Dark Soul (Vol 3)
In "Dark Lady I," as Silvio Spadaro plans to take on the Russian hit squad that kidnapped his boss, he decides the best way to deal with four extremely dangerous men is to become an even more dangerous woman.
In “Dark Lady II,” Stefano discovers yet another disturbing—and arousing—truth about Silvio and how easily Silvio can use a man’s weakness to his own ends.
“Dark Brother” brings another player to Stefano Marino’s household. Franco Spadaro has just been released from the French Foreign Legion and is catching up with his little brother. In the middle of a war, a skilled sniper comes in right on time—but two Spadaros might be more than Stefano can handle.
Caution: The following details may be considered spoilerish.
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He spotted the hooker first, but dismissed her presence at the bar. Pavel, however, elbowed him in the side and pointed. Stupid bastard, pointing at anybody or anything.
Sergei considered snatching Pavel’s hand and breaking his finger against the table, but refrained.
Vasily must have noticed the sudden swell of adrenaline; he grinned that odd little grin of his that meant trouble or death. Sergei gave him a minute nod. Vanya remained oblivious, staring into his vodka shot as if lamenting the absence of pickles.
Suddenly, the hooker was upon him—literally. Before Sergei could shove her down on the floor, one long leg lifted in his field of vision, clad toe to mid-thigh in black latex, tight and shiny as if somebody had dipped her leg in crude oil. The chrome-plated heel was absurd—only a woman would wear something so like a weapon and yet so useless. Then she shifted her small ass in her tight black skirt onto him.
Pavel’s eyes got all round and he pursed his lips. Sergei glanced at the hooker now settling on his knee, facing him, rubbing her groin along his thigh as she scooted closer, legs wide open. It didn’t even take an invitation; it was all there, right in his face.
“Hey, big boy,” she purred, voice smoky.
Sergei put the shot glass down on the table and leaned back. Dusky mascara and eye makeup contrasted the bob-cut platinum wig. That tight skirt too short to pose a real obstacle to sitting as widely open as she sat now. Her flat belly was bared, however, showing off some nice smooth muscles. Built like a stripper, slim and trim but with power underneath. She wore a dark lace bra on top, framed by a short shirt knotted underneath her sternum, making the most of breasts she didn’t really have. Not even enough to fill one hand.
A black leather collar with a D-ring and chrome plating completed her barely-there dress. She looked like something out of Blade Runner, or possibly a throwback from the eighties, which were only romanticized by people who hadn’t been alive then.
“Lucky bastard,” Pavel muttered in Russian.
That did it. Sergei placed a hand on her thigh, felt her grind against him, subtly, but definitely there. Bitch was getting off on him, and he was amazed at the cheek to just sit in his lap and rub her pussy against his thigh.
“Want drink?” he asked.
“I’d love a drink,” she said, and Sergei motioned for Pavel to refill his glass. Pavel did so, and Sergei offered the shot to the hooker. She kicked it back like a pro, making the D-ring on her collar jingle. She laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning in. “Can you show a girl a good time?”
The longer she rubbed and ground against him, the more likely that became. “What do you charge?”
“Dollars,” she murmured low in his ear. “Depends if your friends want to join in or not. A blowjob won’t be as expensive as taking all of you.”
Taking all of you.
“What’s she say?” Pavel asked, and the others leaned forward, too.
“She says she’s for sale—and could take us all,” Sergei translated.
“Fuck,” Vasily muttered.
Tension surged, and Sergei knew the others were up for it. Few things he didn’t know about them. They’d trained together, lived together, and fought together for more than ten years. Few things men didn’t share after so much time.
He glanced around, noticed assent in the group and that lithe, nubile body on top of his. Drinking wasn’t his priority anymore. “All of us?”
She turned her head, looking at Pavel, then Vasily and Vanya—slow, provocatively slow, her black eyes unblinking, simultaneously staring at his comrades and into the distance, spaced out or drugged. Then she smiled. “You might break me.” She ground against him as if that idea turned her on.
