by Renee Rose
But my ambitious little heart won’t take no for an answer. I have the need to be claimed fully by him. I’ll never forget how spectacularly freeing it felt at Black Light when he scooped me up and told me I belonged to him now.
I want to belong to him. I like belonging to him.
And I know I do right now in the master-slave fantasy sense, but I want it in the real-life sense, too. Or, at least I think I do.
Maybe that’s plain nuts.
“Why don’t I show you L.A.?” I suggest then wince a little, already anticipating his rejection of the idea. In our relationship, I don’t drive. He does.
But he blinks and shrugs. “Sure. I didn’t rent a car this time, but we could ride share somewhere.”
“I have my car. I mean, it’s not fancy, but we could take it. You could drive, if you want,” I add hastily.
The corners of his lips tick up. “Yeah, okay. I don’t need fancy.”
“No?” I move to my suitcase to grab something to wear—Pavel’s kept me naked all morning, even after my shower.
Pavel makes a soft scoffing sound. “You must know I don’t come from money, Kayla.”
I put on my bra and a long-sleeved turquoise shirt that makes my boobs look great. “I actually don’t know much about you at all, Master.” I use the honorific Master to keep it from sounding like a complaint, which it really is.
He must hear it for what it is because as I start to put on my panties, he looks over and demands, “Why are you wearing panties?”
I pull them on anyway, feeling impish. “For protection. Because my master likes to spank me far too much.” I giggle and sidle away from him when he advances.
“Sassy. I like it when you’re naughty.” I think I expect him to chase, but he takes his time following me, forcing me to stop and wait for him to arrive. His hands settle on my hips. “Take them off.”
I lift my chin, a gleeful challenge in my eyes.
Pavel considers me. For the thousandth time, I wish he wasn’t so darn hard to read. I can’t even tell if he’s amused by my antics or annoyed. “You want me to chase you and take them off, myself, don’t you?”
I keep playing, slipping out of his grasp with a breathy laugh.
“I like it better when you obey.”
I freeze. I was up for earning a little punishment, getting myself in trouble, but not for his dissatisfaction with me. “Sorry, Master.” I move to take them back off.
Pavel follows me. “Nyet, that’s not true. I like you sassy, too.” He manacles my wrists and yanks me up against his chest.
My breath leaves me, and I look up at his harsh, handsome face, thrilled he’s finally getting playful. He slowly twists my arms behind my back, turning me to face the bed. “Is this what you wanted, blossom?” he whispers in my ear. “To be forced?”
“Yes.”
He pushes my torso down and smacks my bare ass. “I don’t think I can do pretend non-consent.”
“Okay.”
He doesn’t move, just holds me in the position, suspended in his refusal. “It’s not that I don’t like it, Kayla.” It feels like an admission. A confession. Like I’m hearing something real, maybe for the first time. “I do.” He rubs away the sting the single spank left. “I just… Fuck. I like it way too much.”
I’m trembling, and not from the scene, for once. Because of the rawness of his confession. Is this why he always holds back? He’s afraid of his own dark desires?
“I trust you,” I tell him.
He makes a dissenting sound in his throat.
“I have a safe word. I would use it if I wanted.” I’m new to this world, but Pavel’s been a perfect partner. He reads me. He’s careful. He pays attention.
He strokes my ass, circling it. He’s silent for what feels like forever, then he finally says, “You’re too trusting.”
For some reason, that offends me. I love submitting to Pavel, letting him run the show completely, making all the decisions for us. But this feels like he’s criticizing my submission—the one thing I bring to this very limited relationship.
“Screw you,” I snap.
Pavel proves my judgement is perfectly sound by immediately releasing my wrists and stepping back.
I straighten and whirl to face him, heat flushing my cheeks. His brows are down, confusion playing over his features.
“Don’t question the one thing I bring to this… arrangement.” I can’t even bring myself to call it a relationship.
He takes another step back and holds his hands up in surrender. “Wait—the one thing? Fuck that.”
