by Raven Dark
God, he’s a monster. His dick is long and hard, jutting straight up between his legs, as thick and almost as long as my forearm.
He shuts the door to the shower with a snap, sealing us in and making me jump.
And instantly making me aware that I’m also naked as the day is long. I throw my arms around myself in attempt to cover my breasts and pussy, turning my back to him.
“Michael, you shit, what the hell? Get out!”
He seizes my arm and jerks me around to face him. “You locked the door.”
“I did?” I didn’t remember locking it. I must have done so without thinking, out of habit. Even in my apartment, living alone, I always locked my bathroom door when I was using it.
He scowls. “Did you forget my rules already, Aurora? Hide nothing from me. Withhold nothing from me.”
Shit.
“People tend to lock doors when they’re bathing. It’s called privacy. Which you obviously have no concept of.”
His jaw hardens. He steps forward, leaving me no place to go but up against the wall of the shower. Water splashes down onto him, slicking his face, but he doesn’t seem to care. “This is my jet.” He gestures to the room at large. “Everything in here is mine. Including this.”
Without warning, he cups my pussy, his fingers curling around my sex just right. The heat of his fingers between my folds sends a ripple of pleasure all the way to my toes. I groan and collapse against the wall.
“You will give me access to you at all times. Never withhold what is mine. Lock a door on me again, and I will tie you to a bed, lock you in a room and never let you out except to suck me off. Am I clear?”
I nod.
“Say it. I want to hear that you understand.”
“Yes, Sir. I understand.”
“Good girl. Spread your legs.”
“Michael—”
“Sir.”
“Sir. I’m sore enough after last night.” I hate that I sound like I’m begging, but I don’t think I can handle him inside me right now, especially with how big he is. His fingers feel amazing, but...
“I didn’t ask if you were sore. Do as I say.”
Son of a bitch. He really doesn’t give two shits, does he? My eyes sting.
Wishing I could just disappear, I let my head drop against the wall and spread my feet apart.
“That’s my girl.” His tongue darts out and flicks over the shell of my ear. I gasp at the pure pleasure that shoots through me. My pussy slicks, and he glides his fingers through my folds, carefully avoiding the sore spots. I pant and groan, getting wetter. He lets out low growl of triumph. “That didn’t take long, did it? A few strokes, and you’re already soaked for me.”
The insinuation that I’m easy pisses me off. I try to close my legs and push at his chest, but he shoves his feet between mine, keeping them wedged apart.
His other hand seizes my throat and pins me to the wall. “Your body belongs to me. Are you going to make this difficult, Aurora?”
Hot tears splash my cheeks, shame sinking its roots deep. I go limp against the wall and relax my legs, letting them stay open. Leaving myself open to his touch.
“No, Sir.”
Michael’s hand leaves my throat only to palm my breast before he sucks one hardening nipple into his mouth. I moan. His other fingers circle and tease my clit, gently stroking my core. Ratcheting up the heat that rages between us like a storm.
One long pull on my nipple and he lifts his head to look at it with a rumble before he lashes it with his tongue.
I try to twist away, I really do, but he presses himself against me, leaving me to do nothing but squirm against him. Fighting him is like trying to fight a bear. His sucks on my other nipple, lashing that one. My back bows, feeding him more. I claw at his chest and I let out a helpless cry.
He growls again. The wicked approval in that sound makes me feel incredibly dirty and ashamed. My pussy gets wetter, and his fingers swirl through the juices, using them to slick my clit and make it even more sensitive to every touch.
His face is above me, gorgeous and dark and unforgivingly possessive. “Fuck, you’re so damned beautiful when you fight.”
I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, and he swallows the words, claiming my mouth. His tongue is hot and hungry, his kiss all consuming, threatening to scour away the past that stretches across the years between us until all that’s left is the here and now.
I moan into his mouth and try to close mine. He grabs my hair, holding me in place and pries my lips apart, eating at them. All the while, his fingers are strumming my clit, an endless beat.
The urge to rock my hips into his touch is too much. I whimper and buck, barely holding back the urge to rub myself to a sweet release.
He puts his mouth to my ear. “That’s all you’ve ever done is fight me. Why? Why do you try so hard to resist me, Aurora? You’re only putting off the inevitable.”
Maybe it’s just me, but he sounds almost put off that I won’t just let him consume all that I am. As if we’re some sort of star-crossed lovers and I’m refusing to see what’s in front of me.
He changes the pressure and the speed of his strokes, and my tenuous hold on my self-control snaps. I slap my hands on the walls to either side of us, and suddenly my hips are rocking, my pussy rubbing shamelessly against his touch. Michael bands his arm around my waist, cradling me and holding me up while my legs threaten to spill me to the shower floor.
My God, I never would have imagined it was possible for a man to make a woman feel this good, and without ever entering her.
“That’s it. Come on my fingers, kravitsa.” He moans in delight, speeding up his strokes.
A tidal wave of pleasure sends me spiraling out of control. I cry out, thrashing against the wall, fucking his fingers wildly.
