“This place is unbelievable.”
“Oh, chérie, this is just a regular night here.” Marielle winked at her and resumed scanning the now-crowded room.
Samantha nudged Marielle’s elbow and leaned in. “Hey, would you ever do something like that?”
“What do you mean? Up on stage, in front of a bunch of strangers?” Marielle laughed. “No, no. Not me.”
“Why not?” Samantha asked in a small voice and then thought better of sounding so timid. “I would. She looks like she’s enjoying herself.”
“Because I know my limits.”
Samantha took it all in with hungry eyes. Glossy black walls made the place seem like it was wrapped in slick patent leather. A white vinyl-upholstered accent wall at the far end seemed to glow with warm spotlights trained on a regimented line of nickel-plated rings that suddenly looked far more utilitarian than decorative. The white terrazzo floor twinkled with bits of mica and onyx. Several chrome-plated Louis XV style settees were tucked into intimate nooks shielded by sheer charcoal-colored organza swept to the side and ready to be dropped for veiled privacy. There was a stylized nude painting in vibrant hues spanning the color wheel, born of passionate, aggressive brushstrokes that hung over each of the intimate seating areas. The place exuded class, and the patrons suited their surroundings.
A young woman, whose fiery-red hair had been constructed into a disarmingly prissy bun, approached them. She presented a tray of hard marquis-cut candies glistening in shades of emerald-green, and looking like jewels. “Absinthe,” she explained.
“How luxurious,” Sam mused, plucking one of the candies from the tray.
Marielle leaned into her ear. “This is the pampering room, where it’s all about pleasure.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t be fooled. You either have to earn pleasure or pay dearly for it.”
“I think I like the sound of that too.”
Marielle shook her head and laughed, making Samantha feel incorrigible, and the idea of getting that word tattooed on her wrist flitted through her mind. She was counting letters and thinking about how it would look in a script bracelet when the distinctive clinking of metal against glass from a few feet away got her attention.
“Everyone! Just a moment of your time please for a toast.” A tall guy with a sinewy build stood up, balancing precariously on the footrest of his barstool, glass in one hand and pointing conspicuously with a finger with the other. “Guess who’s getting married!”
He rose above the heads of two of the three other men. The last, the one he seemed to be talking about, met him almost shoulder to shoulder, despite the extra inches the footrest lent him.
“Sit down, Henri. Don’t be dramatic.”
“No, Oleg. These are your last days as a free man. Are we not your closest friends? We should be celebrating your engagement, right?” He huffed and pointed a finger to the empty seat next to Oleg. “If Alexander were here, he’d tell you that this is bullshit too.”
“You’re already drunk, Henri. Don’t make a scene,” the man said, tugging on his wrist.
Samantha turned back to Marielle. “Is he talking about your Alexander?” The look on her face told Sam that he was.
Henri continued to focus on the man in front of him. “So what if I am? I’m not on call tonight. Anyway, it’s appropriate, don’t you think?”
“Enough.” The word wasn’t uttered on a raised voice, yet power rumbled through the two syllables like thunder. It snapped Samantha’s head back in their direction, and she pinned her gaze to the strikingly large man in a neat gray suit with longish dark hair dusting his collar and sweeping over his forehead. Hollowed cheeks pronounced his strong, square jaw, and the thin line of his lips wore what seemed like a stern expectation.
He wasn’t looking at her, yet Samantha could almost feel the intensity wafting off him. He was staring at Henri, and Samantha was reminded of a National Geographic documentary about lions challenging each other on the Serengeti.
Henri held up his tumbler one last time and shrugged. “C’est la vie.” He stepped down from his makeshift soapbox and pulled Oleg to him in a one-armed embrace. “We are brothers, all of us. Not by blood, by choice. This will not be the end.”
It was at that moment that Henri must have noticed Marielle over his friend’s shoulder, because his somber expression transformed into a broad and toothy smile
*
Oleg had known the news of his upcoming marriage to Karina would be hardest for Henri to accept. The whole idea was still like a raw wound for him too. Still, a spectacle like that was uncalled for and quite out of character. Now, Henri’s voice was light and jovial calling out over his shoulder. “Ivan, look at who is here.”
