by Henry, Jane
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says. “When I return I want you bent over my desk, grabbing the edge, your ass on full display so the image of your body is what greets me when I return.”
And then he’s gone and I’m alone, locked in this room. I turn toward his desk and freeze.
He left his phone.
I frown at it, then look back at the door.
Why didn’t he take his phone? Hell, he handed it to me earlier, and told me to occupy myself.
Is he growing lax in his role as captor? Or… is he baiting me?
Demyan is no fool. He hasn’t forgotten that I tried to make a call. But what he doesn’t know is I can block any tracking on this phone with a simple swipe of the buttons.
I run to the desk and grab the phone so quickly, it falls out of my hands, clattering to the floor. Oh, God. If I broke it, he’ll know I touched it without permission, and I don’t want to see what type of punishment that earns me. I’m shaking so badly as I pick it up and almost sob with relief when I see it’s unharmed. I need to make this call and now before he returns. He said he’d only be a few minutes.
I swipe through his password, half expecting that he’s changed it, but it turns on quickly and brings me to his home screen. I can’t breathe. I’m dizzy with my need to make this call and not get caught. My heartbeat quickens, blood thrumming through my veins as I pull up the number pad and with a few strokes block Demyan’s number so Glen can’t trace this. I clumsily dial Glen’s number.
“Please pick up,” I whisper. “Please, please.”
What if he doesn’t pick up? What if I’ve risked Demyan’s wrath for nothing? The phone rings and rings and I’ve almost given up hope when there’s a click.
“Hello?”
“Glen,” I choke out. Tears blur my vision with the sound of my friend’s voice. “We can’t speak freely. If they find out how to tap this call…” my voice wavers. I don’t want them to hear that I’m calling for Calina. It’s too risky.
“Listen, I only have seconds here to talk and have to make this quick. Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he says emphatically, with meaning. “Everything is okay. My God,” he says. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay. What have they done to you?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, because I’m not fine. I’m shaking in fear that my ruthless captor will return and find me breaching his trust, and my body has not forgotten the first punishment he gave me for attempting just this. I’m naked and scared and tomorrow I pledge my vows to him.
But that doesn’t matter. I’m not Larissa anymore. I’m the scapegoat who took the punishment meant for another.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “I assure you, everyone here is fine as well. Thriving, even.” I’m so relieved a lone tear rolls down my cheek.
I can’t talk but Glen continues. “Can you escape? Can you—”
Footsteps sound in the hallway.
“Thank you,” I tell him, and I hang up the phone as the footsteps sound louder. With trembling fingers, I swipe at the call log and wipe it, power down the phone, and shove it to the corner of his desk just before the lock on the door clicks. By the time I hear the door swing open, I’m face down over the desk, grabbing the very edge as he instructed, cool air gracing my ass and bare legs.
The door clicks.
“Khristos.”
I close my eyes so he doesn’t see them tear-filled, so I don’t betray what I’ve done. Will he know I made the call? Will he suspect what I’ve done at all? And why do I feel so guilty?
He was on the verge of punishing me before he left. I hope he does now. I want to lose myself in the pain and pleasure he gives me. I’m so riddled with emotion I can’t bear this, and somehow I know if he makes it hurt, I can move past this. I can make peace with my circumstances.
I know he steals closer when I feel his warmth behind me, his large body overshadowing mine, prone on his desk. The cool, gleaming surface presses against my breasts, the edge against my belly. My fingers hold onto the very edge white-knuckled, like I’m hanging onto the edge of a cliff.
“Were you a good little girl while I was gone?” he asks.
“You weren’t gone very long, sir,” I respond, my traitorous voice tremulous.
I start when he barely touches my shoulders, massaging the naked skin.
“I wasn’t,” he says. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
I decide to lean into the truth rather than a lie.
“No, sir. I wasn’t,” I say, and I wonder if he can hear the note of regret in my voice. I don’t like that I’m genuinely repentant. That somewhere deep inside me I really want his approval. Why? Why do I care? I continue, because now I need that punishment he offered me. “I’m a bad girl who needs to be punished.”