Fascination overtakes my anger at seeing irritation pierce Pavel’s cool facade. I’d take any real emotion from him at this point.
He stoops to pick up my panties and hands them to me. I guess I now have permission to put them on. “Kayla…”—he shoves his hand through his hair—“You bring everything. You bring you. That’s all I want.”
I pull on the panties and a pair of skinny jeans, facing away from him for a minute. Unmoored, bobbing in unknown waters, I don’t even know what I want.
“Hey.” Pavel wraps an arm around my waist from behind and yanks me back against him. He fists my hair. “Tell me why you’re mad.”
I realize this is what I wanted all along. To be claimed. Captured. I don’t want to be adrift on my own trying to navigate these choppy waters.
“You act like I’m making a mistake, and I shouldn’t be with you. It’s the same as you always dangling the end over my head. I don’t like it.”
He’s silent for a beat, then says, “Complaint received and noted.” He bites my ear. Not a nip, but a solid bite. A little punishment for my outburst. My panties get wet. He still holds me captive.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I say, now that I’ve expressed myself. “Am I in trouble?”
“Definitely. Lots of trouble.”
I’d be nervous, but I detect the purr in his voice. This is the messiest non-relationship relationship I’ve ever had. It feels like a tightrope walk with no net, but the exhilaration is addictive.
“I’ll save it for tonight.” He slides his hand between my legs, rubbing the seam of my jeans up against my clit. Now my panties are completely soaked. “Right now, I’m expecting an L.A. experience.”
Pavel
The first thing I think when I climb behind the wheel of Kayla’s ten-year-old Camry is that I want to buy her a new car. It’s obscene how much I want to shower this girl in gifts, which is why we’re at the Four Seasons Beverly Hills instead of somewhere even a little more reasonable.
I live a lavish lifestyle right now, but it’s on the pakhan’s dime. Getting sent to America to work for Ravil while I was lying low was the best thing that ever happened to me. Ravil brought benevolence, reason and stability when all I’d ever known before was violence and chaos. He takes good care of his cell. We live in style. I have no living expenses, which means all my earnings go straight into savings. Savings I plan to use to set myself up back in Russia when things cool off there. Another reason I should’ve broken things off with Kayla last night.
After fussing with the radio, she sits on her hands beside me, stealing sidelong glances.
“What are you thinking?” I demand. That’s one of the insane benefits of being a dom. I can make her talk but don’t have to offer a thing myself. It’s cruel and wrong, I know, but suits me to a fucking tee.
Her gaze zips back to the windshield. “Nothing. Just checking.”
I don’t know if I let the smile show, but it’s definitely there, in my chest. My crazy little slave is always checking in with me—making sure she’s pleased me. “We’re good,” I tell her, in case she’s still worrying about our fight back in the hotel room.
I know she wants more from me. She expects me to open up and share something. Maybe not the way she bares her soul to me, but crumbs, at least. It’s just not my way. Never has been.
But as I follow her directions out to the highway, I sense her nervous energy growing mo
re frenetic. She’s a tempest in a teapot, this one. A mercurial ball of energy, fascinating to watch, easy to direct. But also shockingly combustible when I fuck up and miss giving her what she needs.
“Where are we going?”
She shoots another glance at me, like she’s trying to figure out if she got it right. “Venice Beach. Is that okay? I don’t know if you’re a beach person—”
“It’s good,” I cut her off. “I want to see what you like here.”
“I’m not a beach person, I mean, I don’t go swim or lie out in the sun, but I like to walk down the pier. It’s where I go to think.”
My phone rings as I’m driving, and I pull it out of my pocket. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this,” I tell Kayla and put it on speaker since her car doesn’t have a hand-free option.
My mom’s lonely voice fills the car. “Pavel?”
“Da, Mama,” I answer her in Russian. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I just… hadn’t heard from you for a while.”
Guilt rips through my chest—not just for not calling more, but for not being there. Especially after what I did.
