The Master

by Kresley Cole

  CHAPTER 14

  For the next two hours, I sat stewing, getting more and more nauseated. I had still been buzzed all morning, and now my hangover hit me with the force of a freight train.

  I'd banged on the door, calling out, "I'm sick, Sevastyan! I need to take something." He hadn't come. So I could do nothing more than curl up on the bed, stomach roiling. I was mustering the energy to go hold vigil at the toilet when the door opened.

  Sevastyan said, "He's here."

  I sat up, and the room started to spin. I half-heaved. "I'm sick."

  "Uh-huh. Of course you are. And right when the doctor arrives? How fortunate that we can get him to take a look at this other ailment." He grabbed my arm, forcing me to stand.

  I tottered. "Sevastyan . . ."

  He gazed down at my face, scowled. "Fuck." He released me. "Go."

  I sprinted for the toilet, and skidded to my knees just as I started vomiting. The bastard was right behind me, leaning in the doorway.

  "Go away!"

  The champagne smell made me heave again and again, until I felt like I'd thrown up bottles of the stuff.

  Finally he left.

  I emptied my stomach till I was too exhausted to do more. Somehow I made it to my feet and flushed the toilet. I used his toothbrush, then threw it away. I felt grimy, and I couldn't lose that sickly sweet champagne scent.

  If I tried to take a shower, would I fall asleep under the water? I should fall asleep there.

  I tossed a towel to the floor, turned on the rain showerhead, then sat with my knees to my chest. This was working! My nausea eased as sleep stole over me. I leaned my head against the wall, and I was out. . . .

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  I blinked up at Sevastyan. How long had I slept? He looked furious, as usual.

  He turned off the water, plucking me from the shower. He roughly dried me off, then dressed me in another T-shirt. "Get this over with, then I don't care what you do."

  "Are you happy now?" I demanded of Sevastyan when the doctor left.

  I'd agreed to let the Miami "Gyno to the Rich" administer a morning-after shot and insert an IUD to prevent fertilization. Was that the Russian's idea? He was that paranoid?

  He calmly sat on the living room couch. Though rain threatened, he had all the doors and windows open. "Happy? No. Satisfied that your plan won't work? Da."

  Having some strange man examine me was bad enough, but Sevastyan had stayed in the room! He'd been there when the physician had said things like, "Definitely could've conceived," "Somebody certainly had a vigorous night," and "What a tiny cervix; this will hurt."

  Sevastyan hearing that stuff was worse than the pinch of insertion. To add insult to injury, the two men had talked privately afterward. About my body!

  I held out my palm. "I want my phone back. I wish I could say it's been nice knowing you. . . ."

  "You don't get off this easily. I've mitigated the damage, but now you'll pay for your crimes. You'll stay here until I decide what to do with you."

  "You can't just keep me!"

  "Watch me. A deceitful little girl like you needs to learn not to fuck with a dangerous man like me."

  "You know what? Consider the phone a parting gift." I grabbed my purse, coat, and shoes and bolted for the door, yanking it open.

  In the lobby, Vasili spoke with two other suited men, holsters visible.

  Though I expected them to stop me, I reached the elevator call button, pressing it repeatedly.

  Nothing happened. I pressed it again. I had a sinking suspicion I'd now need a key to get off this floor. I turned to the stairwell, shoving on the door. Locked?

  In broken English, Vasili said, "No leave." The other two were impassive, like statues. Zero help there.

  I marched back inside to Sevastyan. "You can't do this!"

  "Why not?"

  I hurried to one of the room's phones, pressing nine for an outside line. "I'm calling the agency. Anthony won't allow this!"

  "None of these phones will call outside the hotel. No Wi-Fi, no Internet. No communication for you. Oh, and Anthony? He couldn't sell your body to me fast enough."

  "En serio?! Hijo de puta cabron!" I pinched my brow. "I'll figure out a way to get free of you. Unless you plan to chain me up twenty-four/seven."

  He grew very still. "Do not forget that I possess the means--and the inclination--to bind you in my bed."

  His script equipment. "What will it take to make you believe I didn't try to deceive you? I would never have a child with someone like you. Much less plot to do it. And I would never scheme to get my hands on someone else's money!" To myself, I murmured, "This isn't happening." I paced. "Look, you need to understand some things about me."

