by Lauren Smith
She found him downstairs, lounging on the leather couch, one arm draped over the back of the sectional as he watched the local news. He was utterly still as she came around to stand in front of the TV to block his view.
For a second she was distracted by the things she knew about him now, the things she shouldn’t know—how it felt to be in his arms, his lips pressed to hers, the energy of his kiss and the sweet desperation of how he’d needed to show her he was protecting her, shielding her from the things in the world that would hurt her, just like a Dom would his submissive.
No, she couldn’t go there, couldn’t let herself get distracted by such dangerous thoughts. That was a life she would never have, a relationship she would never have.
“We have to talk,” she said.
He muted the TV, his eyes never leaving her face. “Come. Sit.” He patted the chaise longue part of the sectional beside him, but she shook her head. She needed to stand, needed to feel some power while she said what she had to say.
“I deserve the truth.”
“The truth,” he echoed softly.
“Yes. Who the hell are you, and why do you care about me if you aren’t here because Royce asked you to be? If you know about Vadym, what’s your connection to him?”
He leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees. His pose seemed almost penitent. He threaded his fingers together.
“My name is Dimitri Razin—that wasn’t a lie. I know about Vadym because he has is well known in some circles for what he does to young women. I’ve been working with my friends to stop him. I care about you because of who you are. You deserve happiness. You need to have someone with you who understands at least in some small way what you’ve endured.” His accent was slightly thicker now and rough with seriousness.
Her heart fluttered with dread and sudden realization. Vadym probably already had another girl by now, someone new to torture and hurt. Her stomach knotted, and she fought the urge to throw up.
“He might already have someone else. Didn’t you think about that? Forget me. You need to go back to Moscow and stop him.”
Why hadn’t she thought of this before? Why? She’d been so buried in her own wallowing pity she hadn’t thought of the victims who would come after she’d escaped.
Dimitri held up a hand, silencing her panicked words.
“There will not be another girl for him ever again.” The hardness of his eyes confused her. How could Dimitri possibly know that? Vadym was addicted to pain and death. He wouldn’t stop hurting and killing girls.
“I wasn’t his first, and I know I won’t be his last.”
“You are the last, because Vadym is dead.”
Vadym is dead.
The words rattled around inside her head, which had suddenly emptied of all other thoughts but that one. Vadym . . . was dead.
“You can’t know . . . can you?”
He stood up and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. Then he spoke softly in Russian before he put the phone on speaker.
“Leo, she is listening. Please give me access to the video feed and morgue photos.”
“Just a moment,” a deep, masculine Russian-accented voice said.
Dimitri motioned for her to come into the kitchen. He removed his laptop from his briefcase and turned it on. While he logged on to a secure website, she hovered beside him, shock still clouding her mind.
“You have access,” the man on the phone said.
“Thank you, Leo.” Dimitri ended the call, then pulled up a new screen. There were a few pictures and a video file. He clicked on the video, and the screen was filled with a black-and-white but crystal-clear recording.
Vadym was eating at a restaurant with two of his men when suddenly he clutched at his throat and toppled out of his chair. He writhed in agony for nearly a full minute before he went still. The men who’d rushed toward him finally stopped trying to help him. He appeared unresponsive. The video ended, and Dimitri opened up each of the pictures, which showed a pale, lifeless Vadym on a mortuary slab. The pictures had been taken at various angles, allowing for a detailed look at his body. There was a deep red wound in his chest that had no blood around it. She’d watched enough true-crime shows to know that the wound had been inflicted postmortem.
“What is that?” she whispered and pointed at the spot.
“That is where Maxim drove a seven-inch blade into the bastard just to be sure he was dead.”
“Who is Maxim?”
“Someone who is like a brother to me. Vadym took Maxim’s little sister two years ago, and we don’t know if she’s dead or alive. That is why I care. That is why I’m here. And that is why he is dead.”
“You couldn’t help her, but you thought you could help me?” She trembled as the reality of Vadym being dead created an equally violent reaction inside her as it had when Dimitri had shown her the photos.
“Yes,” he said. “I was in the embassy in Ulaanbaatar that day you, Royce, and Kenzie were saved. Once I learned what happened to you, I told Royce I needed to help you.”
“How can you help me?” Tears started to burn her eyes. “No one helps this sort of thing. It’s all just so fucked up. I’m fucked up.” She covered her face with her hands. It was all too much.
He pulled her against his chest. She didn’t cry this time. She just leaned into him, drawing on his heat, his strength, as though he were a brilliant sun and she a frostbitten flower desperate for heat and light.
“You can’t help me,” she whispered against his chest. His heartbeat was steady against her cheek, and her heart’s own frantic beat settled until they seemed to breathe and beat as one.
Dimitri cradled the back of her head, his strong fingers rubbing at the taut tendons that extended from her neck to her skull until the tension inside her ebbed away. “Tell me what you want from me. Tell me what you need.”
“I want to live again. I want to be able to love and trust again.”
