rigid Adonis belt bracketing his hips. “See something you like, Jane?”

  I bloody well do now.

  It wasn’t every day that two hot security escorts wanted to seduce her, a literal plain Jane, the short vet with no frills or makeup, shod in muddy farm boots more often than heels, her “signature look” dirt-smudged jeans. Their unsubtle interest was both flattering and frightening, and her willingness to be with them both at the same time gave her pause; a threesome was not something she’d considered before.

  The hired Russian bruisers, however, had her gagging for it, their rough talk, big hearts and special force bodies reducing her to something uncomfortably akin to a bitch in heat. But that wasn’t really her, logic asserted--the real Jane made all decisions based on rational thought.

  Ready to make tracks, she found her way barred by Slava’s naked torso. Legs straddled, arms akimbo, his shoulders filled the doorway. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  The dark hair sprinkling the prow of his pecs was a stark contrast to Vlad’s gleaming smoothness, as was his roadmap of old scars. They sat like razor wire over the hills of his massive chest and shoulders and below th
e deepest gouge pitting his pec, the word Трудноубиваемый was stamped in black Cyrillic. Hard to kill. Crazy Russians, they wore their dark humour like a badge of honour. Under his scars, Slava’s body twitched with taut definition, and the urge to kiss, lick, stroke and suck each arc and cleft of flesh submerged her in lust.

  Her gaze slid between each man. The harsh fluorescent light raked their bare skin, pitiless in exposing every battle scar to her scrutiny. But perfection was perfection, and nothing could diminish the glory of the brawn flanking her, the powerful bodies wiring her blood with the promise of both protection and danger, the resulting tingle both a warm lick and a warning slap.

  She eyed Slava’s hard face, taut with longing and doubt that mirrored her own. What did she really know about these men? Mother Russia, fucking and fighting figured large in their talk, but she had little sense of their moral compass, and who was to say whether they found her desirable or merely conveniently at hand?

  Vlad rooted his bulk behind her, his warmth invading her skin, her pullover no match for the furnace of his hard chest. Lust and fear hammered her as his proximity threatened to overwhelm her rational resistance. “Guys, this is so not a good idea.”

  Her sodden panties said her pussy disagreed, but she’d never been one to allow her body to make decisions for her, even when her ovaries screamed she had no reproductive clue.

  “You don’t like us?” Vlad asked.

  That was the problem--she liked them too much and didn’t want to be left crying in her vodka when they took off.

  Vlad rested his platter-like hands on her shoulders, the heavy gesture reassuring, restraining her in a way she had no business enjoying. “You’re the boss, Jane. We follow your orders.”

  Hardly true, but some of the tension trickled out of her spine at the words and his hands on her, their warmth easing neck muscles she hadn’t even realised were coiled rigid. She looked to Slava, who nodded.

  “Reshitye.” You decide.

  But she couldn’t. Sense warred with want and neither side would announce a truce.

  Vlad stroked her hip. “Poor Jane, such a decision to make. Slava, in the spirit of Glasnost we should help.”

  Vlad slid his palms down her body, bracketed her hips and pulled her closer against his hard chest and stiff cock. The hands around her pelvis drove an image like a spike through her brain of him gripping her hips as he pistoned into her from behind, balls slapping the back of her thighs.

  She inhaled sharply and Slava cocked his dark head, one corner of his lips twisting up, waking the scar on his cheek. “Are her nipples hard under that top?”

  She held her breath, anticipation coursing through her veins as Vlad’s hand slipped under her pullover, wandered up her ribs and sternum and then cupped her breast. Feather-light fingers, warm, bold and teasing, explored her peak through her bra.

  “Like rivets,” Vlad said.

  Slava swallowed hard. “And her liha, is it wet?”

  “Find out for yourself, friend.” The rumble of Vlad’s chuckle vibrated, smug against her back.

  She sighed, the breathy echo whispering around the bathroom tiles a signal of soft assent.

  ~* * *~

  Vlad felt the change that shuddered through Jane as she sighed, her body coming to a decision her mind couldn’t make. Fisting her pullover and tee, he stripped them over her head, her muffled hiss as the cold hit her skin making his lips twitch.

  Slava stared at Jane’s slight form, expression rapt, and Vlad taunted him by cupping her breasts lightly through her thin bra, withholding removal of the fabric’s skimpy veil of white satin. He grinned as Slava growled, bear-like. But his grin faded as Jane arched her slight breasts into his hands, her response almost undoing him. A savage gratitude seized him, tinged with darkness. The hard edges at the brink of his persona announced their presence, sparking a burning need to make her scream, weep and moan with pleasure before the night was out, until she no longer connected sex with anything but what took place between the three of them.

  “Tseliya yeyo.” Kiss her, he told Slava.

  When Slava didn’t speak or move, Vlad guessed demons from their army days had stopped by to remind Slava of his stint in Ingushetia, home of the girl who’d dumped him, claiming he was a sadist and a freak. The accusation sounded hollow to Vlad, considering the two long years she’d spent enjoying Slava’s cock, but Slava remained wary, afraid of hurting even the most willing of women. Vlad viewed it as a kind of sexual shell-shock.

