Ruthless Doms Boxset

by Jane Henry

  I've noted her wide-eyed gazes, the way she fidgets when I pull closer to her. If my suspicions are right... and she is at all attracted to me in any way... I could try another angle.

  I’m well versed in the fine art of domination.

  I take her by the elbow and pull her to me in the small entryway before we enter the main lobby. Her skin is silk beneath my fingers, her fragrance exhilarant, but I take a deep breath and fix her with a warning look. Leaning in close, I brush her hair behind her ear, wanting to do so much more than that. To tangle my fingers in that mass of gorgeous waves and tug her head back before I capture her mouth with mine.

  Wrong.

  So fucking wrong.

  I bring my mouth to her ear, caging her in the little space. "Unless you misbehave on purpose, Marissa? Is that what you want? Do you want me to punish you?"

  The sound she emits is like a little mouse caught in a trap, a fetching squeak that almost makes me smile.

  "Of course not," she protests, but the flush of her cheeks and widened eyes betray her.

  "Are you sure about that?" I ask, hoping to embarrass her into silence. Gently, I run my fingers along the back of her neck, just enough to remind her how I control this. How I control her.

  Just enough to ensure her compliance.

  I shouldn't be doing this. Khristos, I shouldn't be doing this, but the way her eyelids flutter and her cheeks color, I can't stop myself. What I wouldn't give to lay her down and make her moan until the sun sets and rises on a new day.

  "Are you sure you don't want just that?" I keep my voice suggestive and salacious, allowing her time to think about the image I paint for her. "Me, overpowering you?"

  She shakes her head but moves closer to me and swallows hard. She trembles, and it’s fucking beautiful.

  I lean in and press my mouth so close to her ear I feel her warmth. "Laying you over my knees for the spanking you know you deserve?"

  "Nooo," she says, but it's a moan this time, and though she's shaking her head, she's moved even closer to me.

  "Then be a good girl," I breathe in her ear.

  I want to eradicate the thought of every boy that ever touched her from her mind. Master her body, inside and out, leave my mark on her and show her the ways of a lover.

  I release her, but grab her hand and walk to the desk. Guilt hounds me, but I shove it away. I have to keep her safe, even if that means pulling out all the fucking stops.

  "Can I help you, sir?" A lanky young man with longish red hair and beady little eyes sits back at a chair at the counter, his feet stretched out in front of him like he's settling down to watch a game of Sunday night football. His mouth opens when he eyes Marissa, but a sharp look from me makes him sit up a little straighter and close his mouth.

  "We need a room for tonight," I say, weaving my fingers through hers and tugging her close to me so that we look like a couple. But hell, she's thirteen years my junior and barely fucking legal.

  He grins lewdly, and I want to wrap my hands around his scrawny neck. "Suite with one king?"

  I huff out a breath I didn't know I was holding, pull out a wad of cash, and hold it in my fist.

  "I need a double."

  "No doubles," he chants, but his eyes are on the bills. "The suite has a pullout couch, though, a flat-screen TV, and includes the continental breakfast in the morning."

  "Fine," I tell him.

  He has me fill out the paperwork. I use a fake name and hand him cash.

  He takes my money, then hands me a key. "Room 492," he says. "Enjoy your stay."

  I thank him and pull her along with me, eager to get out of his sight. We should have some time before anyone's looking for her, but I don't want to push my luck. She trots beside me, thankfully quiet, until we get to the elevator.

  "That guy was terrified," she says, her voice awed.

  I look at her in surprise. It's the last thing I expected her to say. I'm used to others being scared in my presence and don't give it a second thought. Every one of the members of the Bratva, every one of my brothers, is physically intimidating, tattooed, stern. We command the largest, most formidable underworld army in America.

  "Wish he wasn't the only one afraid," I mutter.

  A beat of silence passes while we wait for the elevator. "He isn't," she says quietly.

  Good. And she doesn't even fucking know what I'm capable of. I need her to do what I tell her, not to fuck around with her safety and mine.