A rush of excitement races through me when he brushes the hair off my neck and kisses me, just before he laves his tongue along the soft skin.
“Such a vulnerable spot,” he whispers, while he licks along the back of my neck. One finger travels from my jaw to my pulse. “One nick of a knife, and you sever a major artery. You’d soak my desk with your blood while you writhed beneath me.” My already-racing pulse quickens, dizzying me. I hold the edge of the desk tighter when he wraps his hands around my neck like a noose. “Naked and ready for a collar to remind you that I’m your master.” His fingers tighten and blood rushes to my head. I can breathe but barely, my throat constricted, but just when I begin to panic, he loosens his grip and I gasp for breath. To my shock, I’m both scared and thrilled. He’s unpredictable but controlled and somehow, I’ve begun to trust that he won’t truly hurt me.
But he should. I just defied his rules for me. If he knew what I’ve done…
His fingers tangle through my hair, yank my head back, and he slams his palm against my ass so hard I come up on my toes and whimper. Again, he spanks me and again I cry out. Relentless swat after swat lands, hurting worse than I thought it would. The room is quiet save my whimpers and the smack of skin on skin.
“You’re a bad girl that needs to be punished?” he asks. “You need a good, hard lesson from your master? I should whip you and then leave you on the Sybian to drag every threat of defiance from your sweet, naked body.” He spanks hard, and I lean into this, needing to feel this pain. “But I like the way your skin feels on mine,” he says. “I love the way your ass welts with finger-shaped marks from my punishment.” Again, he delivers a searing swat to my bare skin until my ass throbs from the punishment. My skin is too tight, too hot, but I’m lost to this. I can’t think of Calina or Glen or tallies or rubles or Amaranov or fucking anything but the way his palm slams against my ass and pain blossoms in its wake.
I moan without meaning to when I hear him unzip his pants. He grips my hips so firmly it’s painful, bruising. He’s hard and soft, silk-sheathed steel when he pushes at my entrance. I brace myself for the first thrust, but I’m not prepared for the way he splits me in two.
“I’ll fuck every memory of any man who’s ever touched you out of your mind,” he growls in my ear. “I own this cunt. I own this ass.” He trails off into hoarse Russian. The only phrase I catch, the only one I can decipher, “Vse moye.”
All mine.
My climax is building. I’m tremulous and powerless.
Heart racing. Sweaty palms still grasping the desk. Ass throbbing, pussy clenching.
He’s dominated my mind, my body, my heart. And as he lashes into me, marking me with his hot release, I bend to his mastery over me. I writhe and tremble, climaxing so hard I can’t breathe or think, my pussy spasming and gripping him until we’re panting and spent.
“Go to bed like this,” he whispers in my ear. “In my arms. Naked and marked.”
Turning me to face him, he gathers me in his arms and holds me to his chest, I let my head fall to his shoulder. My mind is a blank canvas, clean and fresh with no worries or fears to plague me. Tonight, I belong to him.
Tonight, that’s all that matters
.
* * *
I wake up with the knowledge that this is my wedding day. This is the day I wear a dress I didn’t pick and stand in front of a crowd and say I do. And it surprises me that I don’t care. Hell, I’m eager for it. Maybe it’ll distract me enough to keep me occupied for one more day. Maybe he’ll pay me well.
I’m over my freak out. My life is not mine to live anymore. I’ve given myself over to the Bratva for Calina, and there are worse things he could do to me than marry me.
And the reality is… could I even stop it if I wanted to?
I turn over and blink in surprise. He’s not here.
I look around the room and finally hear him outside the door, clicking on his keyboard. I yawn, stretch, and crawl out of bed. For some reason, I need to see him.
I find him sitting at his desk, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers, typing away on his computer. When he hears me approach, he wordlessly lifts an arm for me to sit on his lap. It would be a lie to say I didn’t like this.
