Smut Stories Collection

The Ruthless Game

They call me the Reaper. I've been the Ivanov syndicate's most dangerous weapon for twelve years. No target has ever survived. No job has ever failed.

Until her.

Katya Volkov. Twenty-nine years old, platinum blonde hair that she always ties back in a tight ponytail, and eyes the color of a frozen lake. She runs the eastern territory for the Morozov family, the Ivanovs' biggest rivals. My boss wants her dead. I want her dead.

But every single time I get close, she slips through my fingers like smoke.

The first attempt was at a gala in the city's most exclusive hotel. I'd spent weeks securing an invitation, bribing staff, planting a sniper rifle in a room across the street. She was supposed to be the guest of honor. I had a clear shot from the balcony.

I watched her through the scope. She wore a blood-red dress that hugged every curve of her body, her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of silver. She laughed at something a politician said, her hand resting on his arm. Beautiful. Graceful.

Deadly.

I adjusted my aim. Waited for the perfect moment.

She turned her head. Looked directly at the window where I was positioned. And she smiled.

Not a nervous smile. Not a suspicious smile. A knowing, teasing, f**k you smile. Then she raised her champagne glass in a toast and mouthed something: "Nice view."

I didn't fire. I couldn't. She'd already vanished into the crowd by the time I blinked.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The second attempt was more direct. I ambushed her convoy on a mountain road, set up a blockade, and opened fire on her armored SUV. Her guards returned fire, but I took them out one by one, methodical, and precisely. I approached the vehicle, gun raised, ready to finish it.

The back door opened. She stepped out, completely unharmed, wearing a black tactical vest over a silk blouse. Her hands were empty. No weapon. No fear.

"You know," she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "you're really bad at this."

"Shut up and put your hands where I can see them."

"Or what? You'll shoot me? You've been trying for three months. And here I am." She stepped closer. "I'm starting to think you don't actually want to kill me."

I pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit the car behind her. She hadn't flinched. She'd predicted where I would aim.

"Tsk tsk," she said, shaking her head. "Your tells are so obvious. You shift your weight to your left foot just before you fire. Easy to read."

I lowered the gun, just a fraction. "How do you know that?"

"I've been watching you too, Reaper." She smiled again, that infuriating, gorgeous smile. "You're very predictable. And very handsome. It's a shame we're on opposite sides."

I wanted to shoot her. I wanted to grab her by the throat. I wanted to... I didn't know what I wanted.

"You're dead," I said.

"Maybe. But not today." She walked past me, to a motorcycle hidden in the bushes. "Try harder next time. I'll be waiting."

She sped off, and I stood there, surrounded by her dead guards, my heart pounding.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The fourth attempt was a bomb in her penthouse. The sixth was a staged car crash. The ninth was poisoning her favorite restaurant's wine—she sent me a text afterwards: "Nice try. But I prefer whiskey."

I was obsessed. I couldn't sleep, couldn't focus on any other job. Every night I replayed our encounters, the way she looked at me, the way she laughed. She was in my head. She was in my blood.

The twelfth attempt was the last one I made with any real intention to kill her.

I'd tracked her to a private warehouse on the docks. She was alone, no guards, no backup. I broke in through the roof, silenced the pistol in hand, and found her in the main room, sitting on a crate, drinking whiskey from a crystal glass.

"You're late," she said, not even looking up.

"I'm exactly on time."

"No, you're late. I was expecting you an hour ago. Did you get lost?"

I ignored her. "This ends tonight, Katya."

"Does it?" She finally looked at me, and her eyes were hungry. "I've been thinking about this moment too, you know. Wondering what you'd say. What you'd do."

"Any last words?"

"Yeah." She stood up, set down her glass, and walked toward me. Slow. Deliberate. "I want you to know that I've enjoyed this. Our little game. It's been the most fun I've had in years."

"It's not a game."

"Everything is a game, Reaper. The question is just whether you're playing to win, or playing to play." She stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something floral and sharp. "And I think you're playing to play. Because if you really wanted me dead, you would have succeeded by now."

I raised my gun, pressed it against her forehead. "Last chance to beg."

She laughed. Actually laughed. "You won't shoot me. You can't."

"Try me."

"Okay." She grabbed my hand—the one holding the gun—and pushed it harder against her skull. "Pull the trigger. End it. I dare you."

My finger trembled on the trigger. I could do it. One squeeze, and she'd be gone. My obsession would be over. My boss would be happy.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't.

"Why?" I demanded, the question ripping out of me. "Why do you keep letting me live? Why do you toy with me?"

"Because I like you." She said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I like the way you move. The way you think. The way you look at me like you want to devour me."

"I do want to devour you."

"Then do it."

She kissed me.

I dropped the gun.

Her mouth was hot, demanding, her tongue sliding against mine. My hands found her waist, pulling her against me, and she moaned, her fingers tangling in my hair. I pushed her against the crate, my body pressing into hers, and she wrapped her legs around my hips.

"f**k," I breathed, breaking the kiss. "This is insane."

"Everything about us is insane." She bit my lower lip. "Now shut up and f**k me."

I didn't need to be told twice.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

I tore at her clothes, buttons flying, fabric ripping. Her skin was pale and perfect, her breasts spilling out of a black lace bra. I pulled it down, took her n****e in my mouth, and she gasped, arching into me.

