by Monica James
She doesn’t reply. She merely stands still, watching me closely. When I’m a few feet away, I come to a stop. Her perfume fills the space between us. Now that we’re alone, I’m able to examine her openly. And I don’t hide that fact.
Although her habit conceals a lot, I can see she has spectacular breasts hidden beneath it. As I noticed last night, she isn’t wafer thin. She is voluptuous, curvy in all the right places. I can only imagine she’d look like a goddess beneath that robe.
Her eyes are piercing and a contrast against her chocolate-colored hair, golden skin, and pink lips; she is the epitome of a femme fatale. Everything tightens in my body as I desperately try to keep my hands to myself.
“Alek,” she gently reprimands when I continue studying her without apology.
But if she wants me to stop, she needs to answer my question.
“Please don’t tell Mother Superior,” she pleads, troubled.
“I would never,” I reply, transfixed by the tremble of her supple lips. “I suppose I could say the same thing to you.”
I’m just as guilty as she is.
Yes, what is confessed would normally never be repeated, but seeing as I confessed to Sister Arabella, she can tell whoever she wants.
“I would never tell her,” she replies, breathlessly. Her response to me stirs my interest. “I promise.”
“Do I make you nervous, Sister?” I ask, rubbing over my chin, curious.
She licks her lips twice. “Yes.”
And one simple word has doomed us both.
“Why is that?”
The hollow of her throat dips as she swallows deeply. “I don’t know,” she replies once again, disappointing me.
Clucking my tongue, I unhurriedly lean down so our faces are inches apart. “I think you do. I think secretly,” I lick my top lip, whispering, “you’re a little wicked, Sister.”
A gasp leaves her before she places a trembling hand over her mouth.
“I should g-go.”
She turns abruptly, making it two steps before I spin her around and push her up against the wall. Her breasts press into me as they rise and fall with her quickened breaths.
“Answer me,” I gently command, combing over her features. She is scared, but she is also… awakened.
“Please, let me go,” she appeals, but it’s weak. If she really wants to flee, all she has to do is push past me.
So I do the complete opposite. I align our bodies, pressing us chest to chest. The feel of her supple curves fires a shot of adrenaline straight through me. I can’t suppress the low hum that slips free.
“I will. All you have to do is answer me,” I promise, before laying my theories on the line. “You listened to my confession; you wear this expensive perfume—” I dip low, inches from her skin, and inhale.
A stunned whimper tumbles from her parted lips when I reveal I’m in on her little secret.
“All because beneath this habit lies a not so good girl. Am I right, Sister?” I ask, meeting her eyes once again.
Calling her sister just adds to the utter depravity happening before me.
“No, you are not right,” she replies with bite. We both know she’s lying. “You know nothing about me.”
“Well, enlighten me then.” I smirk, enjoying the sudden change in her demeanor.
My smugness stirs a side to the sweet sister that just has me falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole.
“I’m not one of those human beings you plan on exploiting,” she snaps, throwing my confession back at me. “Whatever you choose to do is between you and God, but I don’t plan on being brought into your mess.”
“Well, if you didn’t feel the need to eavesdrop, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”
She opens but soon closes her mouth as her argument is void. Her feistiness turns me on. I’m invading her personal space, and I have no intention of removing myself from it.
At any moment, anyone could walk in and see me in a very compromising position with the sister. But that’s half the fun. The thought of being caught makes this even more immoral. And when Sister Arabella stands on her toes, bringing us to eye level, I embrace the wickedness with both hands.
“Good luck to her,” she says, attempting to push me away, which tips me over the edge.
“How do you know it’s a woman?” I ask. Slamming my body into hers, I pin her to the wall once again.
She squirms, which allows me to feel every delicious inch of her ripple beneath me. “I don’t, but I can imagine most women would permit you to exploit them without complaint.”
“Why would you imagine that?” The harder she struggles, the more I want to rip her apart.
“Don’t insult me,” she replies, and by all that’s holy, she rolls her eyes.
Sister Arabella is spirited, sinful, and utterly sexy; I am so done for.
“You’re right. I won’t insult you.” I place my hands on either side of her head, caging her in. “It is a woman, and right now, she is tied to my bed. Naked.”
Sister Arabella stops struggling. She can’t hide her shock at my admission.
“I plan on breaking her because she has something I need.”
“How could you be so cruel?” she asks appalled, never breaking eye contact with me.
Snickering, I remove a hand from the wall and give in to temptation and thumb over her pouty bottom lip. “Who said anything about being cruel, Sister?”
Her sweetness lingers on my thumb, so I place it into my mouth, sucking gently. I taste raspberries. I want more. She watches me closely, blushing profusely.
“There are many ways to break a person,” I reveal calmly once I’m done tasting her. “My methods are always effective because they may not know it at the time, but they want me to. They fight me in the beginning, but deep down, they want me to win.”
I’m telling the sister this because I want her to know what’s coming her way. She’s a challenge, one I won’t back down from. She is so completely off-limits, which just makes me want her all the more. If she submits to me, this conquest will be my greatest one of all.
“Maybe you haven’t met your match yet?” she poses, which merely baits me.