  Alright, mostly hers. I can take care of myself, but Marissa...

  I'm not in the mood for small talk. "What did I tell you about being quiet?" I remind her. With a pout, she bows her head. Hell, I love the way she looks like this, all submissive and obedient.

  My mind races with possibilities, where we need to go next and what needs to happen. I need a plan, and so far I don't even have food or clothes. I've got a destination, a car, and soon the hounds of fucking hell at my heels.

  The elevator smells dank and musty. The carpet is threadbare, the overhead lighting dismal and yellow. She should have luxury and opulence, and I hate her being anywhere near this miserable hell hole. We’ll do what we have to, though. We ride the elevator up in silence. I hope to fucking hell the bedroom is clean.

  She taps her foot on the floor, fiddles with her hair, then finally bites her lip when she catches me looking at her. I don't give her any reassurance. Nothing. My primary goal right now is keeping her safe.

  We cruise to a stop on our floor, and when the doors open, I take her by the hand. Our room is only a few steps away but still, I check both ways, still leery of anyone following us. Still on guard for anything at all that would pose a threat to her. Always watchful.

  Marissa stands in silence when I open the door. It takes three times before the damn door opens, stupid cheap locks, and when I finally get it unlocked, I drag her in the room with me.

  "Oh, charming," she says when I flick the light on. I scowl at the "suite" before us. It's the size of a postage stamp, the "pullout sofa" no more than an arm chair that supposedly pulls out, a tiny table with two chairs beside the bed.

  "Son of a bitch," I mutter. I'm fucking exhausted and ready for sleep, not knowing what awaits us next. I glance at Marissa. I don't even know if I can trust the girl. I toy with the idea of tying her up or restraining her in some way, but she needs her damn rest, too. I take the cushion off, only to find the bed portion of the sleeper chair is missing the actual mattress. It's otherwise passably clean.

  "So... any chance this place has free toiletries? Cable?" she asks, going to the bathroom.

  The nonchalance baffles me. Does she have no idea the danger we're in? Why would I take her the way I have without good cause?

  I go look with her, but there's only a slim bar of soap and shampoo. I don't like that she's so carefree, like we're here for a little mid-week getaway, but what does she even fucking know? I haven't told her anything, because I don't trust her not to fuck up our escape.

  "We can try the desk," I suggest, picking up the phone and dialing. I dump the contents of my pockets out onto the bedside table before I lift the receiver, and dial. The phone rings seven times before someone answers it. I pinch the bridge of my nose, my vision blurred from all the driving.

  "Yeah?" It's the idiot at the front desk.

  "Do you happen to have any toothbrushes?" I ask, already feeling my nerves rising at the sound of his voice.

  "All out," he says.

  "Deodorant?"

  "Out."

  I huff out an impatient breath, but keep my voice steady. "Thanks."

  I turn to find Marissa hastily putting something behind her back, her wide eyes betraying her guilt.

  What the hell?

  "Come here," I tell her. I clench my fists, controlling my desire to grab her by the hair and haul her to me.

  "What?" She wants me think she's innocent, but she's fucking not.

  "Now."

  Tentatively, so slowly it barely looks like she's moving, she mak
es her way toward me, but I don't wait. I take a step toward her, watching as she captures her beautiful, full lips between her teeth. She lets out a little squeak when I grasp her upper arm and tug her toward me until she's flush up against my chest.

  I ignore her intoxicating, feminine smell, crisp citrus mixed with delicate floral undertones, the scent that permeates my every waking hour and dreams. She's fucking around and still hasn't gotten the memo that I mean every damn word I say. She has no idea how much danger she's in. No fucking idea.

  I take her wrists and draw them forward, prying her hands open to reveal her cell phone.

  Anger boils up inside me so hard and fast I have to school my features so I don't terrify her, but fuck if I don't need to give her a taste of what she's up against.