  He leaned back against the cushion. "I can't wait to hear this."

  "I've never had so much champagne and didn't know it would hit me like that. I don't remember what I said, but I wouldn't have told you I was on birth control."

  "Why weren't you?"

  I stopped pacing, deciding to reveal part of the truth. "I haven't had sex in a long time. You're my first client."

  "If you wanted me to believe you were a novice, then you shouldn't have acted like such a professional. When you spread your legs to me, purring, 'How do you like variety now, querido?' I wondered if even I might be out of my league with an escort like you."

  "You are my first! Ask Ivanna! She'll tell you. She sent me here in her place because she had a reaction to Botox, and I needed the money. I almost backed out."

  He gave a bitter laugh. "You mean your first client--in Miami? I hear from your agency that you're a pro from Tampa! Not to mention that Anthony had you booked into infinity before I bought you."

  "You can't buy me; I was never for sale!" Spanish left my lips, every vile curse word I knew. "If you didn't want to get trapped, then why did you come in me? Why not protect yourself?"

  "I wanted no barriers. Which I discussed with you in advance! I should've known something was off when you didn't try to charge me extra!"

  Burn. I balled my hands into fists. "What will it take to make you see reason?"

  "Your name."

  I sucked in a breath. "Jamas." Never.

  "Then prepare for a stay."

  "How long?"

  "In my world, when someone tries to steal from another, they are punished severely."

  In my world too. At least with Julia.

  "You'll remain until I'm satisfied you've paid for your greed."

  Sevastyan would probably get tired of me in a day or two, tops. The novelty would wear off. But if it didn't, the most my captivity could last was another ten days. He was leaving town, then going back to Russia.

  To bad weather, Cat. On the bright side, I was safer from Edward here than practically anywhere. Now that I was stuck in Miami till New Year's, the tower began to feel like a bastion.

  Never would I have imagined that staying with a Russian mobster and his armed henchmen would be my safest play. Not only that--I'd be staying in the most expensive hotel room in Miami. No creepy supe rubbing himself while leering at me. No cans of cheap soup, leaking roofs, and rough thrift-store sheets.

  My biggest fear had been that I would fall for Sevastyan because the sex was so great. Now that he was showing his true colors, that wouldn't be a problem.

  I narrowed my eyes at him and thought, Oh, no, Ruso! Don't throw me in this briar patch!

  I decided then that this would be my retreat--in both senses of the word. I'd bide my time and recharge. This problem had an endpoint to it, was on its way to being settled. Which meant I could handle it.

  "It looks like you've got me," I said airily.

  He frowned at my change in demeanor. Sevastyan had just acquired a "prisoner," and the joke was on him.

  CHAPTER 15

  I sat in my new room--adjoining his, naturally--trying to recall more. No matter how drunk I'd gotten, I wouldn't have told him to come in me; was he making it up as an excuse to keep me?

  Right before the shit had hit the fan earlier, he'd been pissed that I'd had other things to do, supposing I was about to go away with another man. Then all of a sudden Sevastyan had a reason to keep me indefinitely? Que coincidencia.

  But I couldn't remember last night, and attempting to only made my head hurt worse. Though I was no longer nauseated, I was wiped out, my temples pounding.

  This pillow-top bed was like a cloud, the thread count of the sheets astronomical. I lay back and tugged the fluffy duvet close, gazing out through the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows at the ocean. In minutes, I drifted off.

  I dreamed I was lying out by the pool while Sevastyan's hooded eyes watched the sun darken my skin. . . .

  When I woke, I was curled against his bare chest, my bent leg stretched over his thighs. Staring out at the water, he lay tensed, with his hands behind his head. He reminded me of our first night, when he'd kept his arms over the back of the sofa, struggling not to touch me.

  The sun was setting? I'd slept the day away? Tentatively, I eased up. No headache? No stomachache? I stretched my arms above my head.

  He shifted as well, sitting up against the headboard. "You slept for hours."

  As if speaking to a child, I said, "Because I was recovering from being blackout drunk. A condition I found myself in because you kept pouring champagne. I trusted my older-man date and got trashed with him, and the next thing I know, I'm on the wrong end of a speculum, getting an IUD shoved inside my body--after being informed I'm a prisoner."

