by Jane Henry
After he’s finished his portion, the final dish comes out and we both eat heartily. He pushes himself away from the table after eating literally three times what I do, and I eat a good amount. Wiping his mouth, he looks at me with approval, nodding slowly to himself.
“That was a meal fit for a king, Caroline,” he says. “Thank you.”
“Did you save room for dessert?” I’m so pleased he’s happy, that he enjoyed this meal that I made, my heart feels light as a feather. I wish I wasn’t so sensitive to his approval, so eager for his praise, for my logical mind warns me this places me in danger...in a state of raw vulnerability where I can so easily be hurt.
I wish it didn’t matter to me as much as it does, but I can’t deny the fact that his approval thrills me. Somehow, I feel winning the heart of the beast makes me victorious, empowered. He’s no easy one to love, but I can’t help but want to.
“Dessert will be served in our private rooms,” he says, standing. Reaching a hand out to me, he lifts me to my feet. “We have much to discuss, and I have no more patience left. I want you alone, now.”
I get to my feet, suddenly nervous. What will he do to me when we’re alone? He’s made reference to his tools and the wicked things he wishes to do to me.
Will he make good on that promise?
I get to my feet and take his hand. It’s hard leaving the dishes behind, knowing the staff will care for them. I wasn’t treated like this in my former home. Though kept apart from waitstaff, I was never waited on. I fixed my own meals and kept my own counsel.
It was a lonely life.
“This food was delicious, Caroline,” the man with a shaved head who witnessed my marriage says.
“Thank you.”
The redhead sitting next to him, Yvonne’s husband, nods with approval. “I agree. I haven’t had a meal like that in years.” He smiles up at me. “Maybe you can teach Yvonne?”
I look to Tomas on instinct, and I can tell he approves of my silent request for permission when he gives me a small nod.
“I’m sure we can arrange that.” But his voice is tight, his eyes hard when he looks at them. “Come here.” He offers me his arm. I take it quickly, bow my head and follow him out of the dining room.
Ilya stands in the doorway, frowning.
“We didn’t eat potatoes tonight,” he says as we pass. “Why did you have me peel so many?”
Tomas stiffens. “Watch your tone, Ilya.” He doesn’t like that the young recruit is unhappy with me. I hold up a hand to tell him I can handle this.
I give Ilya the truth. “Your pakhan thought it suitable to humble you with menial work. Your pakhan is my husband, and it is my duty to ensure he’s obeyed. But your work didn’t go to waste, Ilya. You’ll see what delicious meals we’ll make tomorrow with the food you’ve prepared.”
He nods his head. “Thank you,” he says, then looking at Tomas, he apologizes. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Tomas fixes him with such a stern look, I wonder at Ilya’s ability to stand in his presence. He’s uncompromising, but he seems fair enough. Well, mostly. I’m still not sure why he got all grumpy with me earlier.
“Clean the dishes after tonight’s meal, and we’ll speak in the morning.”
I’m so in my head I don’t realize we’ve made it all the way to our room, and when he opens the door, I start to tremble.
“Are you afraid, little detka?”
“Yes.”
He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and ushers me in.
“That’s good,” he tells me. “A little fear can heighten the experience.”
My heart beats faster.
“Go to the bedroom,” he orders. “And lie down on the bed. The only thing you may take off is your shoes. Understood?”
I nod and walk to the room tentatively. I wonder what he has in store for me. It seemed easier submitting to whatever he asked of me before, but now I’m not so sure.
Do I disappoint him?
Does he intend to use me like Andros did? If he does, he’s no better. He might pretend to be kind, and he might be fiercely possessive of me, but it’s only because I’m his and he protects what’s his.
Is it wrong that I like that?
I flop on the bed, frustrated and annoyed at myself, but I don’t know what to expect from him. He’s so damn unpredictable.
I lay on the bed fully clothed, trying to school my features. I don’t want my annoyance to show, because I already know that won’t go over too well with him. I hear him on the phone.