  This beautiful, headstrong, brilliant girl is on the cusp of losing every fucking drop of innocence she possesses. The thought of anyone touching her—hurting her…

  "What did I tell you?" I grit out between clenched teeth, drawing her closer to me by both elbows, until her body is pressed up against mine, her breath coming in tiny, labored gasps.

  But she's frozen, and I suspect she's lost her ability to speak, because she stares at me in silence and doesn't respond, her mouth slightly agape.

  She's scared, but she's not fucking scared enough.

  I want to haul her over my lap. To peel off every layer of clothing like I'm unwrapping a gift. To paint the curves of her ass with my palm until she's beet red and writhing on my knee, pleading with me to stop. But if I draw her over my lap, she'll feel how fucking hard I am. She'll know how much I want her.

  I think of every damn time she's mouthed off to me, snuck around behind my back, told me to fuck off, the way she's kissed that spineless bastard of a boyfriend, and I make a split second decision to break every goddamned rule. To cross that line between protector and something deeper... more intimate... more erotic.

  I sweep my arm across the table and send papers and pens and menus fluttering to the floor, march her to the edge, spin her around, and push her belly over the edge.

  "Hey!" she protests, pushing against me, but her efforts are laughably fruitless. With one hand, I overpower her, pressing the small of her back down so she's helpless to resist me. She knows what I've threatened. She knows what has to happen now.

  "Don't!" she tries to order me. "I'm sorry!"

  I ignore the way she pleads, while I gather the skirt of her dress and press her down with pressure on her lower back. I stifle a groan at the sight of the thin strip of fabric she calls panties. If I knew she wore a sheer thong under that dress—

  I make myself focus on what needs to happen next. Marissa will learn to obey me.

  Without another word, I slam my palm against the full, voluptuous curves of her ass. It feels so damn satisfying to spank her, I do it again.

  And again.

  And again.

  At first, she takes her spanking in stunned silence, the only sound in the room the smack of flesh on flesh, but as I continue her punishment, she whimpers.

  I don't stop. I can't stop. I've wanted to do this so long, the taste of dominating her makes me hunger for so much more. I'm a starving beast who's longed to taste this, to command and control and overpower.

  To chastise.

  Correct.

  Punish.

  "Stop!" she begs, her voice choked with tears. "Please, Nicolai. I'm sorry." She's crying in earnest now, and I don't want to let on that it affects me. I'm torn. I want to punish her further, until I've marked and claimed her, and her body bears witness to the lesson I've taught. And the beast in me wants to tear that thong off her and slide my fingers through her swollen folds, expertly working her to orgasm on my hand, on my cock, on my mouth. To make her first lesson indistinguishable between pleasure and pain.

  I blink, my hand raised to strike again in mid-air.

  I've taken this too far. I can't let myself even think of defiling her innocence.

  I have one job, and I have to stay focused.

  I remove my hold on her so quickly she nearly falls, the silky black fabric of her dress falls over her flaming red ass like the curtain at a play.

  The End.

  But I can't let her first punishment at my hands be in vain. I need to reinforce the lesson. or this has all been pointless. With considerable effort, I lift her shoulders off the table and turn her around to look at me. She casts her eyes down, but not before I notice they're brimming with tears. Marissa is disgraced.

  It's about fucking time.

  Still, I want to hold her. I want to console her. I want her to see how much better it is if she only obeys me.

  I give myself just a taste, pulling her to my chest in a chaste hug. At first, she freezes, but when I wrap my arms around her and hug her to my chest, she burrows into me like she's meant to be there.

  Khristos. She fucking is.

  At first I think she's holding her breath, but then I realize she's trying to stifle her tears, and my resolve to stay stern and corrective dissolves.

  "Be a good girl, Marissa," I say gently, running my hand down the back of her head and holding her face to my chest. "Don't make me do that again."

  Her arms are tucked into her, across her breasts, a sub-conscious move of self-protection, but as I run my fingers through her hair, inhaling her sweet scent, she melts into me. To my delight and horror, she lifts her arms to encircle my neck. And hell, they belong there, too, like she was created for this very moment, to fit in my arms just like this.

