by Jane Henry
She draws in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “Yes, master.”
“We will be arriving in Boston soon, and I’m being admitted into the Boston Bratva.” I pause before I tell her the rest. “And you will be my tribute.”
She doesn’t respond.
I’m so fucking hard, it’s killing me to have her between my legs like this. In one second I could have her mouth wrapped around my cock and pass it off as part of her training. And Khristos, I want that.
“Do you know what has to happen tonight, slave?”
“Yes, sir,” she says. Wordlessly, she reaches for my hand and squeezes.
I brush a stray hair off her forehead. “Come with me to get ready for breakfast.” I feel my body tense, my spine stiffening at the thought of taking her out there. Where others can see her. Breathe the same air she does.
I have her kneel outside the bathroom while I get ready to shower. I won’t take my eyes off of her for a second, and it’s almost like the old days. My life’s purpose was to keep an eye on her. I failed her once, and I almost lost her forever. I will never make such a mistake again. I will spend the rest of my life devoting myself to her, making up for lost time.
A knock sounds. I look to the door, then back to her. She’s kept her eyes to the floor and hasn’t moved, but I don’t trust anyone. I check my weapon before I answer the door. Erik stands on the other side, his woman on a leash with her head bowed. I open the door.
“Good morning,” he says pleasantly, looking over my shoulder to where Marissa kneels. I lean against the doorway to stop myself from decking him.
“Morning,” I say less pleasantly, giving him a pointed look that says, what the fuck do you want?
“Going to breakfast?” he asks, like this is some sort of luxury vacation.
“Yeah. Where’s Yakov?”
“Already there. But I think Naomi would like to go with a friend.” His lips twitch. “A play date as it were.”
I feel Marissa wanting to get up from where she is, but if she fucking moves I’ll punish her. And if he’s insinuating that we’re sharing, I’ll kill him first.
Painfully.
“We’ll be there shortly.”
I shut the door in his face before I break his nose.
“You know, there’s a flip side to your obedience,” I tell her when I turn back to where she kneels.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’ll punish you if you misbehave, but you’ll be richly rewarded for obedience.”
I love how the faintest tinge of pink colors her cheeks. “I would like that, sir,” she says quietly. “May I speak?”
“You may.”
“I just want to tell you I don’t need much in the way of rewards, sir,” she says, her head still bowed. “Your pleasure is reward enough.”
She’s being such a good little girl. I’m so proud of her. I walk to her and bend to one knee, taking her chin in my hand.
“You please me very much,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
Her eyes light up, luminescent and beautiful.
“Zvezda moya,” I murmur. My beautiful, radiant star. And for one brief moment I’m not sure if we’re role playing or sincere.
I get to my feet with reluctance, and snap my fingers at her. “Come,” I tell her. “Walk behind me unless I instruct you to crawl. No speaking now, unless I allow it.”
She nods, bows her head, and walks obediently behind me.
“I want you so close to me I can touch you at all times. Do you understand?”
I will find a leash like Erik, if only so I can tether her to me and keep her safe.
“Yes, sir.”
“Come, let’s get you ready,” I tell her. I can’t risk speaking to her freely anymore. She is my slave, and I her master. I take her by the hand to the bathroom and point to the shower. “You need to shower and prepare for the day.”
I have no clean clothes for her at my disposal, so the little sheath she came in will do for now. I remove it carefully, fold it, and place it on a little table in the bathroom, then start the shower. I test the water and see it’s to my liking, then wordlessly lead her in. We don’t speak as I hand her soap and shampoo, and watch her wash herself quickly. I stand to the side, but I can see everything. The gorgeous fullness of her breasts, dripping with soap and water. Her peaked, pretty pink nipples, delectable and tempting. The flatness of her belly and roundness of her hips, and the bare skin at the vee between her thighs. She’s been waxed and groomed and prepared for me.
We don’t make eye contact. I want to be the one in that shower with her. I’m hard as fuck just watching her wash.