Marielle waived at him with a few fingers. “Salut, Ivan. Ça va bien?”
“Maintenant, je suis bon,” Ivan said when he reached her side. “I’ve wondered many times if you were doing okay.”
The woman Oleg had heard more about than Ivan and Alexander’s own family stared with wide eyes and threaded her fidgeting fingers, looking unsure of where to put her hands. “Um…this is my roommate, Samantha.”
Oleg’s gaze was drawn toward the small blonde who’d slid off her stool and stood half naked next to Marielle, covered only in a crisscross of mesh bindings. The restrictive effect gave Oleg an instant twinge in his crotch. Then she smiled. There was no mystery in her eyes, none of the hallmark darkness of a submissive on the prowl for a Dom. Oleg was struck with the urge to say that old cliché American line, but Ivan beat him to it.
“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He turned back to Marielle, speaking to her with a soft smile tucked into the corner of his mouth along with a piece of absinthe candy. “Did you lure her here, Moineau?”
“You have no right to call me that. I’m not his sparrow anymore,” Marielle nearly shouted, drawing all of their attention.
Ivan nodded. “I know. But it’s good to see you anyway.” He gestured across the room. “Can we speak for a moment?”
Samantha raised her eyebrows at Marielle, who nodded to Ivan with acquiescence. “Just give us a few minutes.”
Oleg noted the way Samantha then sized him up, and that the smile on her face hadn’t faded entirely after Marielle’s outburst. “Sure, no worries. I’ll be over here with…”
“Oleg,” he finished.
She nodded expectantly at his friends.
“Yes, of course. This is Paolo and Henri.” Already, Oleg felt flustered, and he couldn’t deny that the foreign sensation had him intrigued.
She extended her delicate hand to him, which was the exact opposite of sub behavior. He took it curiously and was further surprised by the strength of her grip. “Nice to meet you,” she said with one confident pump of her arm. She then reached for Paolo and Henri respectively, who each shot Oleg an entertained look.
Paolo spoke up. “So what is a nice girl like you doing in Club Duval?”
Henri smiled and brought her hand to his lips. “I apologize for my friends, who sometimes forget how to be polite. Don’t answer that, at least not yet.”
“Okay…I won’t,” she said and signaled for a refill of her glass.
Henri signaled to Oleg with one not-so-subtle nod in her direction, and then he and Paolo left for their private table, their conversation likely focused on this pixie of a woman. The question of what the hell she hoped to find there remained a curiosity to Oleg, but he let it be. The night was young. These things had a way of revealing themselves.
Her blue eyes stole one glance at him and then another. “Is your friend a doctor?”
“A surgeon, why do you ask?”
“He said he wasn’t on call. I have to say I’ve never seen a doctor get blitzed before.”
“Everyone needs to cut loose, Samantha. I assure you, I won’t let him operate on anyone tonight.”
She was quiet for a moment, hesitating to speak and then deciding to commit, “And you, you�
�re getting married?”
“It’s more of a business arrangement. Henri was being dramatic.” Oleg felt a tinge of regret that he even needed to explain. For the first time since he’d agreed to go through with it, the words felt heavy in his mouth.
“Hmm…sounds way too complicated.” She raised an eyebrow in a way that made Oleg look for a change of subject.
“Do you know Ivan’s brother, Alexander?” Oleg tilted his head toward the other side of the bar, where Ivan was listening intently to what Marielle had to say. They watched as Ivan reached for her hand and she nodded. Nothing of what they said could be deciphered, but Oleg could imagine that it wasn’t going to be easy for her to hear.
She shook her head, no. “Why was it wrong for Ivan to call her Moineau? I’ve never seen Marielle get that angry.”
Oleg motioned for Samantha to sit down next to him. With a plop, she landed on the seat, bumping his knee with her foot as she crossed her legs. He fought the urge to correct her for all of it. “How well do you know Marielle?”