“Sorry, Mama. I’m in Los Angeles. It’s a city in California—with a beach,” I add because my mom knows nothing about America.
“Oh?” She sounds so lost, but it’s nothing new. She’s been lost my entire life. Trauma and abuse have made her vacant and withdrawn. Barely functioning in reality. And she was my good parent. It’s no fucking wonder I’m an emotionless mudak.
“I—” I look over at Kayla, who’s listening raptly, despite the fact that she doesn’t speak Russian. “I’m with a woman.” I don’t know why I’m telling my mom that. I’m making this thing with Kayla way more important than it should be.
“Oh.” My mom’s surprised syllable has a hopeful tint to it. “That’s nice. I’m sure you’re very good to her.”
My skin instantly crawls, heart dives into my stomach. A wave of oily sickness washes over me. Images of my mother cowering against a wall, my hands covered in blood, flash in front of my eyes. Me trying to protect her as just a young boy. She thinks I’m a hero.
Am I good to Kayla? Pretty fucking far from it.
I’m only a shade different from my father. Or maybe I’m not different at all, it’s just Kayla who’s different. A woman who likes to be hurt. Who gets excited by the pain I deliver, who likes to be kept on her knees, servile and sweet.
I change lanes on the highway, driving too fast. “I should go, Mama, I’m driving. I’ll call you when I get back to Chicago, all right?”
“Yes, of course, Pavel. Be safe.”
The sludge in my stomach twists. “Same. Bye.” I end the call and grip the steering wheel too hard.
“Was that your mom?” Kayla asks.
“Da.” I answer in Russian because I was just speaking it, then I remember to switch. “Yes.”
“Is she all right?” Somehow Kayla got the essence of my mother, despite the language barrier.
“No. My mother is…” I trail off, not really wanting to have this conversation, but Kayla waits, those attentive eyes trained on the side of my face. “She’s alone. I pay her bills. She’s depressed, I guess. I had to leave her to come here, but I’m planning to go back.”
There. I said it. Did I say it to drive a wedge between us? To inflict more cruelty, as is my way? Or am I just being honest for once? I sure as fuck don’t know.
Kayla goes still. “When?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. It depends on a lot of things.”
Kayla is not one of those things. Or she shouldn’t be. Why does it suddenly feel like she is?
“What things?” she presses, her voice so quiet I barely hear it over the radio.
“My pakhan and the state of a murder case back in Moscow. And money, I guess. I’ve been saving to get myself set up there when I go back.”
I don’t say she’s part of the decision because she’s not, yet I sense her drawing back and register her hurt.
“I should have told you that sooner, I guess. I’m sorry.” I’ve owed her that apology for hours now—it feels like a relief to get it out.
“Well, how soon?” I hear a tinge of panic in her voice. “When do you think you’ll move?”
I shake my head. “Could be months; could be years. I’ve already been here for three.”
“Three years?”
“Da.”
“Because of the murder case?” she whispers.
A tight band cinches around my throat to choke me. “Don’t ask about that, Kayla,” I manage to say around it. My throat is scratchy and raw.
She looks away from me, probably fighting back tears. Blyad’.
I approach Venice Beach and luck into a parking spot near the pier. I get out and walk around to Kayla’s side to close her door after she climbs out. “Hey.” I press her ass up against the car door, pinning her with my body. “I’m not going to offer you an out again because you told me not to, but I want you to know…I will always respect your wishes.” In this one way, I can resist my genetic coding. I won’t ever keep a woman prisoner until death do us part.
I see a mixture of fear and revulsion on her face, but it’s warring with that misplaced faith she has in me, and I know the moment the faith wins out. She sort of firms up, the way she did last night after the convenience store. Like she’s somehow reconciled herself to what I am and decided she still has backbone enough to stick around.
Crazy, beautiful flower.
“I know.” She lifts her face like she wants to be kissed.
I mean to brush a kiss over her lips, but instead I find myself devouring her mouth with the most ruthless kiss ever taken. My cock thickens against her belly, and the desire to do all manner of terrible things to her over and over again for the rest of our lives makes me want to carry her away to some dark dungeon where I can chain her to my bed and feast on her delicate body.