“You never lost the ability to love, kiska. You love your parents, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I mean romantically. I want it so badly, but I’m so afraid.”
Dimitri lifted her face up so that she could see his. “You will love again and trust again.”
“How can you be sure?” She wanted to believe the sincerity in his eyes, but how she felt wasn’t going away overnight.
“Because I kissed you on the beach and you are letting me hold you now without fear, yes?”
“Yes . . .” She bit her bottom lip. He was right. She wasn’t afraid, and she wasn’t freaking out.
He slowly smiled, and tiny lines formed at the corners of his eyes . . . laugh lines. She thought of him laughing in the car earlier, the wonderful sound making her want to join in.
A wild fluttering in her belly made her knees quake, so she held on to him a little tighter.
“That is trust, kiska. Perhaps only a little, but it is trust all the same.”
When he’d kissed her on the beach, she’d only felt a brief spike of panic before it had faded, just like it had when he’d grabbed her in the bathroom on the plane. This man was different. Her body reacted unpredictably, or so she thought, but now she saw a pattern. Dimitri was incredibly attractive, a naturally dominant man who was a master of the very sensual bed play she had once been interested in, and his touch didn’t repulse or terrorize her. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He soothed and excited her at the same time. He was exactly the sort of man Elena would’ve been obsessed with before she’d been abducted.
But was she too broken to ever feel the way she needed to feel to be whole again?
“Dimitri . . .” It was one of the few times she had said his name. She lifted her face up to his.
“Yes, kiska?”
His accent made her shiver. With Vadym, his accent had left her on edge. But when Dimitri spoke, it was soft and seductive. It made her think of roaring fires, warm brandy swirling in clear stemless glasses, and bare skin sliding against fur rugs.
“Please hold very still. I want to try something.” She placed her hands on his face, feeling the light scrape of stubble on her palms. Every sense was heightened, and she took in his scent, letting it fill her head as she rocked up on her tiptoes and pulled his face down to hers. Their lips brushed so lightly at first; it was almost a dream more than reality. Then she moved her mouth more insistently against his.
His breath fanned her face as he parted his lips and welcomed her timid tongue to play with his. While a sense of urgency pressed her closer to him, she dared not do more than kiss him. A tingle grew in her lower belly, and she continued to move her mouth against his, exploring him. He moved ever so slightly, and her pulse quickened as the barest brush of his fingers touched her lower back. Her lips broke from his, and her hand slid from his face down to his neck. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly. A moment later, she opened her eyes to look up at him.
“I wasn’t afraid,” she whispered.
“No, you weren’t,” Dimitri agreed. His muscles tensed as he put his hands on her waist. “Is this okay?” he asked her.
She closed her eyes again, sudden flashes of Vadym grabbing her hips, shoving her over a bed . . .
“Kiska, open your eyes.” The command was easily obeyed, and she met his gaze. “You cannot see him or feel him if you are looking at me. Now, how does this feel?” His hands tightened slightly on her waist, calling her attention back to his touch. This time she did not close her eyes. She fixed on his blue gaze, the way his eyes were so unbelievably pure in color, yet gentle and steadfast in their intensity. His face, like the rest of him, seemed to be forged by destiny to make her dizzy with desire.
“It feels okay,” she admitted. “Do you feel okay?” she asked, then felt like an idiot. They weren’t two high school virgins in the back of a car.
“Holding you is one of the best pleasures and all my life,” he replied.
Elena’s lips parted as she stared up at him, stunned. “Me? Why?”
“There is nothing more intoxicating to me than a brave woman, and you are the bravest woman I have ever met.”
“I’m not brave. I’m scared all the time.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Courage is not the same thing as the absence of fear. Courage means facing one’s fears. It means that you get up when someone knocks you down. You keep fighting to live.”
“Dimitri, do you think . . . That is . . . I mean . . .” Her face was suddenly so hot she felt feverish.
He said nothing, his blue eyes holding her in place.
“I want to be brave. I want to be myself again, but I don’t know if I can trust anyone else. Would you help me?” She clenched her jaw, waiting to hear him deny her what she needed, a man to trust, a man to explore her limits with.
The thick dark lashes framing his eyes flew up in surprise. “Elena, you aren’t ready.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I can be. It’s my timeline, isn’t it? My choice of how and when I’ll get back into this.” She nodded at their bodies, which were still pressed against each other.
“You are right, it is your choice, but I do not want you to feel you have to push this. I didn’t come here for that. I came to watch over you. To help you heal. After what happened to Maxim’s sister, I cannot let you go. Not alone. Not yet.” He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.
Elena leaned into the touch and let out a sigh. “Is it true that you participate in BDSM? Kenzie said you did.”
His eyes searched hers a long moment. “I do enjoy the bondage and dominance, but I have no interest in sadism or masochism. But none of that will come into this if you want me.”
“No . . . No, I want . . . I wanted that before Moscow. I liked it, liked what little I had experimented with. I don’t want to be afraid of all that because he stole it from me. I think I’d want that, to experience dominance and submission again. Would you do that with me?”