  "Funny you should mention my being an older man. The doctor said you were probably in your early twenties."

  "I never said I was twenty-six."

  "You looked young, but your confidence made me believe you were older." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tell me you can legally drink in this country."

  "Relax, Father Time. You're not going to jail for serving me alcohol--only for everything else."

  "You're twenty-two, aren't you? When I was twenty-two you were thirteen."

  "That sounds like a you problem." Then I frowned. "Why did you get in my bed?"

  He let the other subject drop. "Because I can."

  "Is that why you pulled me against you?"

  "I didn't. You moved toward me, clasping me close, because you're used to sleeping with your partner."

  Whatever. "You put your arms behind your head because you were tempted to pet my hair, weren't you? Hmm? Hmm? You enjoy petting my hair."

  He didn't answer.

  "I'll bet you've been replaying our night, and it's got you sprung. This just proves my theory."

  He narrowed his eyes. "Which is?"

  "That you like me more than I like you. You'd rather kidnap me than let me go." I stretched again. "Will I be fed during my captivity? I'm starving. In prison, I'd get two hots and a cot."

  Glowering at me, he picked up the phone and dialed room service. "What do you want?"

  I scrambled over him and snatched away the phone, enjoying his shocked expression.

  "Hablas espanol?" I asked the woman.

  "Si."

  Inwardly I wore an evil grin. In Spanish, I told her, "I need pizzas. Six of them. Big. Macaroni and cheese. Lobster bisque and whatever else you have with lobster. Basically lobster piled on lobster. I want Cokes. Not diet, but real ones. In glass bottles, if you can find them. Also, if you bring up ten Cuban midnight sandwiches, with extra pickles, Mr. Sevastyan will tip you extravagantly. Please put that gratuity in with the total. Excellent. Thank you for your help!" As I hung up, my stomach growled in readiness.

  "I suppose you always sleep the day through," Sevastyan said, his tone snide. "Occupational necessity."

  I sighed. "You keep thinking you know things about me. Yet you are always so wrong, it astounds me."

  "Then give me an example."

  The bilked heiress accused of bilking another! "You'd never believe me. You'd laugh in my face. But one day, when all this is a distant memory, I'll send you a postcard--with a list. Once you verify everything, you'll cringe with embarrassment." He opened his mouth to reply, so I abruptly rose to go to the bathroom.

  The spacious area was bigger than my studio. For as long as I was in Sevastyan's tower, I'd enjoy free toiletries, unlimited hot water, and all the towels I could possibly use. With no visits to the laundromat. The life!

  I knotted my hair atop my head, then washed my face. I brushed my teeth with another complimentary toothbrush.

  I passed him on my way out, not deigning to speak to him. With nothing to do but wait on my gourmet feast, I took one of his business journals to the pool deck, my prison yard. I stretched out on a sofa directly under a heater.

  I noticed that everything had been cleaned--by someone who was not me. For once! Talk about a gilded cage.

  When I heard the doorbell, I rushed inside, uncaring what I looked like. Three waiters were pushing laden carts into the living room. They made a valiant effort not to look at my braless breasts under my T-shirt.

  Sevastyan had put on a shirt. He scowled at my chest, then said, "What is this?"

  "You didn't specify what I should order. And don't we have to feed all of our bodyguards? They can have whatever I don't eat. If there's anything left over."

  Once the platters had been spread out and the men had departed, Sevastyan said, "This is ridiculous."

  "Since I lost out on the big bucks, dinner is my consolation prize. Are you going to begrudge me one paltry, very large meal, when you foiled my plan for millions? Millions!" I bit my knuckle theatrically.

  "You think this is funny?"

  "Someday you'll see the humor like I do. I only wish I could be around to see the look on your face." I started hunting for my sandwich. "Ah, there!"

  He grudgingly said, "What is that?"

  I smelled it. "Medianoche." Midnight sandwich. Eaten after clubbing.

  He retrieved one, tasting it. "Good." He took another bite.

  I tried mine. Not as good as I made, but it'd do. "Dibs on anything with lobster." I grabbed a Coke, opened the bottle. Drink and plate in hand, I headed back out to the pool.