“Oh, God! Oh, fuck, Michael, I hate you, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He chuckles into my ear. My eyes are squeezed shut, my mouth open with panting screams. His fingers strum furiously, leaving no way to escape the orgasm that explodes through me and rips me in half.
He hums in pleasure, tweaking out the last of my greedy spasms. “See? See how easily you come for me?”
The waves of release recede, leaving me panting and weak, ready to fall to the floor in a dizzying heap. He holds me up between his frame and the wall, running his hands over my ass, my back.
It sinks into my pleasure-addled brain what’s just happened. This man I’ve hated for so long, this kidnapper who’s holding me against my will and has threatened to send me back to my father for death if I don’t tow the line—the man who took my body like an animal only last night—just had his fingers on my pussy, and I’ve come like a woman crazed for his touch.
Disbelief and shame claws at me and I let out a sob, digging my nails into his shoulder. Damn it, I’m crying in front of him. Again.
“Are you crying, Aurora?” He draws back and cradles my nape. “Oh, come on now.” He chuckles warmly. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?” He kisses my ear. “You should have seen yourself. You looked so damn sexy, coming apart for me.”
My own lack of resistance is crushing. That he knows how easily I’ve given into him makes it so much worse. I shove at him, hard, my teeth clenched. “Get out.”
He draws back as if slapped. His mouth presses to a thin line. He releases me sharply and raises his hands. The man looks as if I’ve just insulted him, but I refuse to feel bad for not falling into his arms with gratitude.
“If that’s how you want to play it, kravitsa.” He slides open the door to the shower. When he looks at me again, his eyes are empty and cold, a look of disappointment that cuts all the way to my soul. “You are alive because of me, Aurora. You are under my protection—”
“Michael, how the hell can you possibly expect me to just accept what—”
He puts his fingertips to my mouth, not with any anger, but with an icy resolve that is somehow more frightening than if he’d threatened me or shouted.
&n
bsp; “You are under my protection, Aurora. This is your life now, and nothing will change that. I could have punished you for locking that door. Instead, I got you off. I see that you won’t make this easy on either of us.” He drops his shoulders. “Perhaps by the end of this week, you will have learned some respect.”
“This week?” My head spins as tendrils of fear snake up my spine. “Why, what are you going to do to—”
“We’re leaving soon,” he cuts in coolly.
“Michael—”
He steps out of the shower, his jaw hard. “I want you ready and waiting at the car in half an hour.”
“Michael!”
He snatches one of the towels that assistant of his set on the counter for me and walks out without another word.
Chapter 8
Silent Treatment
While getting ready to leave, my head still spins with the unwelcome thoughts about what Michael might have planned for me.
He’d said that perhaps by the end of this week, I’d learn some respect. How exactly did he intend to teach me said respect? I lather up my skin with the vanilla-scented cream Michael left for me on the dresser in the bedroom, unable to shut my wayward thoughts down. Visions of whips and chains dance in my head, causing my heart to race with panic.
My father always said that pain is one of the best motivators for getting uncooperative people to do what is needed. I didn’t want to know what sort of twisted ways Michael might think up to hurt me in order to cow me into submission.
I can’t stand any kind of pain. I mean, I really can’t. When I was a kid, I was stung by a bee on the hand. It felt like someone had shoved a hot poker into my hand and I cried for hours. I’m certain that bee stings aren’t supposed to hurt that much. I’m still afraid of bees because of it. No, I really do not want to know what’s waiting for me wherever the hell we’re going.
I dress in the clothing Katerina has left on the bed for me, a pair of black velvet slacks, and a thick white cashmere sweater, plus beautiful calf-high suede boots. I tie my hair back out of the way and draw a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare myself for the day ahead.
Out in the hall, I nearly bump into Katerina, who’s busy locking up all the doors in the jet. She locks up the kitchen, then comes down the hall toward the bathroom and bedroom. She turns the gold key in the bathroom lock and glances at me.
I freeze. She’s locking the bathroom door.
“Son of a bitch,” I breathe.
The corners of her mouth turn up and her eyes twinkle. “Problem, Miss Romano?”
But the light in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“You locked the door to the bathroom when I was in there.” My fists clench.
“Did I?” She moves to the bedroom door and I step aside to let her lock it.
Wow. She’s going to be a problem, isn’t she? The woman had tried to deliberately get me in trouble with Michael for disobeying him. There’s no point in telling him. I’d only look childish and petty.
I drop my shoulders. “If you’re trying to drive wedges, Katerina, it’s a waste of time. As far as I’m concerned, you can have Michael all to yourself. I don’t want him.”
Katerina shakes her beautiful head. “You have five minutes to get out to the car.” She locks the door to the bedroom and makes the small key disappear into the pocket of her blazer. “Better get going if you don’t want to annoy him.”
Obviously, arguing with her is equally pointless. I’ve learned that when people like her want something they think someone else has, they’ll stop at nothing to get it, and nothing I say will change it.
I sigh and head for the open door of the jet. She follows.
As soon as I’m at the door, the cold air cuts through the designer clothes Michael chose for me, nipping at my nose. It’s a lot colder here than it was in New York. Snow still blankets everything except the runway, which has to be kept cleared and de-iced at all times.