I perch myself on his strong thighs and rest on his chest while he works. Occasionally, he drops gentle kisses to my forehead and shoulder and when he’s finally done, he closes the laptop and turns me to face him.
“You did well with Amaranov,” he says. “That was exactly what we needed to do, and Filip says Amaranov is pleased. It seems we’ve won his favor over our rivals.”
“Who are your rivals?” I ask, playfully playing with the little, coarse tendrils of hair on his bare chest.
“The Thieves,” he says. “Also Bratva, but not part of the same brotherhood.”
“How does that work? What are the rules?”
For some reason, he chuckles. It’s so rare to hear him laugh that I start in surprise and look up at him.
“What’s so funny?”
“You ask like it’s a game of chess,” he says, gliding his hands up and down my bare arms.
I smile back. “I just want to know.”
“The militaristic operations started after the fall of Stalin,” he begins. “Several groups of organized crime began, all rooted in Russia yet with various leaders. Dimitri’s grandfather founded one such group, his great uncle another.”
“I see,” I say, frowning. “How do you know who is who?”
“We know,” he says, chuckling again. “The same way you know who your friends and enemies are. But to others, our markings differentiate.”
Ah. The tattoos imbued with meaning. I remember the way one of our assailants paled when he saw Demyan’s chest, whispering “Bratva,” like it was an oath.
“So these men are your rivals, and you both wanted an in with Amaranov.”
“Precisely.”
“And how does he decide which of you he’s going to… conspire with, or whatever?”
His lips twitch. “Often the highest bidder wins,” he says. “But in this case, his decision was based on who could be more efficient to get the job done. Fortunately, this time it was us.”
“And this is a good thing,” I surmise. “Because he’s very powerful.”
Bending down, he kisses my forehead. “Very.” Then he pulls me to him and hugs me to his chest. I’m surprised, but when he doesn’t let me go, I encircle his neck with my own embrace.
“It’s a big day today,” I tell him, “Isn’t it?”
“Very,” he repeats. “Today I make you my bride.” He chuckles. “My mama would be proud I’m making an honest woman out of you.”
I can’t help but snort at that. “Indeed.”
“The Bratva has become your family,” I say, understanding now. “So today when I say my vows, your family witnesses.”
“Exactly this,” he says with a nod. “Now let’s get something to eat. As much as I want to lay you out on my desk and eat you for breakfast, I’m going to insist we abstain today until we’ve said our vows.”
“How noble of you,” I mutter, which earns me a teasing tweak to the nose.
We eat in comfortable silence. At first I wonder how I’ll keep myself occupied until the big event, but it seems that’s not an issue. Shortly after breakfast, the team of people coming to prepare me arrive. Hours pass while they doll me up, and after I’m good and ready, my makeup and hair perfected and set, a photographer shows up. Demyan is nowhere to be found, and I’m made to pose by myself for the photo shoot. I wonder where they’ll post these. Will it be online? Or in the papers?
I wonder what Glen will think when he sees them. I wonder how effectively he’ll hide them from Calina.
Demyan appears in the doorway, wearing a stunning tux that accentuates his raw, masculine beauty.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him. “You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding.”
“Fuck that,” he says. “I’ll see you whenever the hell I want to.” Of course he will. He crosses the room and takes my hand. “And I want to see you now.”
Why? Why does he care? I’m merely a means to an end.
“You will be escorted to the ballroom with my men to protect you,” he says. “And I will meet you there, prepared to say our vows.”
I nod. Something is off, though. He’s holding me close but his mind is elsewhere. He’s almost… aloof. And something else is wrong.
I haven’t seen him use his phone all day. It’s ever-present by his side, while he works and leads his men. He plugs it into a charger beside his bed at night, and it’s the first thing he checks when he wakes.
It’s his wedding day, I tell myself. You’re paranoid.
But I can’t help the niggling fear that he’s discovered something. That he suspects I’ve done something I shouldn’t, and he’s going to track down Glen. What would he do if he found him?