Dimitri’s lips firmed into a hard line. He stepped away from her, dropping his hands.
“Kiska, you offer me too much.”
Elena’s eyes filled with tears. She turned away, wiping at them. Of course. It was too much. No man would want to be saddled with her. She was broken, bruised, scarred, and scared. There was no way she could ever seem sexy or arousing when he would have to worry about every little thing setting her off.
“I’m sorry, let’s just forget this, okay?” She turned and fled, racing back up to her room.
“Stop.” He ordered in that commanding tone and she halted, her body already responding to his with submission. She stiffened her spine. If he didn’t want to be her dominant, then she didn’t have to listen to him. She started to move again.
But before she reached her doorway, she was suddenly grabbed, spun, and pinned against the wall by Dimitri’s hard, imposing body. He caged her in his arms, eyes scorching as they held her own. Fear only captured her for a split second before she realized he wasn’t going to hurt her.
“You offer me something I do not deserve, Elena. I want you desperately, I have since the moment I laid eyes on you. But that doesn’t mean my desires are more important than yours. If you were a submissive, you would know that it is you who has the true power over your master. I feel no pleasure unless you do. That is why you asked too much. I would want you in many wicked ways, ways I fear you would be afraid of, and I cannot hurt you like that.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closing as he drew in several breaths, as though to regain control.
Elena trembled, but not from fear. There were other emotions, other sensations, ones she’d believed she would never feel again. Yet they were here, coming slowly to life like a small match lit and cast upon a dry field as the winds fed the flame. She slid her hands up his chest, raking her nails into the fabric of his shirt and into his skin. He tensed, and his grip on her tightened.
She tilted her head up, her mouth a breath away from his.
“I’m not afraid.” She kissed him a second time. But unlike downstairs, this was raw, hard, and it was how she wanted him. Just like it had been on the beach.
This man was the only one she could trust. Her heart and mind agreed with her body. He would be the one to pull her away from the dangerous edge of the cliff she had felt like throwing herself off of.
He buried his hands in her hair and held her captive. His mouth ravaged hers, and she moaned, going utterly boneless in his arms. He destroyed her damaged soul with his lips and built a new one for her, one stronger than the last. One that would not shatter, not this time. His kiss was more than hope. It was a vow.
6
This was a terrible fucking idea. The moment he told Royce, the man would be on the first flight to LA to beat him up, and he would deserve every blow.
Dimitri stepped back from Elena, his blood roaring in his ears and desire burning inside him like he held the heat of a star within his chest.
“We need to do this,” Elena said. Her lips were swollen from his rough kisses, and her hair was tousled from his hands. Her face was flushed with color.
It was the most alive he had ever seen her, at least since first spotting her at the embassy in Mongolia. This must be how the old Elena had looked, the one unafraid to live out in the world.
“I need to,” she corrected. She held out a hand to him, palm turned up. “Please . . .”
Her plea left him undone. He couldn’t deny her this. He couldn’t deny her anything. As he looked at her, he saw what he’d always dreamed of in a woman—she was perfection, inside and out. The room suddenly seemed hot. He curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. If he didn’t control himself, he’d try to touch her, and he wouldn’t do that until they’d established rules and boundaries. He was a Dom, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare her.
“If we do this, I have rules,” he warned.
She nodded and waited patiently for him to continue.
“You do anything I ask. Most commands will be for your safety and not for the purpose of intima
cy. You will use the green, yellow, and red system with me, and it will be respected by me. We will start slow. I will not let you rush anything because it might set you back. Do you agree?”
She nodded. Only then did he take her hand in his. This was it. He had surrendered to her in more ways than she would ever surrender to him, and she would never know. He pulled her slowly toward him, and when she was flush against his body, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Are we starting n—now?” She didn’t sound afraid, but he heard the apprehension in her voice.
“We start tonight, and the first step is easy. You will sleep in my bed.”
“Just sleep? But we’ve already done that. It was . . .”
“Easy?” he finished for her. “You may think so, but in many ways sleep is more intimate than sex. It is the time when you are most vulnerable to another person.”
Her brows drew together as she started to understand what he was telling her.
“You won’t . . . do something to me while I’m asleep, will you?”
The hesitancy of her quiet voice pierced through to his heart. “No,” he said in a breathless reply. “I would never.”
She seemed satisfied with that response, her chin raised slightly and her shoulders unhunched.
“But,” he continued before she could interject with more reasons why they should jump to intimacy, “your lesson will be to trust me. To sleep beside me and know that trust could be broken, but trusting me anyway.”
Her face flushed a deep scarlet. He let her think that over before continuing.
“We’ve slept together before and I did not harm you, which I hope will make this easier.” Easier for her, of course. Sleeping so close to her would be a challenge for him. He wanted to touch her, to pleasure her, to make her forget all the pain, but that would come later, and only if she continued to progress and trust him. She had been right—the timeline of her healing was up to her, and there was no right or wrong speed at which she should heal. He just hoped this bargain they had made wasn’t a mistake.
