by Zoe Blake
We will talk about your Betty Boop tattoo later.
My hand flew to my left hip, where just over the hip bone was a Betty Boop tattoo. She was in her classic red dress, kicking one leg into the air. Tucked into her heart-shaped garter was a tiny revolver.
Damn him.
After showering, I wrapped my hair in a towel and sat at my vanity. With my pale neck and upper chest exposed, I could see just the faintest bruise around my throat. Whether it was from his hand or his belt, I couldn’t say.
With a sigh, I picked up my blush brush and tried to add some color back into my cheeks. Bright cherry red matte lipstick and my hair down with a red chiffon scarf tied around my neck completed my look.
There. Nobody’d ever know I’d spent the evening with a powerful criminal who 50 Shades of Grey’ed me to within an inch of my life.
After throwing on a pair of cuffed jeans and a white t-shirt, I slipped on a pair of red ballet slippers, then walked into the kitchen and dumped the skillet with the eggs straight into the trash. I felt a rush of satisfaction marred by guilt, knowing I had just acted like a petulant child.
No wonder he treats you like a misbehaving little girl, I thought.
And spanks you like one, too.
I returned to my bedroom and snatched up the pink and black duffle bag lying in a corner. As I was stuffing my sparse belongings into it, I noticed the leather portfolio with my extra IDs and cash was also missing. It was going to make it hard accessing my offshore accounts without that information.
Damn him.
What was I doing?
Crossing my arms, I stubbornly stared down at the half-packed duffle bag before grabbing it and tossing it back into the corner.
There was no reason to pack anything because I wasn’t going anywhere with him.
He might have me against the wall now, but there had to be a way to escape.
I had done it once, I would do it again… and this time I’d make sure he never found me.
Chapter 14
Gregor
“YA ub'yu yego golymi rukami.”
Dimitri settled in the seat across from my desk as Vaska remained standing by the fireplace.
Neither blinked an eye at my threat to kill Boris Federov, my future father-in-law, with my bare hands. I should have never let that bastard live.
With my security needs and the frequency with which I traveled here, two years ago I purchased a home just outside of Chicago in the wealthy suburb of Evanston. It was preferable to a hotel. The houses were enormous and behind gates with lots of security cameras, so my own security measures would not look out of place.
After receiving Dimitri’s text early this morning demanding a meeting as soon as possible, I feared it may have something to do with Samara.
I still didn’t know what the fuck got into me last night.
I should have just fucked her, finally taken my long-delayed pleasure from that tight little body of hers and been done with it. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t even going to claim some bullshit moral code about not wanting to take her virginity on a bench at a public museum. There was just something unique about feeling her cunt clench around my fingers the moment she orgasmed and then watching her face as I brought her to a second and third orgasm with my tongue.
Her responses were so vivid and intense.
So innocent and without artifice.
Each reaction raw and unfiltered.
I had definitely made my share of women scream in the bedroom over the years but this was on a different level. To know I was the first—and only—man to touch and taste that sweet cunt of hers, the first to give her an orgasm, was a powerful emotion and awoke something primal in me.
Before, I had wanted to claim her for her family name to further my business interests.
Then, I had gotten a small taste of her spirit and beauty at my sister’s party, and I had craved more but was denied when she fled.
I knew a large part of my obsessive search for her had more to do with my pride and my family name. We wouldn’t let it stand that a Federov bride had run away from her Ivanov groom.
Now… now everything had changed.
If I wasn’t dangerous to Samara before, I sure as fuck am now.
She had given the devil a taste of heaven.
I no longer wanted just her hand in marriage. I wanted her everything; body and soul.
I would swallow her innocence like a drug and get high off of knowing I was the one responsible for her inevitable corruption. With each lash of my belt and touch of my hand, I would watch as those striking emerald eyes of hers flashed with flecks of gold as I awakened her to the pleasure had through pain and punishment.
I would have her craving my dominance, begging for it.
Her submission would be my redemption.
My hand flexed as I imagined the feel of the back of her head. Her soft curls tangled around my fingers while I forced that beautiful mouth of hers to stretch around my cock. This time I would get to stare down into her eyes and see as the stark realization of my complete control over her crept into their jade depths.
It was all I could do to tear myself away from her this morning. I wanted to be there when those gorgeous eyes blinked open. I wanted to watch the play of emotions on her face as the events of last night came back to her. I would have savored her look of humiliation complicated by the knowledge of her complicit response, the way she clung to me as each orgasm took over her body.
Then when she tried to deny it, as I’m certain the little minx would have, I would have held her down and forced my hips between her legs and proved it to her all over again… except this time with my cock.
But these were thoughts for later.
Now seated behind my desk, staring at the steam as it rose from my coffee cup, I wondered if I could kill her father without her finding out about it.
From my little sister, I had gleaned Samara was not close with either of her parents. A fact that bore out when she did not try to contact them over the last few years. I would have known if she did. However, that didn’t mean she wanted them dead.