He slid his hand between her crotch and his legs. She exhaled, a raspy, almost hollow sound, and pushed into his hand. What he felt there wasn’t quite what he expected, but it didn’t matter. He grabbed her neck and pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear. “So are you boy or girl?”
In response, she licked his ear. “Do you care that much?” She ground against him again. “You like ass, don’t you?”
Sergei laughed. “What about a transvestite?” he asked the others in Russian.
“If you do it, I do, too,” Vasily said, always the most adventurous of the lot. But who said snipers were sane.
Sergei grabbed her by the waist, lifted her up—which got a delighted squeal from her—and stood. She wasn’t tall, but now that he saw her from this angle, she did have broader shoulders than most women, and what he’d thought was lankiness were clearly male proportions. Tiny ass with almost no curves anywhere, but she was cleverly dressed to downplay that. And her breasts—well, looked like she really didn’t have any.
He grabbed her neck and kissed her, deeply, harshly, and felt her yield like a woman would. This should prove interesting. “So you much do you charge?” he asked.
“For all of you? Four hundred.”
He had no clue if that was expensive or cheap. Probably cheap, in this country. Precious little else they could spend their money on, anyway. “Pay upfront?”
“Always.” She nodded at him, dark eyes very earnest. “Just a moment.” She walked purposefully to another scantily-clad woman at the bar, touched her shoulder, whispered something in her ear, and got a nod and a smile in return.
One hooker telling another she was heading out to work. Sergei didn’t like the other hooker gazing at him and his team, but that couldn’t be helped now. In the gloom, she wouldn’t be able to give a very good description to anybody if the Italians tracked them.
When she came back, he pulled his wallet out and paid her near the door. Pavel and Vasily stood ready to cut her off if she decided to make a run for it, as unlikely as it was in those boots.
She folded the bills over one finger and pushed the money into a side pocket of the stupid little silver handbag dangling from her shoulder. “I know a good motel nearby.”
“No, you’re coming to our place.”
She paused, a blink that turned into real hesitation, despite the money. Bad experiences? Fear? Caution? “I don’t know you at all.” You could do whatever to me and not pay was what her tone said. She fingered the bag, tempted, reluctant, torn between the money and the fear.
Sergei watched her, realizing that, unlike with a lot of people, he really couldn’t tell which way her decision would fall. She had strange black eyes, pools of darkness, almost as liquid as an animal’s. She breathed deeply a few times, looked up into his face, and Sergei smiled at the realization she was reading him. “I won’t hurt you,” he said in English.
“What about your friends?”
“They play rough, but they don’t kill.” Unless paid to and ordered.
She shuddered and bit her lip. “Let’s ride, big guy.”
They surrounded her on the way to the car, almost like guarding her, and maybe that was how she saw it, but Vasily’s wolfish grin told a different story.
She followed, lengthening her stride to keep up, and slid into the car when Pavel opened it. Vasily went after her, pushing her down and pressing against her. Pro that she was, she just opened her legs for him and allowed him to hump her right there.
Pavel glanced at Sergei. “To the safe house? Really?”
Sergei shrugged. “Most dangerous thing about her are those boots.”
Pavel glanced inside the car. “Guess Vasily will have searched all her cavities before we arrive.”
“Get in the car. Vanya, drive.”
Once Pavel was inside, Vasily was forced to share the attentions, and the hooker was thoroughly groped and touched all over. The contrast between the large men and the slender figure turned him on. Also that her hands were also all over Vasily and Pavel, and within moments she was rubbing their dicks through their trousers.
Nobody seemed to mind that she wasn’t actually a woman. In Pavel’s case, that might be because of the vodka. And Vasily—Sergei assumed the sniper didn’t care what exactly he put his dick in as long as it breathed and didn’t go “baaah.”
In any case, Vasily kept her mouth busy, sticking his tongue almost down her throat, while Pavel kissed and licked and nipped at her long, strong neck, one finger hooked into the D-ring at her collar as if to make sure Vasily wouldn’t grab her and carry her off.
Sergei twisted the rearview mirror so Vanya wouldn’t get distracted, and kept watching their surroundings. Running into cops was the last thing he wanted. Yesterday’s shooting was all over the news, and some newspapers were speculating wildly about the cause of the attack. It was definitely drawing heat to that Italian motherfucker, and with the interest of the press and the police awakened, Marino would have to keep his head down. Which suited Sergei’s objective just fine.
