by Raven Dark
Horror at my own line of thinking makes my muscles clench, and yet, as he works himself up, my legs spread wider, opening my pussy for him, while my hips rise up to give him a better angle. My entire core throbs to feel him pounding me the way he did that night on his jet.
“Oh, yeah, that’s perfect. Spread your legs for me. Let me take what’s mine.”
Behind me, I hear him undoing the buttons on his shirt and the rustle of silk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his white shirt flutter to the floor.
I try to lie beneath him, submitting but giving only what he demands, nothing more, only he won’t allow that. Michael angles my hips the way he wants, then thrusts himself inside me with one, hard, deep stroke.
Pleasure lances through me. His thighs chafe mine, and the bite of pain there turns the pleasure in my core white hot. I whimper, biting my knuckles to keep from screaming. The mix of pleasure-pain is intoxicating.
There was no warm-up, no warmth in him. He fucks me fast and hard, his hips smacking mine. I hold back my cries, panting brokenly.
“Let this serve as a reminder of what you’re here for, traitor.” He punctuates his words with thrusts. “You aren’t here to be romanced. You’re here for my pleasure, to pay for your mistake.”
The thought pierces the drugging haze of pleasure-pain, that though his words refer to my trying to get away from him that night, his anger is about something much deeper. Something that goes all the way back to our past. I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the headboard, trying to shut out the pain in my thighs as well as the orgasm that mounts in me, but he quickens his pace and grips my hair, pulling hard.
“Ah! Shit!” Tears splash my cheeks, but the sting of his grip makes me hotter, and my pussy clenches around him.
“Just let it happen, Aurora. Let yourself go.” When I tense, resisting the orgasm, he grabs the scarf he’d left on the bed, stretching it in front of me in his hands. Fear lances through me.
“Oh, fuck—”
He winds cloth around my throat twice with a frightening speed, grips the ends like a leash and tugs until breathing becomes a struggle. All it would take is a little more pressure, and...
“M-Michael…” Somehow, the lightheadedness intensifies my pleasure and turns the stinging on my thighs to an aphrodisiac.
He pounds into me a few more times.
“Come,” he growls.
As if his words serve as a cue, pleasure intensifies until it threatens to explode. Suddenly I’m rocking my hips into him, then I’m taking his thrusts deep and whimpering my need.
“See? You like being used.”
It slams home that I’ve given in, and I try to thrash, tossing my head. He tugs on the scarf again. I groan, my hips bucking.
“There you go. Take what I give you. My dirty little traitor.”
“Oh God, you bastard!” But my cry turns into a wail as my orgasm rips into me. I bite the pillow to keep in a scream and fuck him like a woman possessed.
“Oh, fuck, yeah.” The scarf goes slack as Michael’s control seems to snap. He grabs my hips, grunts and goes crazy, hammering home until his cock twitches hard. Then he spills into me with a curse and a sigh.
Slowly, he slides his hands up my arms, warm, heated caresses that somehow threaten to soothe the misery that tears into me. His chest heaves against my back while his hot breath fans my ear.
“This is what you’ll look forward to every night. A nice hard fuck, and if you mouth off, you’ll get it two or three times a night.”
Holy shit, he wouldn’t. I hate myself for the way his words lick at my clit like an eager tongue.
As soon as he rolls off me, I sit up, ripping the scarf off my neck. Shame drowns me in its depths. I can’t believe what he’s just done. What I’ve let him do. I move to get up off the bed, to be as far from him as possible.
“Where are you going?” His hand snags my wrist. I sigh and remain sitting next to him.
“Mm, that was nice.”
I glared at him. He lies across the bed like a lion after a meal. He lifts his hips, pulls his slacks up. With a few flicks of his wrists, he does up his pants and belt. When I look at his face again, he sits up, placing kisses on my shoulder. Turning my back to him, I draw my knees up and put my head on them.
“Was that as good for you as it was for me, kravitsa?”