  He could keep me prisoner--ha!--but that didn't mean I had to spend time with him. I returned to my sofa to eat.

  Over my meal, I concluded that I should be thankful for this rift between me and the Russian. I'd liked him so much that I might have done something stupid like really trust him. I would've told myself that since he was in the mafiya, he could help me with my legal problems--and would never judge me for the blood I'd shed. Now I realized that he could use my precarious situation to manipulate me.

  Sevastyan's behavior proved that I had the shittiest taste in men. If I started to develop feelings toward a guy, then he should be on an FBI watch list, and I should run the other way. This was as undeniable as science.

  All for the best.

  Once I'd finished eating, I lay back and closed my eyes. As I delved into my memories from the night before, more details surfaced of conversations we'd had. On the topic of sex secrets, I'd told him I'd never deep-throated before or had anal, though both were fantasies of mine.

  He'd revealed that he'd been older when he lost his virginity--like older than I was now. He'd told me he'd never had sex without a condom but often wondered what it'd be like. He'd also admitted to fantasies of having his cum swallowed, which made me shiver (then and now). No wonder my masturbation fantasy at the beginning of the night had turned him on so much.

  He'd said something else about oral sex that had blown my mind. What was--

  Sevastyan had never gone down on a woman!

  "Why would I have?" he'd asked. "I never gave a damn about another's pleasure. But I'm ready to make up for lost time. In fact, I have a matter I want to discuss with you. Come with me to the living room. . . ."

  So that was how he'd teed up our discussion. Nice segue, Ruso.

  My eyes went wide. Over the night, he'd gone down on me, three earth-shattering times! I lay back on the sofa, reliving the first time.

  He'd nuzzled my thighs, spreading them, pressing openmouthed kisses higher and higher. Right before he licked me, his eyes had been keen with curiosity. With his first taste, his lids had slid shut. I'd whimpered as he'd muttered to himself, "Never get enough of this." Then he'd set in, tonguing me greedily. Grinding his cock against the cushion, he'd groaned, vibrating my sensitive clit. I'd come, wantonly bucking to his mouth. Once it was over, I'd tried to push him away, but he'd captured my wrists. With a low growl, he'd licked my orgasm clean.

  My cheeks reddened when I recalled my frenzied reaction. I'd shoved at his chest until he'd laid back, then I'd devoured his cock. I'd sucked on his balls, licking everywhere, moaning around his shaft while he'd grunted, "Fuck, FUCK!" over and over. He'd told me, "Take my cum into you! Drink it, dushen'ka." Our gazes had been locked as I'd consumed spurt after spurt. Once he'd finished ejaculating, I'd pumped him for more. "No mas?" I'd pouted while he gaped. Maximo shockeado.

  "Better than fantasy," he'd grated between breaths. "And I'll only need a couple of minutes to give you more. You make me insatiable."

  I remembered smoothing leisurely kisses over his dick until he'd swiftly grown rock hard again. Then he'd pushed me back on the lounge chair, looming over me. He'd laid his cock between my legs, rubbing that unyielding flesh over my clit.

  I'd been on the verge of factory shutdown, caring about nothing, thinking about nothing, but coming.

  As my head thrashed, he'd told me, "I want to fuck you like this. Everything's on my table."

  Back arching, I'd begged for his cock, crying out for him to shove it in.

  Oh, he had. Without a condom.

  I recalled the wonder in his tone: "Your pussy"--thrust--"gets so"--thrust--"hot!" As I'd moaned, he groaned, "It's like fucking a little forge."

  So that was how it'd happened. Yes, I should have told him earlier that I wasn't on the pill. But it wasn't as if I had lots of experience with this. In fact, I'd only had that conversation once before, when I was seventeen.

  Sevastyan had sat me down to discuss things between us going forward, but I'd been stupid and drunk--not only on champagne, but on sex. I'd been too preoccupied with the possibility of sucking him to pay attention.

  Winds blew over the deck, ruffling my hair and grazing my pebbled nipples through my T-shirt. As if I'd been trained over the night, I immediately thought of Sevastyan's mouth sucking them. How could I still desire the man who was holding me prisoner? I must be close to ovulating, which meant I was basically in heat.

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