What would he do if he found the real Calina?
I shove all fears out of my mind, though I’m nauseous with worry. I can’t think of that now. I have a job to do.
Chapter 15
I wait for her in the ballroom, a jumble of nerves and fury and testosterone. I long to be in my workout room, pounding the bag until my fingers numb with pain and sweat blurs my vision.
I left my phone for her last night, and she used it. She fucking used it. We haven’t been able to trace who or where she called yet, but we will. And if I find out she called a man…
But today, I have greater control over her. Today I will say my vows then fuck my wife until the thought of any other is but a distant memory.
She’s just a tool, I remind myself. She doesn’t mean anything to me.
But Christ, it’s a lie. It’s impossible to punish her as I have, to fuck her as I have, to watch her melt into hopeless orgasm after orgasm, clinging to me as I reap pleasure from every inch of her body, and remain immune to the power of her seduction.
I’ve barely managed to keep my temper in check today.
I’ve barely managed civility.
But I have to. I lead the most powerful organization in all of Russia. Dignitaries and politicians come to hear us take our vows, and with Calina by my side, I gain prestige and honor in the eyes of my contemporaries.
She’s brilliant and beautiful and all mine.
I have to forgive her. God, I’m no fucking saint and she didn’t come here willingly. I’ve told myself I have a right to do just this because of how she’s stolen from us, but I know. I fucking know that she bears more than punishment for theft. For retribution. She bears the weight of my own anger. When I mete out pain, when I fuck her tight cunt, when I bite her and mark her, she heals a part of me I’ve hidden beneath the rage that fuels me.
And I hate that none of this means anything. I hate that.
So when the music plays, wafting through the ballroom teeming with guests, and the entire room stands, waiting for her approach… when she enters the room looking like an angel sent from heaven, I allow the slightest glimmer of sentiment.
Maybe this doesn’t have to be the way it is. Maybe she didn’t call a man she loves.
Maybe she really can mean something to me.<
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And when she looks at me… her tremulous eyes filled with wonder, and dare I say a little fear… I wonder.
Maybe she already does.
I give her a smile to help melt that fear in her eyes. My lips tip up and I feel a thrill of… something… take root. I feel lighter than I have in years. She smiles back, her face so lovely it’s almost painful. The room erupts in flashes. Everyone wants to capture her magnificent beauty. I want one of those pictures.
When she reaches me, I gather her to me and whisper in her ear. “You are a sight, little kisa. So beautiful you blind our guests with your radiance.”
“Oh,” she says, flushing a little with a fetching little laugh. “You say that to all the girls.”
I give her a smile that brings color to her cheeks.
I hold her hand and we turn to the officiant.
I’ve asked for the simplest of ceremonies, so soon it’s time for our vows.
It should be just words. This isn’t truth.
Then why, when she looks up at me and meets my eyes, do I see… sincerity? Maksym stands beside me in a suit, sober and steady, and for one brief moment I look at him. Does he see what I see? The moment’s bewitched, somehow. He meets my eyes and tells me with one silent, firm nod, what I need to hear.
You need to do this.
I reach for Calina’s second hand, and when her small, fragile fingers touch my palm, I enclose them with both my hands. I forget my anger. Maybe I’ve been too hasty. My throat tightens, looking down at this beautiful, brilliant, headstrong woman. She’s withstood my rage like a tree in a storm, bending to the onslaught of wind and rain, and rising again. Stronger. Noble. Without realizing what I’m doing, I’ve placed our clasped hands on my heart. I don’t need the officiant to tell me the vows to mimic. I read them and memorized them, preparing for our day, so I could take my vows without faltering.
I speak the words in English, so nothing is lost in translation.
“I take you as my wife. To be with you always.” And as I say these words, pride expands in my chest and I take a deep, cleansing breath. I don’t want her to go. I know now that no matter what, I’ll need to find a way to let her go, despite what she knows, despite the danger she poses to us. But I don’t want to release her of her obligation to me and let her free.