I whip my head around to him. “Can I go now, Sir?” He was right in what he’d said before; I’d be glad to be sent to my room, door locked or no.
But he slides his arms around my waist in a parody of warmth and rests his chin on my shoulder. “It’s time to let go of those childhood notions, Aurora.” His voice is soft, agonizingly sweet. One of his fingers brushes away a stray lock of hair from my cheek. “You wanted prince charming. But there is no prince. You belong to me, and I am all there is.”
“Michael, you may be able to keep me here, but you’ll never really have me.”
“Think again. I’m going to be the only man for you, Aurora. You hate me now, but one day, you’ll long for my touch.”
“You seriously think I’d ever want you after all this?” Except, am I more repulsed by him, or with myself for having come?
“You hate me that much?”
Silent, I yank myself out of his arms, and when he pulls me back, I latch onto the only hope of escape I have. “I have to go to the bathroom, Sir.”
He releases me, nodding to the large bathroom he’d gone into earlier.
Hopefully I can buy myself time to let my hatred for him simmer down until I won’t knock his head off.
“Aurora.”
At the door to the bathroom, I turn. Michael climbs off the bed, and picks up his shirt. He lays it on the bed. Suddenly I can’t look at him.
“I’m not going to let you hide in there forever. You have five minutes, and then I’m taking you back to your room.”
Oh, but I can’t really expect him to make this easy on me. “Good. I want a shower.”
“No.”
I round on him, the idea of what he’s suggesting riling me.
“You’re not washing me off. I want my come leaking down your thighs.”
Shoving down the urge to scream, I disappear into the bathroom, slamming the door good and hard. His chuckle mocks my rage.
I don’t have to pee, but I take my time, milking every last second he’s given me to calm myself down and rein in the sadness and anger that rages in me like a storm. My eyes sting, but I dig my nails into my palms until the tears abate. I flush the toilet to make it look good, and step out into the bedroom.
Michael meets me at the door, his shirt in hand. He swings it around my shoulders.
“What the hell are you doing?” I try to throw the silky garment off, but he pulls it tight around me, fisting the collar.
“I like the idea of you sleeping in my shirt, kravitsa.”
I roll my eyes and slip my arms into the sleeves. He hums in approval and does up the buttons. The shirt is so huge I’m swimming in it. The bottom of it reaches to my knees, and the sleeves fall past my wrists by several inches.
Part of me wants to whip the shirt off and throw it in his face, but another part loves the feel of the soft material on my skin, heated from his warmth. My skin tingles with the knowledge that it was next to his skin moments ago. I have to force myself not to snuggle into the material and turn my head to sniff the collar, to breathe in his scent.
Michael grabs the scarf off the bed and holds out his hand to me. I stare at it as if touching it would scald me. He wiggles his fingers expectantly.
Resisting the urge to pound at his chest with my fists, I slap my hand into his.
In my room a few minutes later, he releases my hand and crosses the room to the bed. He ties my scarf to the golden bed post on the headboard.
“No, please take the damn scarf with you. I don’t want to see it again.” The skin around my neck burns; seeing that thing will only serve as a constant reminder of what he’s done to me.
�
�No. When you aren’t wearing it, you’ll leave it there. I don’t want you forgetting what I did to you. Besides, I want it here, where I can use it on you whenever I choose.”
Helplessness rides me hard. I close my eyes, taking slow, measured breaths. He returns to me and strokes the underside of my chin. Then he places a kiss, chaste and tender, on my lips. “You’ll be here for forty-eight hours. It’ll give you time to think about what you’ve done, and why it’s unwise to go against me. Sleep well.”
He steps out, shuts the doors to the room, and locks them.
As soon as he’s gone, I want to scream, to tear this room apart. Then I remember the camera. No, I won’t let him see or hear that. Instead I crawl into bed, making sure to sleep on my stomach so that my thighs don’t chafe against the mattress. Damn him. I clench my fists, trying to forget that I’m still sleeping in his shirt.