“We live together…so, pretty well I’d say.”
“Moineau was Alexander’s pet name for her.”
“Well, it’s a cute nickname. It means sparrow, right?”
Oleg laughed. “Not a nickname. He christened her with that name. That name was his alone to give her, and the only one she answered to here, or at least before they separated.” He paused to watch her blue eyes twinkle like a sunlit sea. “It was Alexander’s pet name when he owned her as his pet.”
“When he owned her?”
Oleg considered the young woman in front of him with a tilt of his head. Was she really this clueless? She looked the part of a playmate, but clearly that was just for show. Or maybe that was her game; to play the innocent ingénue. Oleg was suddenly consumed with the need to test that theory. “Yes, Alexander owned Marielle and put her in a cage when it pleased him, flogged her when she was bad and deprived her of release when she showed no discipline.”
Samantha’s mouth dropped open. “Not Marielle! She’s so fierce. She would never let anyone do that to her.” She huffed. “You’re either crazy, or you’ve been lied to.”
“I left out the best part.” Oleg leaned in and could smell the honey scent of her shampoo, which was as clean and fresh as the wonder he’d spotted in her eyes. “She liked it.”
Samantha’s mouth opened again, but this time, nothing came out other than her soft pink tongue swiping at her bottom lip. Oleg decided to fill the void. He pressed his thumb into her mouth and stroked her tongue with the pad. She bit down and pushed at his hand. The pain was a pleasant surprise.
So she wasn’t just playing innocent to lure him in. She really was new to his world. He removed it and took hold of her jaw, stroking her cheek with his ravaged finger. He leaned in and whispered the one word that summed up everything this dilettante had been able to stir in him in such a short period of time. “Interesting.”
Then he felt it, felt her melt into him as her breath hitched ever so slightly. It was there, the need for submission that no doubt had brought her to his party before midnight seeking something she might not be able to define. But she would learn. She only needed the proper training.
Chapter 5
Sam took stock of herself. Her legs were working, her mouth seemed to still be there, so why hadn’t she told this Oleg dude to go fuck himself?
Because two seconds ago, he had pushed his thumb into her mouth, and she had felt her soul catch fire. It was a flagrant intrusion, presumptuous and entirely without warning. She’d bitten down on him, hard, because that was the right thing to do when a stranger invades your mouth with his finger. Wasn’t it? But there was something else clawing its way to the forefront of her consciousness. This man had her wanting to follow him down his rabbit hole without a flashlight.
Those eyes of his flamed with intensity. Their striking ember color was more than hazel, more than mesmerizing. Sam was glued to her stool. His thick eyebrows knitted slightly, and she watched him mouth a single word. “Open.”
Instinctively, she parted her lips again; testing him…testing herself.
He lifted the corner of his mouth in the smallest of smiles. “Now that’s a good girl.” Oleg said in his rich accented English and dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, barely tipped it over her teeth and then pulled it away, leaving Sam to face the fact she was disappointed.
Crazy.
“Sam!” Marielle called out her name, and the shrill sound broke through the lusty haze swirling in Samantha’s head. “I need to get out of this place.”
She tore passed, and Samantha jumped from her seat and tried to keep up. “Oh, shit, okay! What happened?”
Marielle whipped around and glared at her. “I should have never come back here.”
“Marielle…what? What did Ivan say?”
“Alexander is not even here, and he managed to break my heart again, if you can fucking believe that!” Marielle swiped at the corner of her eye. “I’m out of here. Are you coming?”
Was she coming? Not tonight, it seemed. Samantha chided herself for being so snarky, even though she’d had the decency not to say it out loud. “Of course, Marielle. Let me just…”
Marielle sped away, and Sam was only able to wave goodbye to Oleg before she chased after her friend, whom she’d never seen so shaken. Bundled up in faux fur, they teetered down the street at a breakneck pace. The stilts Sam had fancied as suitable footwear for a night luring beefcake Doms now just seemed ridiculous.