Screw it.
I remove my towel and throw it to the floor, then join her, turning her around to face me. I keep my touches platonic, wordlessly moving the washcloth and soaping her body, drawing it between her legs and over every inch of her skin. But the nearness of her breaks my resolve. When I wash her shoulder I can’t help but bend down and lazily lap at her peaked nipple.
“Ooooohhhh.” Her voice trails off and she anchors herself by holding onto my shoulders.
“Are you a good girl?” I whisper, gliding a hand to the heat between her thighs. Water pounds on my back as I gently ease my finger along her sensitive places.
“I am a good girl,” she whispers.
“Such a very, very good girl.” I want to finger her until she comes, lap at her soft folds until she comes on my face, pin her down and fuck her until nothing remains in her memory but me. But we need to make an appearance.
“Behave yourself,” I tell her, increasing the tempo of my strokes. “And when we come back here, I’ll reward you well for your good behavior.”
“But can’t—can’t I—ohhhh,” her voice trails off and she rocks her hips against my hand. “Earn a reward now?”
“Soon,” I tell her, removing my hand. I don’t miss the little mewl of protest or the little pouty lip because I didn’t give her what she wants. I will, in time, but she has to do what I say. I weave my fingers through her sodden hair and yank her head back.
“Are you pouting?” I ask.
Her eyes close and she wets her lips, stifling a moan. “No, sir,” she finally whispers.
“You do know that I can punish you by bringing you to the cusp of release but not granting you pleasure?”
Her eyes grow wide. “Would you do that? Really?”
“If I found it the most effective way of ensuring your obedience? Yes.”
It would be a lie to say I didn’t enjoy this part, controlling her and having her obey me. Hell, even the threat of punishment makes me hard. She draws close to me and my cock presses against the softness of her belly. It takes every bit of self-control I have not to claim her right here, right now.
Her hand graces my side and she slides it down. I groan and grab her wrist. I have to resist. I can’t let her touch me.
“A slave never touches a master without permission,” I say thickly. She drops her head to my chest, the steaming hot water cascading over her hair and down her back.
“Yes, sir.”
In silence, I shut the shower off. I don’t want to let her go even for this short time. I grab a towel and quickly dry off, then wrap it around my waist before I take one for her and do the same. I take her hand and guide her out, enjoying the way she leans into me when I dry her off.
“It’s time for us to go,” I tell her. In silence, we dress and get ready to go. Though we’ve broken through the fog that’s clouded her memory, it’s clear that she’s far from restored. I wonder how long it will take before she heals from the torment she’s endured and pacify myself with the thoughts of how I’ll seek revenge.
Will I be able to truly free her from this? From all of it? The lies and betrayal, abuse and hurt, the shackles of our pasts and ties to the underground neither of us has the power to break?
I open the door and look down both halls. I want off this fucking ship. The men who hurt her are still here, some of them, anywa
y. And I don’t want them to breathe the same air she does. When we arrive in the dining room, Yakov sits in front of us with a woman on a leash. Her head is bowed, and though she’s clothed in her sheath, her neck bears his marks. He’s claimed her as his. I nod my approval at him. She’s his until we get to Boston, anyway.
The dining room is teeming with people, but I don’t look at any of them. I don’t trust myself not to murder the men who kept her. I don’t want to look at the women kneeling and crawling, chained to their masters.
It makes me want to rip that sheath right off her and fuck her, claim her, right here, right now, for everyone to see. I school my face with effort and grit my teeth. She’s being a good little girl, obediently bowing her head and walking by my side.
When we enter the dining room, Erik hails us over. His woman is kneeling beside him, the chain attached to her neck sitting in his lap. Yakov and I join him. I point to the floor for Marissa to kneel, and she does. It’s surreal, being in here, surrounded by men that bought women. I can’t fucking wait to get off this ship.