“Maybe you’re right, which is why I will continue doing what I do until I find her.”
“And what happens when you do?” She gasps when I shift my hips, allowing her to feel my arousal pressed against her.
“I’m not sure. I doubt she exists, but I suppose all I can do is…pray for a miracle. But I think I fell out of favor with Him long ago.”
“He forgives,” she declares passionately, appearing to need to say the words aloud for her sake as well as mine. “No matter your sins, He would never turn his back on his flock.”
“Oh, is that right?” I decide to test this theory out as I wrap my fingers around her waist. “Would he be so forgiving if I lifted your skirt and buried myself between your thighs? I bet you taste like sweetened honey.”
Her eyes widen, and her mouth parts in utter surprise. “Aleksei—” She plants her hand over mine, begging me not to do it. Her warm flesh only excites me further.
“What do you think, Sister Arabella? Do you think your Lord would forgive me if I forced you onto your knees and fed you my cock here, in His home? In this place of worship.”
My filthy words have her quivering all over. “Please, please don’t,” she pleads breathlessly, clutching onto my hand.
Her plea falls on deaf ears. “What about if I bent you over His altar and spanked that glorious ass? What do you think He’d say then?”
She whimpers, her beautiful eyes filling with tears as she turns her cheek. She can’t look at me. I’m disgusting. The sight is my undoing.
“I didn’t think so. Forgiveness isn’t intended for a man like me.”
Before she has a chance to speak, I step back, letting her go. She sags forward, confused and relieved yet also disappointed. Her attention drops to the front of my slacks. I don’t hide w
hat our encounter has done to me. I want her to know this response is because of her.
“Good day, Sister Arabella.”
She blinks once, puzzled. “I-I—”
“Unless you plan on taking off that habit, Sister, we’re done.”
Her confusion sparks to anger as she strikes out and slaps my cheek. “How dare you.”
Cupping my cheek, I grin. “How dare I indeed.”
She stands before me, seething, but this was the only way I could show her who she’s dealing with. She listened to my confession because she’s interested in me, and I need it to stop. If she doesn’t, then I will have no qualms about destroying her because that’s what I do.
This was her lesson. She may think she doesn’t want me to break her, but she’s wrong. And I don’t want that for her. I want her to be the strong one and stay away because I can’t. And the only way I can do that is for her to see what an asshole I really am.
I want her, and that’s the problem. I can’t have her. I thought I was okay with breaking her vow, but I’m not. Every part of me demands I stop being a занудный and give her what we clearly both want, but I tamp down that voice.
I can’t do that to her. I won’t.
“No wonder she belongs to another,” she utters, speaking of Willow. “No one would ever choose you.” She pushes past me, her scent lingering as a reminder of all that I’ve done.
When I hear the sacristy door slam shut, I know that I’m alone. Mission accomplished. Turning around, I focus on the large crucifix. There is no point in seeking absolution after what I just did.
Sister Arabella is right. No one would choose me. Zoey thought she did, but in reality, she was a naïve, lovestruck fool with a weak mind. She was easy to manipulate into thinking she loved me. She may have believed her feelings to be real, but they were there because I broke who she was and molded her into who I wanted her to be.
Walking numbly toward the confessional booth, I duck my head into the curtain and see my keys on the floor. Cursing, I reach for them and wonder if this was a sign from God. If so, then He has a sick sense of humor indeed.
I stopped in at a thrift store on the way home to buy Renata some clothes and other essentials.
I still have no idea what I’m supposed to do with her. But I do know I can’t keep her naked for the next three weeks. Opening the front door, I brace for anything because she has proven to be unpredictable.
Thankfully, she is still tied to the bed.
She twists her body, eyeing the door. When she sees me, a look of relief washes over her, but it’s gone a moment later.
Without a word, I place the bag of groceries I bought onto the kitchen counter and begin unpacking them. Renata must be hungry and thirsty, and although she is tied to my bed, that doesn’t mean she’s a prisoner—well, not in the conventional sense of the word. So once I set some ground rules, I will allow her to eat and bathe.
Once I’m done, I reach for the bag of clothes.
“Renata,” I commence, walking toward the bed. “For this to work, I’m going to lay down some rules.”
She narrows her eyes but allows me to continue without interruption.
“I don’t want to keep you tied to my bed. Quite frankly, it’s an inconvenience to us both. But if you continue to run, I will be forced to keep you bound. I’ve bought you some clothes,” I explain, placing the bag onto the end of the bed.
“We both want the same thing. To see Serg dead. And for that to happen, we have to work together. Do you really think you can achieve that on your own?” I pose, standing by the bedside and looking down at her.
When she doesn’t reply, it seems my message isn’t being heard.
Inhaling, I take a seat beside her. Instantly, she recoils, attempting to shrink away from me. But she’s got nowhere to go.
The blanket has slipped low, revealing the top of her luscious breasts. I make no secret that I’m examining her closely. She squirms, clearly not liking being subjected this way.
“I asked you a question,” I calmly say, leaning forward and brushing over the restraints at her wrists. The skin is raw. “This doesn’t have to be hard on you, малышка. You won’t win. Obey me and the next three weeks will be easy.