However, neither he nor his men were inconspicuous, which meant keeping a low profile, eating in fast food joints, leaving no paper trails, no witnesses, no potential trouble. Sergei didn’t mind being a ghost so much, hovering at the edges of society; after all these years, he struggled imagining being anything else.
The safe house was a bit out of the way, in a rundown part of the city, with no direct neighbors. Just a closed-down printing shop to one side, and to the other a boarded-up apartment building awaiting gentrification or a wrecking crew. This part of the city was holding its breath for rebirth, but would only succumb to cancer.
The car stopped and Sergei stepped out. He watched while Vasily composed himself and got out of the car, raging erection pushing against his fly. Pavel was no better, but he didn’t grin as gleefully as Vasily and actually helped the already disheveled hooker out of the car.
Vasily winked at him. “You’re gonna be first?”
“Yeah.” Sergei usually didn’t pull rank, but she’d come to him, and while that decided nothing really, he figured it was important to show who was leading. Besides, she’d made that possible; his body responded readily to hers.
They escorted the hooker to the nondescript two-bedroom house. Sergei had claimed the master bedroom for himself (having his own shower seemed like the height of luxury), while the rest shared the other double bedroom, or had until Vasily had complained of Vanya’s snoring and moved onto the couch in the living room. It was the shared bedroom they were heading to.
The hooker reached the bed, glanced at it, and turned to Sergei, looking nervous. But then she stepped closer, met his eyes for a long moment, and went down on her knees. Sergei inhaled sharply when she opened his fly and rubbed him through his boxers before pulling down his trousers far enough to pull his boxers down, too.
She didn’t tease much—straight to business, her lips parting for him and taking him in without reluctance. He grabbed her neck, her smooth, long movements much like he’d jerk off when he had time and wanted to make it last. His gaze fell on Vasily, who stared at her face, her lips, and of course at Sergei’s dick, eyes glowing with cold, calculating lust.
Pavel made a rude comment in Russian, while Sergei stepped out of his boots and trousers, allowing the hooker to keep jerking him off while he undressed. “Get on bed now.”
She stood and plucked the silver handbag from her shoulder, then fished out a tube of lube and a long strip of condoms.
Vasily scoffed. “I’m not putting one of those on,” he said in Russian.
She seemed to catch the gist of that protest and looked at Vasily, her dark eyes steady and not afraid at all. “I’m not worried about you,” she said, “but you might want to be worried about me. I fuck men for a living, not you.”
Sergei huffed laughter and responded in Russian. “You put that on. I’m not nursing you through some infection. If you catch anything, I’m putting you down like a dog.”
Vasily stared at him with the “try it” expression he sometimes used when given an order not directly related to a job. Sergei assumed those were shows of machismo. Vasily thought of himself as the second man on the team, while, for Sergei, the hierarchy was flat indeed: him at the top and the other three on the level underneath.
He met that stare, then grabbed the hooker and pushed her to the bed. She lay down on her back, booted legs spread wide. He got on top, noticed her shifting something between her legs, then she reached for the condoms. She ripped one open with skill, then put it on him as she must have done a million times.
She curved her spine, since he wasn’t going into her pussy, but once she was positioned right, he could push easily against her ass. She was lubed up already there, but Sergei still pulled the lube closer. Just in case. She smiled at him and licked her lips. “Give me that fat cock, please.”
[Y]ou need pick up every volume of this series and not wait a damn minute longer.
I do believe Aleksandr Voinov is the only author who can push my comfort level to its very limits—and make me love it, every salacious, kinky, erotic step of the way. [A] seduction of the most sublime sort.
Voinov . . . makes it so easy to look past the violence and the taboo and just be sucked into the story and even find it incredibly hot. Silvio is such an engrossing character that one can't help but be pulled into his world.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get more intriguing, this volume proved me wrong.
Things are really hotting up in this series now. Some bits were so hot they nearly set fire to my book reader! [A] dark, intense thriller.