  We can't do this. We shouldn't.

  I can't help but hold her around her slim waist. My hands fit just so. Right there. Just like this. Because Marissa belongs to me.

  "I just don't understand," she sobs. "Why, Nicolai?"

  "Why what?" Does she want to know why I punished her? That's obvious enough.

  "You're the one who's supposed to protect me."

  I swallow hard. I am.

  "You're in danger," I tell her, though I know before I say the words that she won't believe me.

  She shakes her head into my chest. "But you kidnapped me. You won't let me call anyone. You gagged me and you just spanked me. Why?"

  I harden my heart to her tear-filled supplications.

  I could tell her everything I know. And all it would take would be one call to a friend, one text to her boyfriend, one little slip up and we could be found. She would be taken. Abused.

  And gone from me forever.

  "Trust me, Marissa. Please."

  "How can you ask me to trust you if you won't trust me?"

  It's a fair question. But before I can respond, I'm vividly aware of how close we are. How my shirt is damp with her tears, how her arms feel around my neck, and how her full breasts are pressed up to my chest.

  I release her, but not before I grasp her chin and bring her eyes to mine.

  We have no time to deliberate. I will not reason with her. I will not beg.

  "I will tell you everything when I can, but I expect you to obey me. Do you understand?"

  Her eyes cloud briefly and she tries to shake her head, but her chin is still firmly in my grasp.

  "Yeah," she whispers. "I—yes, sir."

  In the deep south, she was taught to say yes, sir and no, ma'am. I know this. But she's never called me sir, and always treated me like her peer.

  Something's shifted between us.

  Something dangerous.

  I release her chin and nod to the bathroom. I take a step back. Denying this intimacy. I have to shut down anything that could happen between us. I fucking have to.

  "Get ready for bed," I say, my voice hard and commanding. Detached.

  I ignore the look of betrayal she gives me before she does exactly what I say.

  It doesn't affect me.

  It doesn't.

  Chapter 4

  Marissa

  I don't even know how I make it to the bathroom. I'm shaking from what just happened.

  And I'm so confuse
d, I don't even know how to sort my wild thoughts. Hell, forget my thoughts.

  My feelings. My body's absurd reactions.

  I'm sad and confused... but hopeful.

  Nicolai took me, but he swears it's for my own good. He won't tell me why he took me or where we're going, and he wants me to trust him. And deep inside me, I want to.

  For years, I've longed for attention from him.

  I'm struck with the irony of the situation.

  Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be eighteen years old. An adult.

  And he just punished me like an errant child. It's hardly an acknowledgment of my adulthood.

  But though I'm embarrassed, I'm beginning to feel things I never felt before. I've always been inexplicably aroused by his brooding, dominant nature, but now—now, he's stoked a fire in me so hot, the threads of my being are incandescent.

  The woodsy, masculine, powerful scent of him... the feel of his powerfully muscled body, even the command of his hand, the smack of his vicious palm on my ass. The first spank both shocked and humiliated me. The second broke me open. The third lit a fire. By the time he was finished, my whole body was aflame, exhilarated.

  My breasts tingle with awareness and feel weirdly heavier, and there's an aching need between my thighs that yearns for pressure and release.

  I don't understand it. I don't understand anything.

  He doesn't even know what I said to Eric, before we left. The text I sent him in the car.

  The one thing that gives me comfort is the knowledge that he isn't immune to this. To any of this. I saw the way he swallowed hard with me pressed up against him. The way he growled, low and deep, and hungry, when he lifted my dress. The way his eyes drink me in like he's dying of thirst and I'm his salvation.

  Maybe my feelings for him aren't one-sided like I thought, and it's the one hope that brings me comfort.

  He doesn't want to hurt me. I know that now. He isn't one of the bad guys.

  He can't be.

  I quickly use the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I pull my shoulders back and steel myself.

  I don't know why we're here or what he's planned, but he's the man I've trusted to protect me for years.