His scent is everywhere, on the shirt, on my skin, intoxicating and inescapable.
Outside, the storm the sheriff warned about begins to rage, the wind howling at the windows. I look over my shoulder at them. Snow whirls, turning the outside world in a wall of white.
I close my eyes and mentally fold in on myself, my mind filling with all the ways I’d love to make Michael pay for what he’s done. None of them are realistic, but I have a much larger problem.
My heart sinks, the realization setting in, huge and insurmountable. My life as I knew it is gone.
Chapter 16
An Incentive to Stay Put
The next two days pass in a haze of boredom.
True to his word, Michael keeps me locked in my room. He leaves me with nothing to do, and I do mean nothing. No tablet filled with books, no talking to Joanne or anyone else. I’m left with only the window to stare out of, but there’s nothing but white. More often than not, a storm rages, turning the world into a constantly flurried snow globe.
Michael doesn’t visit, only calling me before I sleep, and when I wake up. Other than the maid who leaves meals for me on the nightstand and the clothes for the day on the closet door, he’s my only human contact. The maid doesn’t speak to me, coming and going in silence that makes me think she’s been given orders not to talk to me.
By the end of the second day, I’m going stir crazy in here. The isolation has left me with far too much time to think.
On the way up to this lodge, I’d been panicking at the idea of being in such a remote area with no friends, no job to fill my days. With no Starbucks. I’d been desperate to be anywhere but this lodge. Now, I’d give anything to be sitting in that fantastic library with only those books to occupy me. Hell, I’d have welcomed even stuffy Grigory’s presence.
I roll over onto my back and immediately regret it when the slight chafing on my thighs makes me wince. They don’t hurt nearly as much as they did yesterday, but I still can’t lie comfortably with them touching anything.
Shifting onto on my stomach, I rest my chin on my hands, listening to the merciless whipping of the wind against the windows.
It’s nearly ten at night, according to the clock on the nightstand. I have the lights low, and darkness stretches over the property like a shroud. One more night, and assuming Michael is true to his word, I’ll at least be allowed into the rest of the lodge.
My eyes catch sight of that wretched scarf hanging from the bedpost. I glare at it, hatred for Michael seething.
Funny, the last time I’d seen Isabella without us getting into a huge fight, it had been two months ago. We’d been out buying those scarves. It had been a pleasant day, something she and I rarely shared. Spending the day shopping, we’d done one of the few things we both liked to do. It’s upsetting to think that the same strip of cloth now holds nothing but pain. I can’t look at it without remembering Michael’s fists tightening it around my throat while he fucked me like a savage from behind.
I shut down the thought of that man, but that leaves my mind to drift to my sister. I’d seen her only last week, when I’d gone out to visit her in Atlantic City before Michael brought me out here, but it feels like it’s been months.
What is she doing now? Is she happy with her fiancé? She’s supposed to marry Donnie, my dad’s capo, in a few months. God, the wedding! I slap my forehead with my palm. I can’t imagine not being there for her, but that’s obviously not going to happen unless I get out of here, and that’s not happening without some sort of miracle.
My throat tightens at the thought.
Here’s the thing. Isabella and I had never gotten along well. As kids, we’d had explosive fights, usually because most of the time she didn’t appreciate my rebellious streak and tended to run off to Dad over every little thing when I couldn’t convince her not to. As adults, those same fights usually sprung up because she expected me to take up the life Dad wanted for me, and I refused to become a Mafia wife, locked in a loveless marriage. A few months ago, when we’d gone shopping and bought those scarves, it was one of the few times we had fun together without ending up getting on each other’s nerves. Even last weekend had turned out to be a bust, because we’d got to talking about my job, which she didn’t approve of.
Most of the time, I can’t stand her, but now I’d be thrilled even to hear her lectures about what proper Family women do.
I stare at that scarf, feeling as if that pleasant memory has been stolen from me somehow.