“Buffet or menu,” Erik says, tossing a menu to me. The buffet will get us back to the room and out of the sight of those aboard quicker. I throw the menu down and lead Marissa to the food line. While I fill a plate for both of us, a tall man with a receding hairline and heavy jowls sidles up beside her. I’m holding my plate in one hand, and gently put it down. Ready to defend her if he makes a move.
“Isn’t she beautiful,” he murmurs. He’s standing too close to her. I don’t like it. I tug her closer to me.
“She is,” I tell him. I give him a look that tells him to fuck off, but he only steps closer.
“The prettiest of the lot,” he says. Seems my non-verbal cues aren’t going very far.
“Sure as hell is,” I say. “And you’ll back the fuck off now.” He blinks in surprise before his dim, bloodshot eyes meet mine.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Do you have any idea who I am?” he snarls, and the bastard has the fucking gall to reach a hand out to touch her.
I don’t fucking care who the hell he is. I pull her to me, tuck her behind me, and wrap my fingers around his neck, pulling him straight up off the floor.
“It doesn’t fucking matter who you are,” I tell him. With one snap, I could break his neck and end him, but I have to control myself. “You keep your fucking hands off of her.”
“Stop,” she pleads when his eyes bulge and his face goes red. Yakov is at my elbow, pulling me away.
“Not worth it, brother,” he says, and it somehow pulls me out of my blind need to end this bastard. I drop him to the floor. Dishes clatter, and all eyes are on me, but no one makes a move.
“Do not ever fucking touch her again,” I tell him. If he does, the next time I will snap his meaty neck. A security guard is at my side, staring at the man on the floor then back to me in fear.
“He touched her,” I explain. Though nearly killing another guest aboard the ship isn’t exactly allowed, we just paid millions to own these women, and it’s pretty fucking clear no one else touches them.
“So sorry, sir,” the guard says, dragging the man up by his feet and away from me.
“Walk away,” Yakov tells me in a low voice. “Jesus, Aleks.”
“I should have killed him,” I say between gritted teeth, turning back to Marissa.
“Of course,” Yakov says, giving me a placating but pointed look. He drops his voice and whispers in my ear. “But this isn’t a warehouse, brother. And you don’t have your brotherhood behind you backing you up. You’ve got me and the douchebag.”
That actually makes me nearly smile. Fuck, he’s right. I can’t lose my goddamn mind so easily.
I turn to Marissa. She’s watched everything with wide, curious eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. I fill a plate with food and lead her back to the table. She kneels while I eat, like I’ve instructed, and when I’m finished, I pat my lap for her to sit on so I can feed her. She obeys perfectly. But I’m eager to get her alone again. I’d have preferred to have her alone, and it seems the natural way of things for a master to have his slave serve him food, but I need to make a public appearance. Still, I’m ready to drag her back to the room and out of the sight of anyone else on this ship.
Erik tells me about the plans we have when we return. We’ll arrive in Boston tomorrow evening, meet Tomas and the others at the wharf, and return to the compound for our induction. Marissa looks at me in panic when she hears the plans, but I shake my head sharply at her. She looks quickly back to the floor.
“You seen the dungeon?” Erik asks. “Our emcee introduced me to it last night.”
The dungeon? As if I’d entertain the thought of taking her anywhere near anyone else.
“No,” I tell him. I tug a lock of Marissa’s hair. I pull her closer to me so she’s nestled right into my crotch. Fuck, I love how she feels sitting here like this.
“Keep your hands in your lap, while I feed you,” I instruct. Some masters prefer feeding their slaves themselves, while others feed their slaves on the floor, still others out of bowls suitable for pets. But I like to control every single thing that she does, and eating is no exception.
I break off a piece of a muffin and gently place it between her lips. She captures it eagerly, licking a crumb and swallowing. I feed her a ripe strawberry next, then offer her a sip of water. She eagerly takes the food from my fingers, and when I think she’s eaten enough, I push the plate away.
