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Ruthless Doms Boxset

Page 39

by Jane Henry


  He obeys, shaking his head while she runs. “What the hell was she doing here?”

  “No idea, but the entire area before the gate is still private property.”

  Ilya looks at me sheepishly. “She um… she left some red lipstick on you, sir.”

  I curse under my breath and rub a hand over my cheek.

  “You got it,” he says, shaking his head.

  My phone rings. Yakov.

  “Hello?”

  “Tomas, I heard you were trying to reach me?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “Just making sure all was good. Phone signals weren’t working.”

  “All fine here, brother.”

  I think about telling him what just happened, but I’m weary and shaken by it.

  “Alright. I’m sorry. Get some sleep.”

  I hang up the phone with him and dial Nicolai as well.

  “Tomas? Everything okay?”

  I shake my head. “Was just checking on you.” I do decide to tell him what happened, nonetheless.

  “What the fuck is that about? You haul her ass back into the compound for questioning?”

  “No,” I tell him. “Can’t exactly question a woman the way I can a man. And anyway, she got away.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “I don’t like this,” he says. “Was anyone else with her?”

  “No.”

  “Ilya saw nothing?”

  “Nothing. But what could it mean?”

  “I don’t know, brother. Let’s debrief in the morning.”

  I hang up the call with him and finally reach Ilya’s replacement. When all is settled, I head back to my room. Weary. On edge. Shaken. I haven’t been married for long at all, and even though I was attacked by that woman, it feels like I did something wrong. I hate that another woman’s lips touched mine. I think about telling Caroline, but don’t want to upset her.

  “Everything alright, Tomas?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” But I bend down to give her a kiss and tuck the blanket back around her. I’m grateful for her simple beauty and gentle spirit after what happened. “Go to sleep now.”

  I go to use the bathroom and notice red lipstick smeared on my t-shirt.

  I yank the shirt of furiously and shove it in the bottom of the laundry basket.

  Christ.

  I return to Caroline.

  I need her. I reach for her face and cradle it in my hands, lowering my mouth to hers and capturing her lips with mine, as if kissing my wife will erase the memory of the other woman from my mind and body.

  Can she smell the other? Taste her? I pull away too soon, not wanting even the slightest memory of the other woman to taint what I have with Caroline.

  She looks at me in concern, her hand coming to my cheek. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  “Go to sleep, little detka.”

  Everything is not okay. But if I have anything to do with it, it will be.

  Tomorrow, I find Andros.

  Chapter 18

  Caroline

  The days go on, and I gradually take my place in the kitchen staff. Tomas is concerned about their showing respect for me, so though we’re friendly and I get along well with them, I have to maintain my distance out of respect for him. I understand that the wife of the pakhan has to keep her place. I’m learning.

  He’s giving me freedom, now. I have my own cell phone, though I have no one to call. And I’m given leave to explore the estate at will. Yvonne sometimes joins me. Our favorite place to go is behind the house to the back, where there’s a gazebo, a flower bed, and a little doorway that leads to the cellar. Yvonne told me it’s an old root cellar from centuries ago, when new settlers owned this land. It creeps me out a little, though, so I rarely go. But I do love to sit outside by the gazebo and read. It’s late fall now, so it’s often chilly, and the leaves are falling in droves. Soon, the trees will be barren, and winter will come, but I’m soaking up every last day of autumn I can.

  Eliott comes once a day, but I’m learning how to do my hair and my makeup. I like it. Though I still carry a bit of the fear in me that I’ll be rejected for how I look, I’m learning to let it go. Tomas helps with that. He worships my body morning and night, bringing me to heights of pleasure I never imagined.

  I’m trying out new kitchen recipes, eager to please him. And he eats heartily, commending me on how well I cook.

  But something is missing, and I’m not sure what. He’s distant and preoccupied. And though he pays attention to me—I mean, he doesn’t even take his eyes off me—he isn’t fully present. Will it always be like this?

  Finally, several weeks after he brought me here, while I’m in the middle of preparing a roast for tonight’s meal, Tomas comes in the kitchen.