I force myself back because it’s broad daylight, and there are people everywhere. Not that Kayla seems to mind. It seems she’d follow my lead regardless of how insane I am. And that’s one of the best reasons not to leave the status of this relationship up to her. For me to man up and end it before I hurt her.
But I don’t fucking want to.
And I’m a stubborn asshole who usually gets what he wants.
I take her hand, adjusting my cock in my pants. “Show me this pier.” My voice is gruff, deepened with desire.
“Yes, Master.” She shoots a worshipful gaze my way that nearly drops me to my knees. I don’t know how I got so fucking lucky, how I earned her trust when I’ve been nothing but a dick here, but I’m going to make sure I give her everything she needs while I still have her.
She deserves that much.
The pier is crowded with people, but we ignore them and walk out to the very end of it to lean on the rail. The ocean sparkles cobalt blue and frothy white—bright and hopeful, like Kayla.
“I came here my first weekend in Los Angeles. I moved out here to go to USC—that’s where I met Sasha—and I was so excited to see the ocean. I drove out here by myself and watched the sunset. And that’s when I promised myself I’d never give up on my dream.”
“To become an actress?” I ask. I shift, so I’m standing behind her, protecting her back from the other people around. Or maybe just staking my claim. I wrap one arm around her waist and rest the other on the rail beside hers.
“Yes.” She darts a glance my way. “Sometimes I think I should put a time limit on it. Like, I have one more year, and if nothing happens, I’ll move back home. But then I remember the promise my eighteen-year-old self made, and I say never. I’m not leaving until I’ve made it where I wanted to go.”
“And where is that?”
She drops her head a little, so I kiss her temple.
“Tell me. A-lister? Hollywood star?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll make it,” I tell her, not because I know anything about show business but because I
want it to be true. I want Kayla to have everything she always dreamed of. A woman as good and pure as her deserves to have the world at her feet. Mostly because it would surprise her. And she’d work her ass off to do it right.
“Sometimes I believe it, sometimes I don’t,” she whispers.
“Believe it.”
She turns in my arms and looks up at me. “So I guess I should’ve told you that last night, too. I can’t leave L.A. Not even for—” she breaks off. I think she was going to say love but lobbed that word off at the neck.
“So we’ll enjoy what we have, no? While we have it.”
She melts a little against me, like some raging conflict has just been resolved. “I’m sorry if it seems like I am pushing for more. I don’t—”
I put a finger on her lips. “No apology needed.” Gently, I turn her back around, so we can stare at the sea together. The waves crash beneath us in a frothy foam. Someone's out with a boogie board, trying to catch a wave.
I should be glad. We just put an ending on our relationship. Not a specific date but an agreement that we’ll part ways sometime in the future.
It’s what I wanted. What needed to happen. Why, then, do I want to find some piece of wood and beat it until my knuckles bleed?
5
Pavel
When we return from the pier, I’m ready to play. “I want you naked, on the bed, now,” I command, unbuttoning my cuffs.
Kayla’s glassy, unfocused gaze instantly sharpens at my tone, and she scrambles to comply. She strips off all her clothes.
“I want you in the hose and heels,” I say gruffly, my dick already hard again remembering how hot she looked last night in them.
I don’t undress because that’s how we roll—her naked; me clothed, for as long as possible. It helps set the power dynamic. She’s my slave. Undressed for my eyes. Naked in every way to me. Right down to the soft marshmallow of her soul.
She crawls up on the bed in her black thigh-highs and stilettos and kneels in the center of it, hands face up on her thighs, awaiting instruction. I let my gaze roam over the beautiful picture she makes. The pose. Her tight little body. Her youthful tits with the pale peach nipples that stiffen at my slightest touch. I memorize it all for when I’m away from her. I’ll fuck my fist all week remembering all the beautiful ways she submitted to me during our time together.
