Sold To The Russian

by Isabella Laase

  Koblentz finished cleaning the damage before returning to speak in Russian. “You haven’t said what happened to bring to me what appears to be a knife wound. After hearing about you and Kuzmich today in the middle of the street, should I expect my ER to be filled to the brink with warring Russian factions every night?”

  Pavel shrugged, pointing at Zoya. “This was a domestic violence incident. My wife stabbed me when I tried to discipline her, so you’ll have to ask her if she plans to repeat the performance.”

  “I assume that you did more than try to discipline her,” he said dryly, looking over the tops of his reading glasses and holding her in place with his uncompromising glare. “But there are several policemen in our ER today if you would like me to bring one of them to press charges.”

  Without any coaching, the good doctor perfectly played his part, and Zoya withered further into her chair. Like all former citizens of the Soviet Union, Koblentz’s distrust of authority figures ran as deep as Pavel’s need to avoid the police, and both men knew it. Most Russian fears in America were spurred more by hearsay and sensationalized news accounts than actual incidents of police corruption or brutality, but maybe a little fear of American laws would teach her to mind his authority.

  “Not this time,” Pavel said nonchalantly. “If you have their card, I’ll take it for future reference, but if she ever stabs me again, it won’t be me that you’ll have to worry about in your ER.”

  By the time they’d arrived at his home, it was almost midnight, and she was exhausted. The frightening trip to the hospital had done nothing to calm her nerves, but it was her personal remorse that ultimately defeated her. She’d stabbed him. She’d drawn that blood in a battle whose goals had grown even less definitive given time to reflect.

  He changed his blood-soaked t-shirt for a soft gray one from the pile of clean laundry on the kitchen floor, dropping the ruined clothing and towels into the garbage already filled with glass and the contents of her stomach, then took the white plastic bag to the outside trash cans. From the refrigerator, he grabbed a glistening brown bottle of beer and opened the metal top with his hand, igniting the painful memory of what that palm had done to her ass.

  “Go to bed, Zoya,” he instructed with a sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without waiting for an answer, he unlocked the sliding glass door to the deck, bringing to the room the sounds and scent of the ocean as he settled in one of the big chairs facing the beach.

  The full moon sparkled off the water to place him in a small sliver of dappled light, and the breeze blew his hair in lazy circles. He drank his beer as though he was fully prepared to move on with no additional repercussions, but there was too much left unsaid to sleep. She kicked off her flip-flops to pace his kitchen, but his draw was a powerful magnet. She joined him on the deck and took the matching red chair next to him, curling her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around her calves.

  He took a long sip of his beer before speaking. “I thought I told you to go to bed. After today, I figured you’d be a better listener, at least until the sting on your ass dissipates.”

  “I… I wanted to tell you that I was really, really sorry for damaging your mother’s portrait. And for the knife, too. I… I shouldn’t have done that, hurt you, I mean.”

  “You forgot about the truck,” he said, ruefully rubbing the growing black and blue bruise on his forehead. “That one hurt, too.”

  “I’m sorry. For all of it. This isn’t who I am. I mean, the temper has been a problem from the time I was a little girl, but I wasn’t raised to hurt people. My life has just changed so dramatically over the last year that sometimes I don’t recognize myself. And I don’t cry like that either. I’m sorry.”

  “Why wouldn’t you cry?” he asked with an arched eyebrow. “That’s the second time you’ve tried to make that point. It’s a natural emotion that makes us human.”

  “No,” she stumbled. “It… it’s a sign of weakness, and I’m not a weak person.”

  “Everybody cries, Zoya. I cried when I lost my wife and my parents.” He winked at her. “But I admit that I don’t tell too many people my secret. It doesn’t exactly fit with the persona of a Russian mobster.” He paused, sending her a quizzical glance. “For somebody who spent time with my brother, you sure as hell don’t take a punishment very well. The man has had a submissive under his control since he was in his late teens, but I’ve never known him to take one who fights back the way you do.”

  “I thought you were going to kill me,” she said, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. “And I have long since been programmed to survive.” She stopped there. To discuss those few months of secret horror in Damir’s house would reopen deep wounds, but more important, it would force her to consider Pavel’s guilt in her untenable situation.

  Either way, those memories didn’t belong on a peaceful beach overlooking a moonlit ocean, but she instinctively moved her hand to her ribs as reminder of a different brother’s anger. He didn’t miss a thing. Leaning over, he took the hem of her shirt between his fingers. She attempted to push him away, but his stern gaze forced her to steady her nerves and give up her right to privacy.

  Lifting the fabric, he revealed the ugly yellow bruise on her ribs. “My brother did this, didn’t he?” asked Pavel. She nodded, and he gently traced the bruise with his fingertip, igniting an erotic response that followed the same pattern through her pussy. It felt good to be touched with such tenderness, and she took a second to enjoy the rare sensation.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been broken,” he scolded. “They’ll heal on their own, but I want you to be seen by a doctor as soon as I can arrange one. You should have told me that they were injured. Did I hurt you when I took you over my knee?”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted. “They aren’t that bad. And… and I am grateful to you for not beating me the way… the way he did. I understand that the punishment for stabbing you could have been much worse than a physical correction. You could have sent me to jail or back to Russia… to him.”

