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Penance: A Dark Bratva Romance by Sassa Daniels – Extended Preview


It’s no surprise when I get to the bedroom to discover Meredith has obeyed my instructions. While she might have concealed her true identity from me, there’s no way she could have faked her submission. Bending to my will was as natural to her as breathing. She craved my dominance.

She’s kneeling by the bed, as graceful as I remember her being. Well, as graceful as she was in the latter days of our relationship. She was clumsy in the beginning, her long limbs seeming to hamper every movement, but she soon developed the elegant posture she’s demonstrating now. Her long neck is straight, holding her head high, but her gaze is cast downward. Her legs are folded beneath her, so her bottom rests on her heels. She’s spread her thighs apart just enough for me to glimpse that pretty pink pussy. The jeans and floral blouse she was wearing are folded neatly on a chair. I usually prefer women in dresses but the casual look suits Meredith.

When I purposely slam the door behind me, she jumps. She’s skittish like a frightened rabbit.


I want her on edge, not knowing what I’ll do to her. As I stalk closer, her body tenses. She’s fighting the urge to look up at me. I can see it in the tautness of her shoulders. A tremor runs through her as I come to stand in front of her. Reaching out, I place a finger under her chin and draw it upward until her eyes are forced to meet mine. There’s fear there, but also desire. It’s gratifying to see that, after all that this time apart, her body still responds to me.

“I never got the chance to punish you,” I tell her. She bites her bottom lip, perhaps to keep herself from saying something that will land her in more trouble. “Stand up.”

She gets to her feet. Her movement is less fluid than it used to be. Seems she’s out of practice.

“Tonight, you will submit to me.” I wait for some reaction and she nods almost imperceptibly. Her mouth opens and shuts, and I know she has a question. “What is it?”

“What happens… tomorrow?”

I can’t blame her for wanting to know. It must be preying on her mind that I could hurt her. The truth is I won’t do her any harm. I can’t. Despite her betrayal, my anger that she’s stayed away so long, I have no interest in causing her pain. Well, not any more than she’ll receive from a good spanking.

“Tomorrow, we talk.” My accent gets thicker as I let my gaze course up and down the length of her body. There’s a frailty about her. She’s tall and slight with small breasts and dusky pink nipples. Her pussy is bare, the way I preferred it. I wonder if she still keeps it clean shaven for me. Her legs are long, her ankles delicate. There’s a scar on her right foot where she dropped a kitchen knife on it when she was young. At least, that’s the story she told me. Who knows how much of what she shared with me was true? “For now you are to obey me—no hesitation, no protests, no safe words.” As she takes in my demands, a tremble runs through her limbs. What still shines strongest in her beautiful blue eyes, however, is lust. She likes to flirt with danger, my little kotik. I take a deep breath and banish that thought.

Not my kotik. Never again.

“Yes, sir,” she says after a pause. Her eyes dart to the side and I can almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she persuades herself she can do this.

“Bend over the bed. Legs spread, ass out.”

She doesn’t even take a breath before obeying. She pivots on the ball of her foot, turns and positions herself as ordered. Stretching her arms up over her head, she adopts a pose of supplication. I didn’t ask her to do that, but it’s a nice touch. She adjusts her stance until her legs are wide, and pushes her bottom out. As she turns her head to the side, facing away from me, her golden hair slides off her shoulder.

My heart lurches as I notice her perfect skin has been marred. The letters L and B have been burned into her flesh next to her right shoulder blade in a bold script, the mark of the Lenkov Brotherhood. Whatever redness and swelling was once there is long gone, confirming the injury is an old one but I shake with rage as I think how it must have hurt her when it was done. My fists clench at my sides. This is Mila’s doing. I know my sister’s work. She’s meticulous and the edges of the lettering are crisp, suggesting a precise, steady hand was used to apply the brand.

I want to pull Meredith into my arms, to tell her I would never have sanctioned what happened to her, but I can’t. I’m as much to blame as my siblings for what she went through. When I gave her to Daniil to deal with, I wasn’t thinking straight, but I knew what he would do. It’s pointless to pretend otherwise. My brother’s a ruthless bastard when crossed and my sister kills our enemies without batting an eyelash. I was so mad at Meredith for betraying me, I didn’t care what happened to her.

It gives me a moment’s anxiety about spanking her, but I quickly dismiss the guilt. Whatever she endured, it was penance for her treachery against the Brotherhood. She was lucky she lived to tell the tale. Few others can say the same. What my siblings did was about protecting the business, but the punishment I’m about to mete out is strictly personal. I’m the poor sucker she duped into loving her, and I never got the chance to deal with her deceit. A blistered ass is a small price to pay for her sins against me.

Giving her no warning, I move into position behind her and bring the crop down hard on her bottom. Meredith yelps, more from surprise than pain, I think. Although I’m not easing her into this, I doubt the first strike hurt that much.

I draw my arm back and aim for the left butt cheek this time. The crop lands with a thwack and her flesh wobbles. She doesn’t make a sound this time, as a pretty pink blotch appears on her pale skin. It’s a beautiful sight. I whack her bottom over and over again with the crop, building up a steady rhythm of strokes, alternating between the left and right sides of her ass. After the fourteenth blow, she starts to get restless. Her bottom is flaming red now and the way she squirms against the mattress, moaning in ecstasy, tells me the heat has traveled to a more intimate place.