“Bring the dessert to my room,” he says. “Leave it outside the door on a tray. And be sure everyone knows not to disturb me until the morning.”
Oh.
Oh.
It’s got to be like six o’clock at night, and he doesn’t want to be disturbed?
I doubt he’s a Monday night football kinda guy.
I’m staring at the ceiling, wondering how things will go when the door to the bedroom creaks open.
“Good to know you’ve obeyed at least one instruction today,” he says.
“Now that’s not fair, I’ve obeyed more than that. In fact, I’m not even sure what else I’ve done other than leave here, and my ass already took that punishment.”
“A husband can’t tease?”
Is he really teasing? I didn’t even know he was capable.
“You’re hardly the teasing sort.”
He’s reaching for his tie, his eyes fixed on me. A moment ago, they twinkled, but he looks a little more serious now. “I’m not? How do you know, Caroline? You don’t know me at all.”
“And isn’t that the problem.” It isn’t a question but a statement. We don’t know each other, and here we are.
We stare at each other and neither says a word. This conversation has gotten way more serious than either of us anticipated. Oh, how I wish I could trust him fully.
“And what if I tell you I don’t want you to touch me tonight?” I ask. I want to know what he says even though I have no intention of telling him any such thing. Why would I? I’m dying for him to take me to euphoric heights I’ve never known. He is so capable. God, he is.
Without a word, his dark brown eyes drill into mine, he unfastens his necktie and wraps it around his fist.
“Are you?” he asks. Of course, he puts it right back on me and doesn’t play into my trap at all. He won’t allow himself to be caught.
I bite my lip, not sure how to respond, when he crosses the room in firm, quick strides. Before I know what’s happening, he wraps his silky tie around my mouth and knots it in the back.
“Go ahead. Tell me no.”
I open my mouth to speak but all that comes out is a garbled mess.
The bastard.
He took away my ability to tell him no. I huff out in anger and glare at him. I have no intention of refusing sex with him. Sex with him is fucking epic. But I hate that he played me like that.
I glare.
“You know what happens to naughty little girls who glare like that at their husbands,” he says, wagging a finger at me.
My eyes narrow, but I don’t respond because I literally can’t.
Why don’t you tell me, you son of a bitch?
By now he’s reached me, and he kneels on one knee beside me, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “They are punished by being denied pleasure, little detka. Brats don’t come, Caroline.”
I’m not a brat, the jerk.
He continues to whisper. “Is that what you want? Being on the edge of ecstasy but never reaching completion. Over. And over. And over.”
Nooooo.
The bastard.
I’m super grateful he isn’t a mind reader.
I don’t respond, because I feel myself softening toward him, and I don’t want that, but the idea of him taking me to the edge of bliss and leaving me there… I could literally cry.
I sigh through the tie gag and shake my head.
“Your eyes are begging me,” he says, brushing damp hair off my fo
rehead. “Is that what you mean to say, sweetheart?”
Tomas is fierce and powerful, ruthless and possessive. I’ve seen him nearly kill a man and I have no doubt he’s done it before. But he’s held me and comforted me and has just commanded his entire brotherhood to take down the men that hurt me.
How could I not love him a little for that?
I hold his gaze and nod my head and don’t blink while I silently beg him. He’s left my hands free, so I reach for him with both arms. I want to hold him. Touch him. Feel his strength and let it empower me.
To my surprise, he lets me, gathering me in his arms and settling me on his lap. In silence, he holds me in the crook of his arm and begins to undress me.
His large fingers are surprisingly deft with the buttons on my dress, and in no time, he’s removed it fully. I lay on his lap with nothing but panties and a bra, which he also makes quick work removing.
It surprises me when he places me on the floor between his legs and unfastens the tie around the back of my mouth.
“Now will you tell me no, sweetheart?” He brushes his thumb along the apple of my cheek. I hate that he’s putting this on me.