“The job of a master is to see to the needs of his slave,” I tell Marissa. “To anticipate her needs before they rise.” I lift the napkin off the table and dab the corner of her mouth. “The job of a slave is to become subservient to her master, her utmost focus on serving and pleasing him.”
She nods her head meekly. “Yes, master.”
Erik yanks the chain on his slave’s collar. God, he’s an asshole. “Did you hear that?”
I don’t miss the flash of her eyes before she sobers. There she is. There’s my girl.
“Yes, master. I heard.”
But Yakov only runs his hand down his woman’s shoulder, his thumb gliding along her naked skin. He raises his brow questioningly, and she nods. Tomorrow, we offer our women in tribute. I don’t think I’ll be the only one reluctant to let her go.
Chapter 15
Marissa
The more time I spend with Nicolai, the more I remember, like excavating in a mine and revealing hidden diamonds. The memories are covered in darkness, but every once in a while a ray of light reflects their brilliance. But it’s hard work. Not all of my memories are ones I wish to keep. Some I wish to keep hidden below the surface, never again to see the light of day.
But the memories I have with Nicolai… those I treasure.
When I sit on his lap and he feeds me, I remember the way he used to oversee every moment of my day. So much older than I am, he had an almost paternal air about him. Making sure I got enough sleep. Making sure I ate my dinner and didn’t spend all night studying or out with friends and subsisting on noodles and french fries. He would remind me to stay safe, to take my cell phone with me, and though he gave me some freedom, he was always there. Caring for my every need.
And though our circumstance is now wildly different, who he is hasn’t changed. I sit on his lap while he feeds me, and though he’s attentive, his eyes don’t miss a single detail. We both know those who took and trained me still pose a deadly threat. And I know he’s ready to kill anyone who comes near me.
It’s strange, how the past few months of my training seem to dovetail now with the circumstance I find myself in. My will was bent, broken, shattered. And though a part of me still remembers autonomy and freedom, it’s natural for me to bend to him. When he gives me an order, I follow it without question. I have to. It’s what I was taught and it’s what will save me now.
There are two other men and two other women with him, and I’ve surmised from our brief encounters that we’re all going to the same destination. I�
��m not allowed to interact with anyone, so I can’t talk to them, and I’m not sure they would even speak to me if allowed. They are familiar, and we underwent the same rigorous, brutal training, but we’ve never talked. A part of me longs for a sisterly connection. A friend who understands. But I don’t dare to try to even look at them. Not now.
One of the men mentioned a “dungeon.” It sounds ominous, and Nicolai’s stern face grew cold when they spoke of it, but I know he has a role to play.
“Come with us, brother?” Yakov asks. “When we arrive in Boston, we won’t have the playtime we have here.”
Playtime. My skin crawls.
Nicolai nods and takes my hand. We’re going to the dungeon? I expected he’d want to drag me back to the room where no one could see me. I want him to. Before we came here, we shared an intimate moment I can’t get out of my mind, and he told me if I obeyed I would be rewarded. When he touches me, I ignite with such vivid visceral awareness, I’m left panting before he’s finished. The old Nicolai kept me at a distance until that fateful night we left. God, that seems so long ago now. A lifetime ago.
But this Nicolai—this one needs to prove he owns me.
I shiver as I walk beside him, my head bowed.
We hear the dungeon before we get there. Laughter, moans, screams just outside the entry. I don’t realize I’ve stopped moving until Nicolai tugs my hand and shoots me a reproving look. I quicken my pace, and we enter the room together. He finds a chair tucked into the corner of the room, sits down, and pulls me onto his lap, facing him. I lose track of where his companions go.
Straddling him like this, one leg on either side, my sheath rides up and my bare pussy presses up against his pants. It feels so dirty, and yet I love this intimacy. He takes my chin in his hand and holds my gaze.
“If I had my way I’d bring you to the room, shut and lock the door, and throw away the key,” he growls.