  “A man is a true coward if he overpowers a woman for the sole purpose of causing bruises and welts,” he dismissed.

  “Are you saying that you’ve never hit a woman?” she asked incredulously. He raised an eyebrow before she clarified. “I mean, you have a pretty hard-ass reputation in Damir’s eyes. I used to… he used to talk about you.”

  “With you, a good spanking achieved my goals,” he said with a shrug. “And that’s enough. But I admit that in my world, violence, or the even threat of it, is the often the key to success, and I don’t care if they are a man or a woman, an enemy or a friend. My father made sure I understood that power from the time I was a small boy.”

  He kneaded the skin along her exposed thigh, reaching toward the lingering warmth left from his punishment. “Besides,” he added with a smirk. “Why would I hurt you in places that can cause serious injury when nature has provided a perfect spot on your ass for my discipline?”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” she said, shaking her head and shifting uncomfortably away from the multiplying sensitivity that followed his every touch. “I’m a grown woman, not some child.”

  Pavel laughed, but when she didn’t join him, his expression grew serious. “There is nothing about you that acts like a submissive. How the hell did you manage Damir with all of that attitude? He doesn’t have a lot of patience.”

  “I don’t even know what a submissive is,” she said honestly. “I don’t think I am one.”

  “I guess you probably aren’t,” he said with a grin, scratching the back of his neck. “Because if you were, you truly failed at your job when you tried to stab your master. A submissive gives herself to her dominant, emotionally and physically. There are many different types of relationships, some are just one-night stands between strangers and others require a long-term, twenty-four hour a day commitment.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun for the submissive,” she replied with
disbelief, but even as she spoke, a trickling wetness stimulated her clit, awakening a million nerve endings through her channel. None of this made any sense, and she shifted a little further away from him.

  “A submissive can also gain from that relationship. By removing any of the decision making and all of the barriers, they’re open to explore their deepest sexuality from every level. Their job is to be pleased, which in turns pleases their master.”

  “I never experienced anything like that with Damir,” she said with a shudder. “It was… it was all about him.”

  “If you weren’t his submissive, then why did you allow Damir to talk you into this crazy idea of coming to America and becoming my wife? I can understand what he would gain from having you here, but what does a beautiful young woman get out of a marriage to an unknown man?”

  Answering such a direct question could never be in her best interest. “If it was such a crazy plan,” she countered, “then why did you agree to it?”

  “You might not be a trained submissive,” he said, lowering his tone. “But you know better than to answer my question with another question. Yes, I have my reasons for accepting you, but what happened to bring Damir and me to this point is none of your business. And since you’re in my care, what happened between you and him is my concern. I’ll ask you again, but don’t be fooled by my calm tone. Why are you here?”

  With all of her heart, she wanted to believe that Pavel had no idea that she’d been stolen from her home and raped for weeks while a prisoner in the expensive St. Petersburg townhouse, but on that very first day, he’d made it clear that the emerald necklace had been returned to Russia in exchange for her life, leaving his role muddied. “I saw no future in Russia,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “But in America, I thought it could be different. This agreement gave me an expensive airplane ticket and a visa.”

  In a subtle attempt to change the subject, she added, “Galena was a wonderful person to talk to. It’s been a long time since I had a friend, and I’d like to keep seeing her.”

  “I’ve already said that Galena’s family is loyal to me, so I have no objection if you move about town as long as you’re with her. Just tell me where you’re going and when you plan to be back. You were lucky to find her, but you just as easily could have met one of my enemies today. You don’t understand how complicated life is here.”

  “You mean like that man on the street today? Is he the reason your sons don’t live with you?”

  “Partly,” he admitted. “But with the right supervision, they would be just as safe here as they are with my cousin. The situation might be tense, but there is no war and nobody looks to hurt innocent children. My cousin and her husband aren’t able to have children of their own. She’s devoted to my sons and a far better parent than I am. If this summer works out, I’m planning to relocate them to Staten Island permanently. They won’t be happy about the idea, but I’ll see them every weekend. They’ll adjust.”

  “I watched an old television show this morning about a little boy and his older brother,” she said sadly. “Their life was all about baseball games and playing outdoors with their friends. Their mother cooked a big dinner for them every night that they ate in their fancy dining room with nice china and glasses, and their father was always listening to what they had to say. I thought Americans might be more like that.”

  “I’m no Ward Cleaver,” he said with another rare chuckle. “For many reasons, my sons are safer here than in Russia, but that life is just an old television fantasy. During the Cold War, Americans were struggling with racial unrest and an unpopular conflict in Vietnam. Television shows like those represented an escape where any problem could be solved in thirty minutes or less, if you avoid the hard topics.”

  “I don’t want to go back to Russia,” she said, surprising herself with the revelation. “If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I want to go back to Georgia, either. That life was hard and my mother is gone and most of my brothers and sisters have long since emigrated, but I don’t see myself staying here. It’s like I’m just lost in the middle with no idea how to move forward.” Pausing a second time, she added, “Not having any kind of a plan is a challenge for me.”