“Maybe,” I say petulantly, though we both know there’s no maybe about it.
“Maybe,” he says to himself. “I’m curious, though, Caroline. Why did you get so angry with me at dinner?”
He’s positioning me between his legs, in a kneeling position.
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me serve,” I tell him. “It’s like you’re just using me to get what you want, and you don’t care at all about what matters to me.”
“All of that over one misunderstanding?”
“All of… what?”
“Your anger, your attitude, nearly getting yourself punished again for disrespect.”
How can I tell him everything that I fear? That I’ve convinced myself that he’s cold and heartless and incapable of love?
I don’t respond, because I don’t know how to. I look at the floor. Did I overreact? But he grabs my chin and makes me look at him.
“Do not look away from me,” he says, in that stern tone of his that makes my nipples harden and my tummy clench. “No matter what.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
He unfastens his trousers and removes his belt. I swallow hard, and my ass aches in memory of what he did with that belt. Placing it on the bed in a coil, he unzips his pants.
That’s when I realize what he’s doing.
“Um, so, wait a minute,” I say, suddenly nervous. “I… I don’t know how to do that.”
Reaching over to me, he tangles his fingers in my hair and pulls my head back. Oh, God, I love how that feels. My scalp tingles, my heartbeat racing as he tugs my head back. I didn’t know getting my hair pulled was that erotic.
I’m in so much trouble.
“Open.”
I do what he says.
He slides his cock between my lips. Tentatively, I close my mouth on him and suck.
It makes him groan, and it’s all that I need.
I want to earn his possession and loyalty, to know that when he fights for me it’s because of who I am, not what I am.
I want to please him so badly I could cry. I’d do anything to hear good girl, to see his eyes alight with pleasure, so when he sighs and bobs my head with his hand still fisted in my hair, I suck in earnest.
“Christ, Caroline,” he groans. “Just like that. That’s it, sweetheart.”
I lick and suck and bob my head, watching his cues and doing what it takes to make him groan.
He releases my hair and runs a finger down the side of my face. “There’s a submissive inside there, you know,” he says. “When you please me, your eyes light up and your whole countenance lightens, like it’s Christmas Day.”
He closes his eyes while I work my mouth and tongue, my own body humming with need as he gets more and more aroused.
“That’s dangerous, Caroline. The heart of a submissive must be guarded.” He groans, rolling his hips and pumping into me harder, faster. I can’t process what he’s saying now. My breasts tingle and swell, and my pussy throbs with need. It’s hard to hear him, hard to focus when I’m so overcome with arousal and need, so intent on bringing him pleasure.
He shocks me when he yanks my head away and shoves his cock back in his pants.
“Enough,” he says. At first, I worry that I did something wrong, but I soon realize it’s only because he doesn’t want to climax this way.
“I want in you. On the bed,” he groans. “Now.”
I scramble on the bed on all fours, looking over my shoulder at him, but when I do, he slams his palm against my bare ass.
“Good girl,” he approves, coming up behind me. “I told you I’d take good care of you. Now on your back.”
I flop on my back, stifling a whimper of need. He’s on the edge himself, and his gaze is laser focused. If I didn’t know he was turned the hell on, I would think he was angry, he’s that serious.
“Arms above your head.” I obey, leaving my entire body ripe with need and at his mercy. He strips, eyes focused on me, but I quickly look away because I want to look at him.
First, the buttons on his shirt. Sliding out of it, he tosses it in a hamper and stands before me wearing nothing but a t-shirt. I let my eyes roam unabashedly over his body, from his large muscled arms to the breadth of his chest. I swallow hard, a shiver gliding through me.
He’s so fucking hot.
Next come his pants. He makes quick work of unbuttoning them and shoving them down. His erection springs free, and I stifle a whimper. He’s murmuring things in Russian I can’t quite make out, I’m so heady with need and want. He’s brought me to the edge of pleasure today and I haven’t been the same since.