The arrogant bastard had negotiated an even higher price for Samara’s hand with the Novikoff family. Apparently at this very moment, they were completing the deal, and Boris was preparing to come to Chicago to reclaim his daughter.
Over my dead body.
Vaska stepped away from the mantel and crossed to the vacant seat in front of my desk. Unbuttoning his suit coat, he took a seat and reached for the pitcher of coffee. Pouring himself a fresh cup, he leaned back. “I don’t have to tell you how dangerous such an alliance would be. The Novikoffs have increased their influence but only through significant bloodshed.”
For smart men, men like us, violence was used with the finesse of a sharpened razor’s edge. Often the fear of violence could be just as powerful as the deed itself and led to far fewer complications. When violence was needed, it was accomplished with precision and designed to achieve the greatest impact. That is how men like me, Dimitri, and Vaska became powerful and wealthy while still retaining a veneer of respectability. No one cared if you were dirty; they cared if the rest of the world knew you were dirty.
The Novikoff family had yet to learn this. They had the finesse of a sledgehammer and the intelligence to match. They also dealt in the lower echelons of organized crime; sex trafficking, counterfeit cigarettes and car theft. They were peasant thugs who thought they should be kings.
“Who is the intended groom?” I asked, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else.
Dimitri exchanged a look with Vaska, then answered, “Egor.”
I shot out of my chair and paced to the other side of the room. Boris Federov didn’t deserve a daughter as beautiful and free-spirited as Samara. Especially when the bastard had no qualms about promising her to a seventy-two-year-old degenerate.
“Apparently, as head of the family he claimed it as his right,” continued Vaska with a disgusted smirk.
The statem
ent struck a sour note with me, knowing as head of the Ivanov family, I was claiming the same right.
I didn’t fucking care.
I curled my fingers into a fist, getting a sick rush as my knuckles cracked.
Samara was mine, and I dared any man to try to take her from me.
This was no longer about business—it was personal.
Dimitri rose and crossed the room to face me. “There is no winning in a war with the Novikoffs. Those idiots will bring unwanted attention to us all and possibly damage everything we’ve built.”
I nodded.
“That being said. Fuck them. You know we’ve got your back, my friend. If it is a war they want, then it’s a war they’ll get.” Dimitri smiled and clapped me on the shoulder.
I clasped his hand in solidarity, then let go with a sound of agreement. “Enough people saw us last night that word will get back to Boris and Egor that Samara is in my possession. Just to be certain, I’m taking measures to have their homes and offices bugged. I want to know what those two fucks are planning. If they’re smart, they’ll leave it alone and walk away.”
Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. If Boris was bold enough to try to double cross me, there was very little hope he would just walk away as soon as he learned I had found his daughter. Even if I married her this very moment, that may not stop them. They could always find a judge on the payroll to either annul the marriage or ignore its existence completely.
I needed a more permanent solution.
“Dva medvédya v odnóy berlóge ne zhivút,” Vaska said, repeating a proverb about two bears not being able to exist in one lair.
I couldn’t agree more.
Dimitri looked at his watch. “I have to go. I promised Emma I would meet her at the Newberry Library for a lecture on the role of women in Shakespeare’s Othello.”
Despite the somber mood, Vaska and I exchanged a quick look and then burst out laughing.
Dimitri smirked. “Laugh all you want, assholes. Just wait till you both get married. Let’s see how keen you’ll be then to let your wife sit in a lecture hall surrounded by men who want to fuck her.”
Vaska rose from his seat and buttoned his suit jacket as he reached for his overcoat. “If I ever get married, I’m never letting my wife leave the house. Problem solved.”
Dimitri raised an eyebrow. “Really? Perhaps I should let Mary know your views on blessed matrimony.”
I’d recently learned Mary was Emma’s close friend and apparently was the woman driving Vaska a little crazy according to Dimitri.
Vaska clenched his jaw. “I don’t even want to talk about what that naïve, way too trusting woman did last night. She almost got herself killed. No one would blame me if I tied her to my bed and never let her loose. I’d be saving society from her antics!”
I clapped Vaska on the back. Looks like I wasn’t the only man being driven to distraction by a woman.
Vaska’s idea about locking my wife away had merit. Until I learned more about her father and Egor’s intentions, it would be best if Samara stayed hidden behind these walls where I knew she was safe.
Waving my housekeeper, Rose, away, I escorted the men to the front door.
“By the way, I heard your brother created a commotion near O’Hare airport last night. Apparently, he was seen carrying a blonde woman over his shoulder to his car?” said Dimitri as he shrugged into his overcoat.
They had already informed me Damien had run into complications securing Yelena.
“Damien is handling another concern of ours. Do I need to do any damage control?”
Dimitri shook his head. “We have taken care of it. The surveillance footage no longer exists, and the police have no interest in pursuing what they’ve been told was a private matter.”