My pulse rate picks up and my cock stirs as she moans more deeply each time the crop lands on her pert little derriere.

“If I’d known you’d respond this well to being thrashed, I’d have done it years ago,” I tell her.

She whimpers and buries her face in the mattress, embarrassed that I’ve read her body’s responses. The scent of her arousal fills the air, making me want to strip off my pants and fuck her until she has no doubt she still belongs to me. I grit my teeth as I force myself to hold off. I’m not done spanking her yet.

“Six more.” My voice sounds pained. “You’re to count each one, understand?”


Inwardly, I groan as he tells me to count each strike of the crop. My mind scrambles with conflicted thoughts as he punishes me. A part of me is angry and humiliated, not to mention feeling sore and sorry I ever laid eyes on Timofey Lenkov. The other part is undeniably turned on by the pain and mortification of being completely bared to him as he lays the crop across my ass, over and over again.

“Meredith,” he says sternly, when I don’t respond to him.

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

Calling him sir comes naturally, but in this situation, I dislike the formality, the distance it creates between us. I want him to get this over with. Then I want him to soothe away the ache of longing that burns within me. I crave closeness with this man, more than ever before. The strength of my desire is bewildering. Two years should have been enough to sever emotional the ties between us, but I realize now that a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

“Good,” Timofey says, bringing my focus back to the moment.

The crop thwacks down on flesh that’s already tender. I hiss out a breath and grab a fistful of the bedcovers. Either Timofey’s wielding that crop more harshly now or that short break in the spanking has given my brain time to fully wrap itself around what my poor bottom is experiencing.

“One,” I say with a remarkably steady voice.

I brace myself to accept the next blow, but when it comes it still jolts me. My jaw clenches. “Two!” I spit out.

With each impact of that infernal implement, a fresh surge of heat flares through me. Pain twists at my core and somehow morphs into the most delicious pleasure. I count out the next three lashes of the crop, my voice growing hoarse as I cry out the numbers. My bottom is throbbing now, and if I had the luxury of a safe word, I’d contemplate using it. Despite the hurt, the steady thrum of arousal still has my nerves tingling. My pussy is wet and pathetically willing.

How can I want a man who’s thrashing my backside raw?

As I wait for the final smack from the crop, my fingers curl tight around the soft, mushroom-colored comforter on the bed. Ridiculously, I wonder what the thread count of the cotton is.

What does that matter right now?

The crop delivers a brutal sting as it lands for the final time, and I squeal like a pig that’s had its tail pulled. Tears prick my eyes, but I manage to hold them back.

“Six,” I say breathlessly.

Behind me, Timofey murmurs something about a stiff upper lip and I realize I have remained remarkably stoic throughout this punishment. Perhaps I should have screeched and wailed, tried to crawl away, put on a performance for him. If he thinks being cropped was a walk in the park for me, he might see that as a challenge. I don’t want him to resort to harsher measures to teach me a lesson, but I know he’d have picked up on it if I’d tried to act more distressed than I was. The spanking had definitely hurt, but I coped. My natural resilience has got me through some tough times. It will help me deal with whatever Timofey throws at me.

My breath hitches as he grabs me and flips me onto my back, so my legs dangle over the edge of the bed. The mattress may be soft, but my bottom feels like it just landed on solid concrete. My lips twist as pain reverberates through my bruised posterior. There isn’t time to think about how sore I am, though. Timofey lowers his pants and frees his hugely erect cock before I can blink.

Although two years have passed, my body responds to his as it always did. My pussy, wet and ready for him, clenches as he impales me with a savage thrust. It’s harsh, rough, the sudden intrusion causing a burning stretch I haven’t felt for so long. He wastes no time with sweet words or foreplay, gives me no chance to adjust to the fullness as he slams into me. My eyes squeeze shut as he fucks me so hard I think he’s trying to break me.

“Look at me,” he commands as the intensity builds.

My eyes spring open. As I see the desperate need on Timofey’s harshly beautiful face, my heart skips a beat. There’s nothing soft in the sharp angle of his jaw or high cheekbones. His sapphire eyes glint as he drives his cock relentlessly into my quivering body. Though his actions are brutally impersonal, his scorching gaze reveals his inner thoughts. Claiming me is as essential to him as taking his next breath. There’s no other choice for him or for me. We need each other with a desperation bordering on madness.

Pleasure ripples through my drenched pussy, but the orgasm I crave is elusive.

“Please,” I moan plaintively.

The merest brush of his fingertips across my clit would do it, the twist of a nipple, but Timofey makes no move to help me find release from the pressure building at my core. Realizing he intends to deny me, I try to angle my hips so his cock brushes against my swollen pearl, but he pushes me back down.

“This is not for you,” he grits out as his fingers dig into my hips.

His grip hurts and will probably leave marks, but I don’t care. Whether he allows me pleasure or not, I need this, to be possessed by this man once more. Too soon, strain shows on his face as the muscles in his neck bulge, and he barks out something unintelligible. I wince as he pulls out too quickly, my swollen flesh stinging as his seed splatters across my inner thigh.

“Breakfast at seven-thirty,” he says, barely out of breath as he tucks himself back into his pants. The remark is so unexpected, I snort in disbelief. Timofey’s gaze darkens and his jaw twitches in silent irritation. “Do not be late.”

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