He lowers his body to mine, and I want to reach for him. I want to touch him, but he’s forbidden it.
“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” he whispers in my ear.
“With that erection of yours pushed between my thighs, I have a pretty good idea.”
His chuckle in my ear makes me shiver. I bite my lip, unable to stop myself from nearly grinning. It feels like a win, every time. Then the voices in my head come to a stuttering halt and all I can do is feel.
“Tomas,” I breathe, when he captures my wrists in his warm, firm grasp. He drops a kiss to my forehead, my temple, my cheek, whispers of kisses along my scar that make me shudder.
“Don’t,” I whisper, but his grip tightens, and he doesn’t stop.
“Every inch of you is mine,” he says with purpose, his voice tight and controlled. “And I will own you.”
Not my heart.
He doesn’t hear my internal protest, but he feels it, because his body tenses.
“Do you hear me?” he says in my ear. “Own you.”
He kisses me again, the roughness of his whiskers belying the softness of his lips. I don’t know why I fight this so badly, but I do, as if I can’t willingly relinquish a part of me that’s still locked away.
When his mouth meets mine, I moan. I try to control it. I try to hold myself back. I don’t want to submit to him, but being so near, I’m dazzled with his scent and strength, and my core throbs with need.
Reaching down, he palms one of my breasts, grazing his thumb over the hardened peak before he takes my mouth. His tongue meets mine, at once possessive. I groan when he fingers my nipple while kissing me. I want so much more. My hips roll beneath him, my wrists pressed firmly in his grasp, and every stroke of his thumb on my nipple makes my pussy throb with need until I think I’m going to come just from his fingers on my breast.
I’m so ready to fly, right on the edge of losing total control.
“Tomas,” I moan when he stops kissing me.
“Sir.”
I quickly amend. “Sir. Oh, God. Please, sir. I need you inside me.”
Being taken by Tomas is so different from what was done to me—I can’t speak of it or even think of it—that it’s i
nexplicably healing. Being claimed by him and brought to pleasure makes me feel owned in the best possible way. Yet, I resist it. I fight it. I don’t want to be hurt again.
“Christ, woman,” he says in my ear. I exhale when he takes the head of his cock and presses it to my clit. “You’re so fucking tight and wet. So responsive to me. You’re ready, aren’t you, little detka?”
“Yes, sir. Please.”
Without another word, he plunges his thick cock between my legs and thrusts. I groan, melting underneath him as he holds my wrists in one hand and builds a rhythm that’s deep, satisfying, bringing me to the cusp of heaven. He brings his mouth to my ear, muttering in guttural, broken Russian. I only hear one word.
“Prekrasnyy.”
Beautiful.
Every time he calls me beautiful, he cracks the walls of my heart. My eyes fill with tears and I swallow hard, not wanting to believe he really cares for me. If I fall into this belief, I won’t survive it. I’ve been broken and abused and can’t let myself be hurt again.
Then he thrusts into me so hard, I feel like I’m going to split wide open. He groans, burying himself deeper inside me. The grip on my wrists gets so tight it hurts, yet he can’t hold me tight enough. And right then, I want him to possess me. I need him to.
Right then, I want to be owned by my husband.
So I push. I press my wrists against his, trying to get away, even though I know it’s impossible. I arch my back and wrap my legs around him and fight this. I want to be taken. I want him to make me.
“Fuck me,” I say, in a voice I barely recognize. I’m angry, and I don’t know why. I push harder against Tomas, but he’s immovable, and with every thrust of his hips my need to come intensifies.
He thrusts so hard I’m coming apart, and that’s when I know this is what I need. I don’t want tender ministrations and sweet words.
I want him to fuck me.
“Fuck me.”
He lets go of my wrists so he can grab my hair and yank it. I cry out, pain radiating along my scalp and making me crazy with need before he thrusts again, so hard tears fill my eyes.