I also notice another potential problem. The start of a headache has begun pounding behind my eyes, along with a hint of queasiness. Both are familiar to me. It’s altitude sickness, something a lot of people get out here, and something I’ve always gotten when I came here with my father. Mine has always been mild, thankfully. The last thing I need is to end up feeling like I’m going to puke for the next few days until I acclimate to the higher altitudes, or worse, as happens in some extreme cases, to end up in the hospital out here.
One glance around the airport, and I know there’s no better hope of escaping here than there was at Westchester. Other private runways have airplanes sitting on them, men moving about getting them ready for takeoff, but there’s no one close enough to this runway for me to run to or call to for help. The chances of my ever getting away from whatever fate Michael has in store for me continue to shrink to increasingly infinitesimal levels.
The white limo is still waiting a few feet from the steps to the jet. Adrian stands by the passenger door, hands folded in front of him. His face is that same expressionless, professional mask. He has the kind of implacable mask that makes me think if he cracked a smile, his face would shatter.
I grew up with dad’s hired guns around me all my life. Despite his chauffeur’s uniform and hat, the way he stands, with his shoulders squared, feet planted apart and hands clasped, screams “Bodyguard.” There’s bulges in his blazer that tell me he’s armed with at least two pistols.
Adrian gives me a nod and opens the passenger door for me. I glance into the darkened limo’s back area, but there’s no one in there waiting for me.
“Where’s Michael, Adrian?”
“He’ll be out momentarily.” He nods to the inside of the vehicle. There’s not a twitch of emotion in his expression, not a hint of inflection in his tone, except perhaps a certain coldness that, to me, says Michael’s whereabouts are not my concern.
Clearly, I won’t find any sort of ally in him, not that I was trying. I climb into the car. Adrian shuts me in. It’s a relief when Katerina gets in the front passenger’s seat instead of in the back with me.
Wait. Oh, God, is that woman coming with us? An unwelcome and confusing stab of disappointment hits me. The last thing I want is to be alone with Michael, and yet, the thought of her being with us pisses me off. I wish I could say it was only because I don’t want her making trouble for me, but I can’t deny the pang of jealousy in my gut.
Ordinarily, I’d have thought that having another woman present would be an advantage, but I know better. Far from her presence softening him, she’s more likely to encourage his dark side, and there’s no hope of finding any feminine solidarity in her. That woman is dangerous, I can feel it. How dangerous is yet to be determined.
Michael appears in the door to the jet, talking to the captain. I can’t help but stare.
I expected him to be in a fancy suit. Instead, he’s dressed in black slacks and a designer black sweater that, in spite of its thickness, stretches across his huge shoulders and arms, drawing attention to his size and strength. He wears a long black coat; the wind catches it, blowing it out behind him like a cape. He’s carrying one of those black leather bags meant for a laptop in his hand. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes against the sun’s glare.
God, he’s beautiful. A beautiful, blond demon.
With the windows shut, I can’t hear what he and the captain are saying, but Michael nods and a shakes the captain’s hand before coming down the steps to the tarmac. If his knee is still bothering him, I can’t tell.
Adrian goes around behind the car and opens the door for him. Michael slides in before Adrian closes the door and climbs into the driver’s seat. Instead of sitting beside me, he takes the seat across from me and sets his laptop case on the seat beside him. The car starts out of the parking lot.
I look back at the jet. Seeing the airplane door closing feels painfully final, a reminder that I’m one step closer to losing any hope at freedom.
Michael speaks, drawing my focus to him. “The
re’s no point in looking for another way to escape, Aurora.”
I glare at him. He thinks I was looking around me for a way out. “Trust me, Michael, I’m not going to try to escape again. I’m not stupid.”
Dad taught me a lot about evading capture, more than any normal father teaches his daughter, but how to throw myself from a moving car like they do in the movies isn’t one of the tactics he included.
“Sir, Aurora. You need to get used to addressing me properly, or I will start finding ways to remind you.”
Helplessness clutches my throat. I’ll never figure out why some part of my brain is trying to sign me up for whatever form of reminder he has in mind, even while the rest of me screams for a way to bolt out of the car.
The car jumps as Adrian hits a pothole. The bouncing sends the world spinning, and I give my head a shake.
Michael leans forward, brow furrowed.
“It’s nothing, just a little dizzy,” I tell him.
“Did you start feeling like that as soon as we got off the plane?”
I nod.
“It’s altitude sickness.”
“I know. My head is pounding and I feel like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl, but it’ll pass.”
He opens a compartment in the door and takes out a bottle of Asprin. He pours two of the pills into his palm and hands them to me. “Take those.” He pours me a glass of water from the bar and hands that to me, too.
“You don’t seem to be suffering the same thing.” Downing the pills, I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice, or help feeling an unwanted stab of gratitude for the medication.
He smirks. “I’ve never had that problem up here.”
“My father never has, either.”
The words are out before I think about them. I stifle a twinge of loss, refusing to think for even a moment that the man who handed me over to Michael like so much chattel is worth sparing thoughts for. Those memories of him, however bittersweet, should mean nothing to me now.