  “Caroline, come with me,” he says. He hasn’t softened a bit. If anything, he’s grown sterner lately.

  “I need a few minutes,” I tell him, as I’m still rubbing herbs and salt and pepper on the roast.

  “No,” he says, in that tone that must be obeyed. “Now.”

  I sigh, looking to Lydia. She quickly steps in to take my place.

  “Go,” she whispers. “You do not want to anger your husband.”

  But I’m the one that’s angered. I hate that he just marches in here and tells me to drop what I’m doing as if it doesn’t matter.

  “I need to wash my hands,” I tell him. “You’ll have to wait.”

  His eyes ignite, his body stiffening.

  “Do so in our room.”

  “Tomas, for goodness sakes.” How dare he just march in and order me around like this? This is my job. I’ve earned the respect of this staff, and I’m not going to just cow to him because he demands it. So I ignore him and head to the kitchen sink. “I’m not walking through these floors with germ-infested hands. Honestly!”

  A look flashes across his face I haven’t seen since we got here. His brows draw together, his lips turn down, and a shadow darkens his features. “You have one minute,” he snaps. “And you’ll answer for your smart mouth.”

  I stomp to the kitchen sink, feeling angry and justified,. Yvonne is standing by the sink. She’s been coming to help the past few days and is eager to learn. Her pretty eyes are wide and earnest. “Caroline,” she whispers. “Don’t push him. He got news today he didn’t like, and he’s in a mood over it.”

  “Why does that give him license to boss me around?” I whisper back.

  “It doesn’t,” she says. “But he’s the pakhan and you know what he expects.”

  I pump soap into my hands and mutter under my breath. She only gives me a look of sympathy.

  “Go,” she mouths, biting her lip. Grumbling, I dry my hands and leave. He’s standing in the doorway, glaring at me, and the entire kitchen staff continues to work in awkward silence.

  “For God’s sake, lighten up,” I mutter, which might have been a stupid thing to say, because he grasps my elbow in response, spins me out in front of him, and slams his palm against my ass. The kitchen doors shut behind us, hiding my flaming hot cheeks.

  “Tomas,” I say, wanting to absolutely die. I can’t believe he spanked me in front of all of them like that. “Your kitchen staff are my friends. You just humiliated me in front of all of them! I’ve worked to earn their respect.”

  “Let’s talk about respect. You do not disrespect me like that in front of my staff,” he says, as if that gives him the license to publicly mortify me.

  His face is a storm cloud, and he’s marching me down the hall so fast I can’t keep up.

  My heart sinks. Just when I think I’m starting to love this man, to understand him, to become the wife he needs and he the husband I need, he pulls this domineering alpha bullshit. But my angry thoughts come to a halt when we reach our apartment.

  Six armed men stand in front of our door. I recognize them as the strike force for his brotherhood.

  Why are they guarding our door?

  I’m immediately on guard. Something’s happened. What is this?
No one ever flanks our door like this. It’s unusual. Disturbing, even.

  But he isn’t surprised to see them. “Clear?” he asks them.

  “Yes, sir,” the tallest one says. “We’re to stay here until you give us further notice, is that right?”

  “Precisely.”

  He opens the door and ushers me in. “Out of your clothes. Go to the bed and hold the post.”

  I blink in surprise.

  “What?”

  Without a word, he reaches for my arm and pulls me to him. Grasping my face in his hand, he pinches my cheeks.

  “Clothes off. Bed post. Is that clear?”

  I’m shaking when he lets me go. Usually his dominance and my submission are a sort of dance. He leads and I follow. It’s hot as hell, and our lovemaking recently has explored the depths of where this could take us.

  But this night is different. He’s serious, not at all playful, and ready to punish me.

  Do I have a choice?

  I go to the room and strip out of my clothes, leaving them in a basket in the bathroom, before I go to the post and grip it. What will he do?

  Honestly? He could do anything.