I nodded my appreciation and closed the door behind them.
Glancing at the hall grandfather clock, I realized Samara would be here soon.
My cock twitched in anticipation.
The only way I was going to keep Samara safe from her father and Novikoff’s plans was by having her under my control… and the only way to do that was with a dominating hand.
It was time for another lesson in submission.
One I was certain she would find hard to swallow.
Chapter 15
Gregor
An argument in the hallway just outside my door announced her arrival.
“I’m in the house now, you don’t have to keep following me!” said Samara, indignation giving her voice a deep, husky quality I liked.
My office door swung open, and Samara stormed in, head held high. The two men I’d assigned to guard her hovered on the threshold.
“Will you please tell your two goons to go away?” she huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest. The movement pushed her breasts up high over the scalloped neckline of her dress.
I nodded to the men who bowed their heads before closing the door behind them.
She had dressed carefully. I admired her trim waist and the sway of her hips as she walked a few more steps into my office.
Good.
It meant I was in her head, precisely where I wanted to be.
Selfishly, I wanted her to think of me as often as possible.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the crinoline underneath her vintage black with red polka dot swing dress was red or black. I would learn soon enough.
“Can I offer you some coffee?” I asked cordially, as if this were any normal morning.
I could see the play of emotions as they crossed her beautiful, expressive eyes. They really were the most startling shade of bright green. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she often used contacts when disguising herself since I cannot imagine anyone forgetting those eyes.
“No, thank you. I won’t be staying,” she responded primly.
“We’ll agree to disagree on that point… for now.”
I motioned for her to sit. The moment she chose a chair in front of me, I approached and leaned against the front of my desk. When I crossed my feet, my legs brushed her skirts. I could smell her Chanel perfume.
She immediately popped up and paced around my office. She stopped before a large bronze sculpture which was positioned in front of a pair of windows. It was of a man writhing with tortured emotion, each sinew of his muscles strained and defined.
“Szukalski,” she said.
I could tell she was trying to deflect the conversation. I would indulge her, for the moment.
“Very good. Few know his work. Have you ever heard the story of how he learned anatomy for his art?”
She shook her head.
I approached.
Standing so close behind her, I could see the sunlight play off the cranberry red highlights in her warm brown hair. Art was common ground for us. She was probably unaware that I was actually a great admirer and collector of art. It was just one of the things which intrigued me about her. I was honest enough with myself to admit it would be pleasant having someone I could talk to about my passion for art.
“He was only a boy when his father was killed in a car accident. Szukalski carried his body to the morgue himself and then asked if he could be there during the autopsy. So, as he told it, he learned anatomy from his father.”
She shivered.
I placed my hands on her bare arms.
She quickly shied away. “What a dreadful story.”
“I could tell a far more pleasant one about the Turner hanging over the fireplace,” I offered with an amused smile.
Her head turned, and she walked the few steps to stand in front of the fireplace to observe the painting. It was a classic Turner of a storm at sea.
“This is real!”
I nodded.
“You have a real Turner in your house?”
Again, I nodded. I stepped closer before suggestively offering, “I also have a Klimt in my bedroom. Want to see it?”
Her pretty mouth opened in shock. For most women it was jewels, for Samara it w
as priceless art. I could tell she was tempted by my offer to see it. After all, not many people privately owned a Klimt. Most of his work was showcased only in museums.
She paced away from me. I watched as her mouth thinned and her shoulders straightened.
“Mr. Ivanov-”
So, we were going to play that game, were we?
“Gregor,” I corrected.
“Mr. Ivanov—” she stubbornly continued.
“Samara, I know what your pussy tastes like,” I teased. “Perhaps you could call me by name.”
I could see the movement of her slim throat as she nervously swallowed. “Gregor, I think we need to have a serious conversation about this ludicrous idea that I’m somehow obligated to marry you because of a loan you made to my father.”
“No.”
She continued to pace from one end of the room to the next, refusing to meet my gaze. “No? You can’t just say no. I was a naïve and frightened teenager three years ago, which is why I ran, but things have changed. You can’t bully me into this!”
I shook my head as I leaned against the front of my desk, arms crossed over my chest. “Samara, you and I both know that I have the power to force you… if I must.”
“What are you going to do? Toss me over your shoulder and carry me down the aisle and then force me to say I do at the altar?”
I raised one eyebrow as she finally dared to look in my direction, letting her know that was precisely what I would do.
She paused in her frenetic pacing. Once more I watched the play of emotions cross her face. This time it was a blend of astonishment and genuine fear. “You can’t honestly fucking think you’d get away with a bullshit ceremony like that?”
“Language,” I warned. I did not answer her question.
She paused, hands on hips. “Of course! You’re Gregor fucking Ivanov. You can take anything you want with no one saying shit to you.”
I sighed. “Samara, I won’t warn you again about your language. If that sweet little mouth of yours utters one more foul word, I’m going to teach it a lesson.”