  Assuming command, he tugged the straps of Jane’s bra down her shoulders, the delicate material sandpaper compared to the satin of her skin. A burst of slaver welled in his mouth as her taut, upturned nipples crested over her bra cup, their full pink roundness exposed when her bra fell to the tiles in a sigh of fabric.

  “Bozhe moy, I could suck on those all day long.”

  He made Slava watch, eyes hungry, as he pinched Jane’s fat nipples hard between his fingers. Her groan and the way she arched her back, grinding her ass against him, made his cock twitch with interest. That she liked a little rough handling confirmed her perfection, and his tongue thickened with need.

  He cupped her jaw, turned her head to claim her mouth, taking in her hooded gaze, heavy and hungry. He would do anything to fan that hunger. Licking the seal of her lips, he rewarded her acceptance of his tongue with a hand between her thighs, hardening the kiss, the pressure edging towards punishment as she moaned in helpless capitulation, the sound getting him hard.

  Her smothered mewl of pleasure had Vlad desperate to bury his face between her out-of-reach breasts, to lick the velvet skin covering her sternum, and mouth her pink nipples. Her small, firm breasts had stolen enough nights of sleep from him to deserve a little punishment, and he jammed hard fingers against the denim seam of her crotch in substitute revenge that had her begging for more.

  With her breasts out of reach, he instead contented his mouth with the taste of her lips, neck and ears, her sweat and softness. Slava crept nearer, and Vlad released Jane from a deep kiss to watch the stealthy approach of Slava’s mouth, saw Jane peek down and hold her breath as a tongue reached for her plump, juicy nipple.

  At the last moment Slava swerved away, a teasing smile on his lips, to bury his face between her breasts and take a deep draught of her skin. Vlad smiled. Slava was back. Bad as ever.

  ~* * *~

  Pulling his face from between her breasts, Slava licked an obscene trail from sternum to nipple, letting his tongue glide over her torso until she was slick with his spit, applying wet lips to slide them around the globes of her breasts. She was better than ice cream on a hot summer day. Her breath hitched as his hand snaked up to feed more of her tiny breast into his hot mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the stiff, wet peak until she groaned, then nuzzling the other breast to start all over again. An alluring scent of arousal drifted up from between her thighs and he could almost picture her cunt clenching with need. Almost.

  “Hold her firm,” he told Vlad, the unfulfilled need to taste her making him hoarse.

  He waited while Vlad’s strong arms hooked around her, watched her expression closely but detected nothing more than mild surprise and curious arousal on her lovely, flushed face. Resting a hand on the top button of her jeans, he leaned in and flicked it undone as he tasted her mouth, giving himself something to compare the taste of her pussy with when that moment came.

  His hand slid from the undone button to her zipper. Pulling back to look into her eyes, he cleared his throat. “Give me a taste, Jane.”

  Her eyes grew big.

  Unzipping her jeans, he let her fly teeth pop apart one by one, keeping her unveiling deliberate and slow as Vlad peered over her shoulder with avid interest. He froze as she pulled back with a small sound of protest. Vlad responded by sinking his teeth into the flesh where the soft curve between neck and shoulder met, the bite demanding she yield any and all resistance at once.

  She stilled, grew passive under Vlad’s te
eth, and Slava’s icy control gave way to a sea of fire. He yanked her jeans open wide, jerked them down, hands made rough by impatience. Dropping a hand to her panties, his gaze never faltered from hers as he burrowed his rough, scarred knuckles under the scrap of elastic and nylon hiding her hot mound. Finger resting on the seam of her lightly-haired lips, he stilled. “Yes?”

  A hectic flush reddened her cheeks which deepened as he searched her gaze, but her blue eyes smouldered from beneath heavy lids. “Yes.”

  Her husky tone was a fist in his guts sending hot lust licking along his spine down to his balls. If she’d looked or spoken to him like that even once during the past month, no matter where they’d been or how alone, she would have found herself flat on her back, his prick buried in her in a frenzy without finesse. Which would have been a pity. Just as well Vlad was here to restrain him, to take the edge off his barbarian urges so that everything could be savoured as it should—slow and thorough.

  Curling his trigger finger to penetrate her pussy’s swollen lips, he leaned into her, mashing her breasts with his chest and grinding her hard against Vlad as he nuzzled her mouth, nipping her bottom lip when she wasn’t quick enough to open for him.

  The hot channel of her mouth tasted of submission. His finger breached her soft folds and he groaned at the slick heat there, the way her thighs clenched together and her hips bucked. Scooping a serve of her pussy’s cream with his hooked fingers, he brought hand to mouth, fed his pussy-coated fingers between his lips and sucked the gleaming wetness.

  “Bladodatyen.” Heaven-sent. At his words, Vlad’s nostrils flared, a riot of impatience flooding his face as the rutting urge took him hard.

  But Slava needed to see her first.

  Peeling her jeans lower he made a dark noise of satisfaction as her pale belly met his stare. The grubby denim jeans hid skin that was delicate perfection, almost translucent. Obviously her body hadn’t seen the Australian sun for quite some time.

  Discarding her jeans, he ran a hand over the graceful sweep of her thighs, found her upper thigh fit perfectly into his palm. Handy to know. An angry pale blue scar marred one knee and he traced a finger over it. “Mad sheep?”