  “You’re a beautiful, sensual woman. This arrangement between us won’t last forever. In the meantime, our job is to change what we can, adapt to what we can’t, and live in the here and now.”

  “But why did you take me in the first place? If you weren’t planning on keeping me, why am I here?”

  Pavel snapped his fingers to express his displeasure. “I’ve already told you that my relationship with Damir is none of your business. You won’t bring it up again if you want to avoid another trip over my knee. Do you understand?”

  She nodded as a bank of clouds moved in front of the moon to cast long shadows across the deck. Overwhelmed by her day, she snuggled further into her chair and closed her eyes, content with the slightly crazy knowledge that, at that moment, she was safe for the first time in a very distant memory. The waves crashed against the sand with a thunderous, gentle roar, and the occasional car drove past the front of the house, temporarily disturbing their peace with intrusive headlights before leaving them to enjoy the quiet.

  His hand covered hers, sending a tingling through her core that jolted her awake. He rubbed his fingertips along the inside of her forearm before lazily winding between her breasts to tap her chin. “I am sure you understand by now that I’m only interested in one kind of woman. I demand one who understands their role and follows my instructions to the letter.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come, I want to take you into the house to explore what secrets you have hidden underneath that pretty new shirt.”

  Chapter 8

  Was her lack of refusal the same as consent? She’d been sold to this man for the price of an emerald necklace, yet here she was, blindly following her latest master into the dark living room still stained with blood from their earlier battle. Allowing him access to her body with her eyes open, willing him to take her breasts in his strong grip and perhaps rub that magical spot between her legs until she purred with delight, would represent a step from which there would be no return, but she continued at his heels with a helpless fascination for everything he had to offer.

  The open sliding glass door allowed the moonlight and salt air to reach the front room. She hadn’t been a virgin when Damir had taken her, but her experience with sex had been limited to awkward, fumbling exchanges with half-grown boys, and she had no idea what a man would expect. Looking to her basic instincts, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to explore the rigid muscles filling his soft t-shirt.

  He took both of her wrists firmly in his grasp. Turning her to face the wall, he brought her hands to the small of her back. “I have explained to you that I will be the master,” he whispered in her ear. “Your job is to do what I tell you to and enjoy yourself. I promise you an ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams, but the fine line between pain and pleasure doesn’t exist in this room. They are a single avenue used to connect all of the erotic zones in your body to create a distinct experience that is mine to give and mine to refuse. Do we agree on this simple fact?”

  Starting along her thigh, he slid his hand into her shorts, rubbing her bottom and igniting the painful reminder of his earlier chastisement to further swell her sex. After months of horror, every reasoning part of her brain told her to stop, perhaps lock herself in a bathroom and barricade the door or turn and fight him to the end, but the heat was impossible to repudiate. At that moment, his strength and power existed for her benefit, waiting to appease her arousal until she was left with nothing except her satisfaction. There was only one option, and she nodded, licking her lips.

  “Strip,” he commanded, snapping his fingers. “Show me what’s underneath that attitude of yours. There is nothing about you that would qualify as shy, so make this worth my while or it will be a long time before you earn my goodwill back.”

  Hooking her fing
er into the waist of her frayed blue jean shorts, she pulled at the snap and slid them over her bottom, capturing her panties in a single move. She kicked both of them to a puddle on the hardwood floor, but tugged at the hem of her pretty midriff top in a failed effort to cover her ass. The shirt represented her last layer of defenses before she and all of her imperfections were bared to his scrutiny, but when he arched an eyebrow in displeasure, she lifted her chin and met his gaze while stripping it over her head and dropping it to the floor with the rest of her discarded clothes.

  With a grin, he moved his hand toward her, but her first instinct was to flinch from the possibility of a slap. “Stop,” he demanded. “I’ve already made it clear that I won’t beat you. I am growing frustrated with your consistent cringing. What do I need to do to get you past this?”

  “I… I’m not afraid,” she stuttered, silently cursing herself. “I can do this.”

  He laid the soft afghan from the back of the couch on the floor. “Don’t confuse bravery with deceit. A focused fear is a healthy emotion in this room, but we both need to trust in the fact that you’ll enjoy this experience. There is a difference between a man beating you to cause broken ribs and what goes on in here. Kneel. I’ll be right back.”

  With the breeze enveloping her exposed skin, she remained on her knees while he rattled through kitchen drawers and cabinets before disappearing to the second floor. Nudity exposed an entirely new level of vulnerability that exacerbated her anxiety, but the few minutes she had on her own were vital as she tried to adjust to her newest set of circumstances.

  When he returned from the dark shadows of the entrance hall, he held a long length of soft white clothesline and a small box. “Wait,” she said, jumping away from him. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “What do you think I’m going to do?” He snapped his fingers and pointed back to the floor. “I want to keep your innocence in mind, but if you start by disobeying me, we will return to the very experience you’d like to avoid. So which one will it be? Do what you’re told, or do we begin with a punishment to put you in the correct mindset? Your pussy was wet and needy when you were over my knee, little girl. You hadn’t planned on admitting that, did you?”