I glance up at the phone he’s given me on the nightstand. If he calls at the same time he did last night, it’ll ring any moment now. It disturbs me to realize I’m waiting on pins and needles for it to ring. It’ll be the first time I’ve talked to anyone since the night before last, other than him.
A half hour ticks slowly by, and the phone doesn’t buzz. Relief and deprivation make for a strange mixture in the pit of my stomach, forming a tight knot. Abandonment sets in, and I clench my fists against it.
It’s going on eleven before the phone buzzes at last.
I reach over and snatch it up.
“Hello, Michael.”
“Pardon?” His low voice purrs.” Do you need the cane again, Aurora?”
I swallow. Please no. “Hello, Sir.”
I hate the shake in my voice. He’s going to leave that hanging over my head now. The bastard can get me to jump through any hoop he wants and he knows I’ll do it just to avoid that blasted cane.
“Better. Busy plotting your escape in there, Aurora?” he adds lightly.
“No, Sir.”
It’s true, I’m not, and that pisses me off. Especially when I realize why. All I have to do is think about the searing pain I’d felt with every stroke of that simple cane, and I can’t even consider a way out of here without my stomach roiling in dread.
“Good girl.” His rich voice washes over me, the smug satisfaction tugging at my clit and making my nails bite into my palms.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, as if he’s is thinking. “Oh, by the way. I thought you might want to know, your beloved has stopped calling.”
He means Antonio.
“He’s not my beloved, Sir.”
But Michael’s words are more of a blow than they should be. He’s only telling me that Antonio’s calls have stopped to drive home the point that I’m not about to be rescued. I have no desire to marry Antonio, but I can’t help feeling as if yet another chance at freedom has been snatched away. That he’s not trying to reach me anymore confirms my belief that he’s too loyal to my father to go against him.
“The clone stopped working earlier today, too,” he adds.
“I’m not surprised. Gio—my dad’s enforcer—took it before he handed me over to you. He’s probably chucked it in the river.” He probably only kept it this long so he and Vincent can tell who’s looking for me.
“Do you want me to send some food up for you before bed?” Michael’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
“No, thank you, Sir.”
“Did you miss me? You look like you were waiting for my call.”
The fucking came
ra in here. “You’re watching me again?”
I sit part way up on my side, glancing around, frustrated when I still don’t find it. It’s easy to forget that he can watch me anytime he wants when I can’t see it.
“Stop pretending you don’t love it, kravitsa.”
“Where is the camera, Miche—Sir?”
“I told you before, I’m not telling you that.”
“Where are you? Where are you watching me from?”
“I’m in the car, coming back from Denver.”
“You’re watching me on your phone? Can Adrian see me?” Mortification heats my cheeks.
“Never. You’re on my computer screen. No one ever sees your perfect body except me, kravitsa.”
“Is there something else you wanted, Sir?”
“Yes.”
When he doesn’t tell me what he wants, I sigh, put him on speaker, drop the phone on the bed, and rest my chin morosely on my hands.
“Are you sulking, Aurora?” His quick response tells me he’s reading my posture.
I deflate onto the bed, silent.
When he speaks again, his voice is a low, lustful growl. “Turn over.”
“I can’t, Sir,” I say, glad of the excuse. “It still hurts to sit on anything.”
“Do it anyway. Put your knees up and your thighs won’t rub against the mattress.”
“Fuck.” I roll over carefully and put my feet up on the bed. The pain isn’t nearly as bad as I made it sound, not enough that I can’t put them down without crying, but it still feels better with my knees up.
“That’s better. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
It annoys the hell out of me that his praise and the hunger in his voice makes my pussy clench. I lay there in silence, trying to imagine what he sees. My messy curls spread out all over the bedspread, my face flushed with awareness of his need.
“See, this is why I like you in dresses and skirts with no underwear,” he rumbles. “Easier access.”
“You have no access now, Sir. Out there in that storm, you won’t have it for a while.”