  I’m nervous as hell, waiting in here, and he takes his sweet time about it. I hear him on the phone, then he walks through the room opening windows and doors. What on earth is he looking for? My arms begin to ache, my shoulders burning from holding this position, when he finally comes in the room.

  “Good girl,” he says. “Still feel like mouthing off?”

  I frown and shake my head. I don’t understand why I’m here. Did I push it too far? But I hardly did a thing.

  “Good,” he says. “I’m not in the mood to fight you tonight.”

  Walking around to the bedside table, which I’ve since learned houses a variety of kinky things, he takes out various items in black and red. He has so many things in his hands, I can’t differentiate any. He tosses them onto the bed and comes to my side.

  “Close your eyes, little detka,” he says. I obey. He pulls something scratchy but soft over the top of my head, and it takes effort not to pop my eyes open. “This is a lace hood,” he says. “It will keep you quiet and humble, and it’s very pretty.”

  I try to open my mouth, but the fabric presses up against my lips. “I should’ve known you’d want to cover my face,” I mutter petulantly. I don’t think he’ll actually hear me, because he’s playing with the other toys on the bed, but to my surprise he responds.

  “On the contrary, Caroline,” he says. “There is no one whose face I’d rather see. But tonight, I want you deprived of your senses so you can focus.” I gasp when cold nips at my breasts, but I can’t see what he’s doing since I’m still wearing the hood.

  “I’ll tell you everything I use before I use it,” he promises. “This is a lace sensory deprivation hood. Next up, a pair of cuffs.”

  My wrists are quickly secured.

  “And a pair of nipple clamps.”

  I freeze, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s putting… what? On my what?

  Standing in front of me, he holds something in his hands that between the pattern of lace on the mask, looks like a metal chain with little clips at the end.

  Over the past few weeks, he’s been almost gentle with me. Our lovemaking is intense, and he occasionally slaps my ass, but he’s been gentler.

  I wonder if it’s odd that I miss his dominating me.

  But it looks like that’s about to change. Now, for some reason, it looks like he might’ve pulled out all the stops. I stop breathing for a moment when the cold, painful metal anchors on the most delicate part of my body. “Oh God,” I moan. “Ohhhh.”

  But he quickly replaces the pain with pleasure when he gently tugs the chain between the two clamps. It hurts, but my pussy pulses with need, aching for release and pressure, just from the heaviness of the clamps.

  “How does that feel?” he asks.

  “Painful.” I’m gasping, writhing, the hood blocking my vision but letting me breathe, and it’s all a little much.

  “Good.”

  Good? He thinks it’s good that I’m in pain?

  “Tomas…” but my words fade when something wet and slick glides along my ass. Oh my God. I gasp when he pushes a plug through the tight ring of muscle. I’m instantly full, and it’s as if someone’s pushed a button that makes me submit. I couldn’t defy him right now if I tried.

  My hands grasp the wooden edge of the bed post, my grip tightening when he moves behind me. He’s clamped and plugged me. The hood allows me to breathe, but I can’t do much more than that. My vision’s blurred, my ability to speak muted.

  I can see him pacing around me. He’s shrugged out of his suit coat and stands in front of me with his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He holds something in his hand obscured by the lacy hood. Running it along his palm, he paces around me.

  “Beautiful,” he says. “You’re simply gorgeous trussed up like this.”

  I wonder what’s happened that’s pushed him to control me. Does he gain something by acting out his sadistic impulses? He must. He already looks calmer, even through the limited vision the hood affords. I know without him having to tell me, that he needs to master me. Dominate me. That whatever’s happened today has pushed him to this.

  Fortunately for me, I love when he does just that, even if I fight it.

  “You’ll be punished for disrespecting me in front of the kitchen staff,” he says.

  “You disrespected me!”

  He brings back his hand and the implement he’s holding flies. I hear the sound of the falls before I feel them, a whistling sound that warns me this is going to hurt. I gasp when the leather falls of the flogger lick my skin. He’s used this on me before, but it was for foreplay, not punishment.