“Slow down, Marielle! I’m going to crack my head on the pavement.”
“I don’t know what I was hoping for. Never love a sadist. He can hurt you without even trying.”
Samantha tried to grasp that statement. “Come again?”
“When I pleased Alexander in a scene, it was like the heavens opened up. But a sadist is never satisfied and tragically, neither is a perfectionist.”
“But what did Ivan say?”
“Alexander is looking for a new submissive, someone more ‘compatible’.” She air quoted. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. He was right when he said we were dangerous together.”
“I’m sorry, Marielle.”
Marielle flashed her green eyes at her, and they were sharp enough to make Sam flinch. “I’m going home. I should be in bed.”
Sam sighed as they began walking again. “Well, his friend was a real piece of work. What kind of guy marries someone for a business arrangement?” Or sticks his finger in a perfect stranger’s mouth? She decided to keep that part to herself.
Marielle shook her head. “Doms are all nuts. I’m certain of it.”
They had finally reached Samantha’s Audi TT and climbed into the two-seater convertible. Sam thought it was probably the wrong time to ask, but patience had never been her strong suit. She simply had to know. “Did he really put you in a cage?” Samantha was careful not to take her eyes off the road. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the look in Marielle’s eyes.
Marielle didn’t say anything for a moment. Samantha stole a peek at her and found that Marielle was staring out of the window at the strings of lights hung from post to post on the boulevard. Sam was silent too, not wanting to further upset her friend, but hoping she’d open up and talk about it.
“Yes.” Her answer came finally on a long sigh as they pulled up to a light. “Did Henri tell you that? I could kill him.”
Sam shook her head. “No, it was the bigger guy, Oleg, who told me.” She stole a sideways glance at her. “Why would you let him put you in a cage?”
Marielle turned to look at Sam, and surprisingly, the expression on her face was full of mirth. “Ah, but it was a beautiful cage.” She let out one small chuckle, and Sam was convinced Marielle was laughing at her.
“Fine, if you want to keep me in the dark, I’ll just have to invent the most salacious images in my mind of what the two of you did.”
“They would definitely pale in comparison.” Marielle was almost smilin
g now. “Oh, you are so cute sometimes.”
“Are you going to explain it to me or not?”
“Chérie, there is no amount of explaining that I could do that would satisfy your curiosity. You have to experience it yourself to understand.”
“So you liked it, then?”
Marielle was suddenly serious. “More than that, I needed it. There is a difference.”
“Oh, I see.”
“No, you don’t. Believe me, you don’t.”
*
Sunrise arrived with a sharp spear of light cutting across the expansive floor in front of Oleg as he stood in the center of the sparse living room above his club. The day was determined to begin. Nothing would brighten his mood, however, no matter the beautiful March day gathering potential outside his second-story loft. Crack. A silk handkerchief fluttered to the floor. As soon as it landed, Oleg snapped the leather bull whip, and it fluttered into the air again. He’d mastered his technique long ago. Now, his morning warm-up was practically meditative. Calm, control, complete with utterly focused power. He needed to remind himself that he still possessed all of those things, because today he’d be required to eat a plate of dog shit and smile.
Just because he was at peace with his decision, didn’t mean he had to like it.
Viktor’s call came at eight-thirty, just as he expected.
“Yes, Uncle. I’ll be there on time,” Oleg said. He pulled a crisp white dress shirt over his shoulders and watched the inked black feathers of his tattoo disappear on his reflection.
“Good. We should all arrive together and show our new ally that the Balashov family is in full support of this union. Your cousin will sit in on the negotiations too.”
Oleg paused, a pearlescent button pinched in his suspended grasp. He looked at the phone and frowned.
“Oleg, did I lose you?” Viktor said from the speaker.
“No, I’m here. Do you think it wise to include Dimitri?”
“He is a captain, Oleg. Technically, he’s your captain now.” Viktor chuckled softly. “Only you could speak to me so plainly. I have a soft spot for my smartest boy.”
Unmeasured (Unmatched Book 1) Page 4