“Defy me and I promise you”—I continue tracing a path down her arms and over the top of her breasts—“you won’t like the outcome. Or maybe you will.”
She whimpers, attempting to shift away from my touch, but it’s weak. Her flushed skin tells me otherwise.
Backward and forward, I stroke along her skin, teasing and testing how far I can push. The blanket is thin and allows me to see her nipples pebble beneath the material. She may hate me, but her body doesn’t. But the truth is, after being subjected to nothing but violence and cruelty for so long, any sort of kindness would stir a positive response.
Breaking her may be easier than I thought. “So, what do you say? I untie you, then you can shower while I make us something to eat. I bought you some clothes.” I gesture with my chin toward the bag.
She doesn’t want to make it easy for me, but I know I’ve won this battle. “Fine,” she begrudgingly replies.
With a smile, I stroke along her skin one final time before reaching into my pocket and producing my switchblade. She doesn’t falter.
Leaning forward, I cut through the cable ties binding her. When they snap free, Renata lowers her arms with a relieved sigh. She locks eyes with me, and I can see her debating whether she should run. But in the end, she won’t.
Standing, I pocket my knife before turning and walking into the kitchen. I may not have eyes on her, but I listen intently as the rustle of the plastic bag hints she’s interested in what’s inside. Her uneven footsteps toward the bathroom please me beyond words.
However, when I hear the creak of the door, I pause from hunting through the refrigerator. “Leave the door open,” I order.
All I get in return is a huff, but the door stays ajar.
I grant her privacy by ensuring I keep my back turned as I prepare lunch for us. Having no idea what she likes, I decide to make a Borscht soup. This is one of the only happy memories I have of my mother. She perfected this recipe because it was my father’s favorite.
As I go about chopping what’s needed, my thoughts focus on Zoya. Renata’s interactions with her leave me curious. I almost want to know more about her than I do Serg. She’s the reason for all of this. I often wonder why she turned her back on me.
Even before I killed Boris, she despised me. She said I was the spitting image of my father, a fact I thought she would like, but when he died, it seemed her love for him did too. But Zoya only loves one person, and that’s herself.
Footsteps sounding against the kitchen floor drag my mind from the past—a place I cannot afford to be. Turning over my shoulder, I see Renata freshly showered and wearing the blue summer dress I bought her.
I also purchased other supplies like toiletries. I have firsthand knowledge of what a captive needs. I was the one who supplied Saint with all the essentials when he kidnapped Willow. A heavy feeling sinks in the pit of my stomach when I think how history seems to be repeating itself.
“Can I please have a glass of water?”
Renata’s manners have me nodding before returning to preparing our meal.
I’m aware of her lithe movements as she pads across the kitchen and toward the sink. She reaches for a mug in the dish rack and turns on the water. She gulps down four helpings before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Is that Borscht?” she asks, peering at the food on the counter.
“Yes.” I’m impressed she knows what it is. However, what she says next has me wishing I’d chosen another meal.
“Your mother used to make that for me. She said it was your favorite.”
I grip the knife handle tight, breathing steadily to calm myself down. “My mother is full of shit,” I snap, slicing through the beetroot in anger. “I wouldn’t believe a word she told you.”
Renata is quiet, pensive even. “She said you fell in love. Is that true?”
For this to work, we have to gain one another’s trust. This is the last topic I want to broach, but I suppose it’s a starting point. “Yes. I did.”
“Hmm,” she says as if finding it hard to believe. “Your mother said she was your weakness. That you sacrificed everyone for her.”
I don’t reply. But that doesn’t deter Renata.
“They’re looking for her.”
Her admission has me turning my cheek to look at her. “What?”
“The woman. They’re looking for her.”
My stomach drops and bile rises. “They’ll never find her. She is with someone who’d move heaven and earth to protect her.”
“Saint?” she questions.
Renata is the inside man I need. Her knowledge will help me defeat my enemies. “Yes, Saint. He once worked for me.”
She nods, mulling over what I revealed. “Where are they now?”
Renata has random pieces of a puzzle that she has no idea what the picture is of. She’s trying to make sense of this. “I don’t know,” I reply truthfully. “And it’s better that way.”
If Serg ever found out their whereabouts, he would use them both as bait.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she confesses, running a hand down her face. “Why did he choose me?”
With a sigh, I reveal, “Because you look like her, like…Willow. My дорогая.”
Renata’s mouth parts in horror. “Oh, my god. Serg wanted his own…pet?”
I flinch, but she’s right. This is what Willow was supposed to be. A plaything. But she turned out to be so much more.
“Willow was so much more to me than a pet. But essentially, yes.”
Renata takes a moment to process what I’ve just shared. “How did you protect her? You kept her safe when you had nothing.”
“I had help from some friends.” Some of whom are now dead.
“Serg said you didn’t have any of those left. You killed them all.”
“He’s right,” I counter sharply.
Renata is inquisitive, but this is the last thing I want to be discussing. She senses my bad temper over this topic. “Sorry, I just…you were all he talked about. Actually meeting you is kind of surreal. He has no idea where you are, and it really pissed him off.