"Yes—f**k—yes—"

I sucked her hard, biting down just enough to make her cry out, while my hands worked on her belt, her pants. She kicked them off, and then she was naked beneath me, spread out on the cold concrete, her legs open.

"Look at you," I said, my voice was rough. "All this time, and this is what you wanted?"

"No," she said, her eyes blazing. "This isn't what I wanted. This is what I needed."

I dropped to my knees between her legs. Her p***y was wet, glistening, her c**t swollen and begging for attention. I ran my finger through her folds, and she shuddered.

"Tell me you want it."

"I want it. I want your mouth, your c**k, everything. f*****g take me."

I lowered my head and licked her.

She tasted like heaven and sin. I ate her out like a starving man, my tongue circling her c**t, dipping inside her, drinking her in. She moaned, her hands fisting in my hair, her hips bucking against my face.

"Don't stop—please—right there—"

I sucked her c**t into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue, and she screamed, her body convulsing as she came. I kept going, licking her through her orgasm, until she pushed me away, panting.

"Enough," she gasped. "I need your c**k. Now."

I stood, unbuckled my belt, and let my pants fall. My c**k was hard, aching, the tip leaking pre-c*m. She reached out, grabbed it, and guided me to her entrance.

"Look at me," she said.

I looked into her eyes.

"Remember this, Reaper. Remember that you chose this. You chose me."

I thrust inside her.

We both groaned. She was tight, hot, so f*****g wet. I bottomed out, my hips pressing against hers, and I stayed there for a moment, feeling her clench around me.

"Move," she commanded.

I did.

I f****d her hard, pounding into her on the crate, the warehouse echoing with our sounds—skin slapping, moans, curses. I grabbed her hips, pulling her onto me with every thrust, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, taking me deeper.

"Harder," she demanded.

I slammed into her, faster, rougher. Her nails dug into my back, drawing blood, and the pain only made me harder. I reached between us and found her c**t, rubbing it in circles as I f****d her.

"c*m with me," I growled. "c*m on my cock."

She did, crying out, her body tightening around me, triggering my own release. I came inside her, hot and thick, pumping into her as she milked me dry.

We collapsed together, tangled, breathless.

"Holy s**t," she whispered.

"Yeah."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

I still work for the Ivanovs. She still runs the Morozov family. We're supposed to be enemies. We're supposed to want each other dead.

Instead, we meet in secret. Abandoned warehouses. Hotel rooms booked under fake names. The back seat of my car in a parking garage. Every time, we f**k like we're trying to kill each other. And every time, we go back to our lives, pretending nothing happened.

She still taunts me. I still chase her. But now, after every failed attempt, I find a text on my phone: "Same place. Tonight."

The last time, she pinned me against a wall and whispered in my ear: "I'm going to make you choose. Your boss or me."

"I already chose," I told her.

"Oh yeah?"

I flipped her around, bent her over a table, and f****d her from behind. She came so hard she nearly collapsed.

"You're mine," I said, pulling out and turning her to face me. "And I'm not letting you go. Not even if it means war."

She smiled, that infuriating, beautiful smile.

"Good. I'd hate to have to kill you after all this."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Two nights ago, she called me, her voice urgent. "My penthouse. Now. Bring a weapon."

I was there in twenty minutes. The door was unlocked. I found her in the living room, wearing nothing but a silk robe, a knife in her hand.

"Trouble?" I asked.

"Not anymore." She set the knife down. "I took care of it. But I needed to see you."

"You couldn't just text?"

"I wanted to do this." She walked toward me, untied her robe, and let it fall to the floor. She was naked underneath, her body perfect, her skin flushed.

"You're insatiable," I said.

"You love it."

I did.

I didn't bother undressing. I just dropped my pants, sat on the couch, and pulled her onto my lap. She straddled me, her wet heat grinding against my c**k.

"Condom?" she asked.

"f**k no."

"Good."

She lowered herself onto me, taking me inside her inch by inch. We both moaned. She started riding me slowly, her hips rolling, her hands on my shoulders.

"I've been thinking," she said, her voice breathy.

"About what?"

"About you. About us. About what happens when our bosses find out."

"They won't."

"They will." She rode me harder, her pace increasing. "And when they do, you'll have to choose. The Ivanovs or me."

"I already told you." I grabbed her hips, thrusting up into her. "I choose you."

"You mean that?"

"Every word."

She kissed me, deep and desperate, and then she leaned back, her hands on my thighs, riding me like a wild thing. Her breasts bounced, her hair flew, her moans filled the room.

"f**k—I'm close—"

I reached down and rubbed her c**t, pressing hard. She screamed my name—my name—and c*m, her p***y clenching around me. I followed, my hands gripping her ass, my c*m filling her.

She collapsed against my chest, trembling.

"I love you," she whispered. "I don't know when it happened, but I do."

I held her tight. "I love you too, Katya. And I'm going to protect you. No matter what it takes."

She looked up at me, her eyes wet. "Even if it means killing your own boss?"

"Even then."

She smiled. "You're a terrible hitman, you know that?"

"I know."

"But you're mine."

"Yours."

She kissed me again, and I knew—whatever came next, whatever war was brewing, I'd face it with her by my side.

Because I'd rather die fighting for her than live without her.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