  “I expect you to obey me,” he says tightly, before lashing me again, this time the falls landing across my breasts and shoulders. It stings and burns, and I can’t stop him. Walking around to my back, he flogs me with the leather, my ass lighting up underneath the stings of the falls. “Did it ever occur to you that it was imperative you come right away? Hmm?”

  Several more lashes of the flogger fall, and I’m whimpering now, my body pulsing with need but still desperate to stop the pain. It isn’t the worst spanking I’ve gotten by far, but it hurts like hell.

  “You could’ve just said that,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “No,” he snaps, whipping the flogger across my ass harder than he has yet. “I shouldn’t need to give you an explanation. When I give you a command, you obey me, no questions asked.”

  I’m so angry and this hurts so badly I throw my head back, an animalistic growl escaping my lips. “Yes, master,” I toss out sarcastically. “Whatever you say, sir.” My voice drips with sarcasm. I hate this. I like it so much better when I’ve earned his approval rather than his anger.

  I hate this.

  In silence, he continues the lashing, with steady flicks of the falls to my skin, until my whole body is on fire, laced with cuts of the flogger. The flogger is far from a harsh implement, but the pain builds in intensity with every cut of leather.

  “Need to mouth off to me again?” he asks. I watch through the hood as he places the flogger down and lifts something else into his hand. I inwardly cringe, even as somehow, against all reason and rational logic, I want him to continue this. To bring me to the point of submission I don’t readily grant, the relinquishment that has to be wrestled from my grasp bit by agonizing bit.

  Because I like when he’s in charge. It fills me with pleasure to earn his approval.

  And why haven’t I lately?

  “Say you’re sorry, Caroline,” His stern voice is laced with warning. I bite my tongue and say nothing.

  Thwack. I yell out loud when something solid and painful whacks against my ass. I try to look to see what he’s using, but I can’t see anything but black in his hand.

  “Say it.” Still, I refuse.

  He spanks me again, harder th
is time. I whimper and try to move but I’m in this position, and there’s literally no escape. The cuffs hold my wrists in place, and every movement of my body’s inhibited by something. A plug in my ass and clamps on my nipples, and behind me, that awful thing he’s using to punish me. It’s got to be some type of wooden paddle or something. I’ve been through enough with him to recognize the feel of wood when it’s being used on me.

  “Say you’re sorry,” he commands a third time, and when I don’t, he smacks me again. I choke on a dry sob. It hurts so badly, and yet somehow this is what I need. I brace for another stroke, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel him at my back, working the plug with one hand while he tugs the chain between the clamps with his other.

  “Ahhhhh!” I’m half-screaming, half-moaning, not knowing what to do with myself. Then his fingers are between my legs and he’s working me hard and fast, until I’m rocking on his hand, dying for more. The spanking’s heightened my senses, the clamps and plug putting me at his total mercy. He’s stroking, circling, tugging, working me to the point of utter bliss, and when my body tenses just before I collapse into total ecstasy, he stops.

  “Say it.”

  I am dying to come, but I clamp my mouth shut and whimper to myself. I’m not ready. I breathe in deeply through the lace. Unable to see clearly, my senses are intensified by his unapologetic mastery over my body. I’m so close to coming, I’m trembling when he slides his fingers inside my core while he palms my ass, stroking the plug. I’m on the brink of coming, on the very cusp of pleasure when he stops.

  He doesn’t need to command me this time.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Tomas, I’m sorry. Please, sir.” I don’t recognize my tight, needy voice, begging him to grant me pleasure.

  “That’s a good girl,” he says. But he doesn’t make me come. First, he takes the hood off. I breathe in deeply, the room suddenly bright. I squint in the sudden light, when his mouth captures mine. He kisses me, and my body ignites. His lips are the softest part of him, so tender and gentle I sigh into him. But as he kisses me, both of his hands find my breasts, each one palming and weighing the fullness, but there’s no more tugging the chain. Instead, he removes it. Blood rushes to the abused flesh, and my breasts swell, tingling with the relief it brings. The best part about the clamps are their removal, the way the flow of blood makes my breasts ache and my body teem with pleasure.

 

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