by Monica James
With two fingers, he begins to pumps in and out of me wildly as his thumb rubs over my inflamed core. The combination is a delicious evil, and I bite down on my lip to stop myself from asking for more.
After tonight, you’d think I’d shy away from being touched this way, but those advances weren’t welcome. Saint’s touches aren’t either…so why do they feel so damn good?
A burning simmers low, and I know it will only take a few more strokes before I cross the line of no return. His skill is unmeasured because I don’t remember ever feeling this way. He knows where to touch me to make this feel so good. I lose myself to the cadence of Saint thrusting those long fingers into me as he ensures I take everything he gives by pinning me between his chest and arm. I am engulfed in his signature fragrance, and I moan.
“Feel good, Aнгел?”
His hoarse voice adds to the sensation, and I cry out. But I’ll be damned if I express that to him. “No,” I manage to choke out, bucking my hips and riding his fingers.
He chuckles in response and plunges in deeply while I scream, making a liar out of me.
I am disgusted with myself, but I want to see. I want to see what he’s doing to me. With my heart in my throat, I peer downward, but nothing can prepare me for the sight before me. Saint’s fingers sink deep into my swollen, ripe sex, controlling me and bending me to how he pleases. But when he strokes over my clit, I know this is for my pleasure. He wants me to come.
I’m transfixed and lax, rocking and bouncing, chasing my release which burns every part of me.
“I told you,” Saint says with hunger, his speed almost punishing. “You behave; I reward you.”
“Oh, god…” I groan, unable to tear my eyes away from him fingering me. “Please…” I need to come. Now. I am so close. I can taste the sweet surrender. I’m racing toward the pinnacle, and I just know my release will be explosive.
He uses the arm around my waist to pin me still, reminding me this is his show. “But you don’t…”
His words are lost to my cries and breathless panting. Shame on me. “I punish you.”
I don’t understand what he means because when he pinches my clit, I see stars. But instead of continuing his assault, he withdraws his fingers and lets me go. I droop forward with a winded yelp, not understanding what just happened.
“No…please.” I was almost there.
My heart is thrashing wildly, and my breaths are jerky as I gasp for air. But I turn over my shoulder to see a nonchalant Saint place the fingers that were just inside me into his mouth. He suckles them, his gaze never leaving mine. I instantly flush the brightest crimson.
His eyes flicker briefly when he licks his fingers clean. It appears he’s just tasted the most delicious dessert. But his delight soon turns when he removes his fingers. “So this is your punishment,” he concludes while I blink.
I suddenly feel like nothing but a whore. I cover my breasts, tears stinging my eyes. “You as-asshole,” I stutter, my high soon fading.
The happy endorphins soon turn to nothing but shame.
“Yes,” he affirms with a stiff nod. “I am.” His words are contradictory to what I see, but I shove that aside.
A tear scores my cheek, but I let it fall as it’s my scarlet letter, my mark that shows the world what an idiot I am. I allowed him to defile me, but worse still, I liked it—I wanted it. I wanted to come, and once again, Saint demonstrated that I don’t do anything unless he allows it.
I feel cheap as if I’ve just sold a small piece of my soul.
Turning back around, I lower my chin, permitting the tears to fall freely. I am nearly naked, my body flushed from Saint’s touch, but he’s denied me any pleasure as yet another lesson—Saint is my master, and I am his slave. And no matter how smart I think I am, he’s always ten steps ahead.
He leaves me alone, arms shielding my nakedness as I sob helpless tears. My body doesn’t know what to do as I want to come. And I want to cry.
I crawl over to the mattress, curling into the fetal position as the heat simmers. What I just did crashes into me, and the ring on my finger weighs heavy like a manacle around my heart. I just cheated on my husband…and I did so without a second thought.
Saint humiliated me, which is what this little exercise was all about. Yet I know he doesn’t remain unaffected…I saw the proof, the monster bulge in the front of his pants. But that doesn’t matter. I need to stop seeing him as my savior because he’s not.
I am merely a means to an end—he told me so himself. There is no happily ever after for me. And after what I just did…I don’t deserve one. Clutching the cross around my neck, I remember Saint’s words.
“I think He might make an exception for you.”
But he’s wrong. There aren’t enough Hail Marys to save my soul.
She has every right to hate me. I hate me. But touching her that way…I am in way over my head.
Day 9
HIS SMELL.
His touch.
His entire being.
It still lingers in the air. On my body. Which is why I’m huddled in the tiny shower, scrubbing my skin raw. I want to eliminate every trace of him from me, and although the water can wash away his physical touch, nothing can eradicate the damage done to my soul.
I haven’t slept a wink as I’m too afraid of dreaming. I lie on the filthy mattress, numb to everything. Kazimir brought down some things, including my change of clothes and some toiletries. Even though my back was turned, I could feel him eyeball me, as his lust has turned to hatred. If I make it off this boat alive, it’ll be a miracle. But once I arrive in Russia, I have a feeling I’ll have wished he killed me.
Saint hasn’t been down here, which is a blessing, as I can’t look at him without memories of what I did crashing into me. I don’t understand why my body responded the way it did. I can deny it all I want, but his actions aroused me. When he plunged his fingers into my body, I wanted nothing more than to come and come by his hand.
Screaming, the water mutes my pain as I slam my fist against the wall, sobbing. I have never felt more helpless than I do right now. There is no getting off this boat. Saint has ensured that. So all I can do is wait until we reach our final destination.
Switching off the water, I dry myself and slip into a blue summer dress. I have about five days’ worth of clean clothes. I wonder if that means I’ll be in Russia before then. My stomach growls, reminding me of other pressing matters—I need to eat.
Kazimir also brought down some food. Most of it is non-perishable, seeing as we don’t have a fridge. Hunting through the boxes, I decide on having some canned fruit as it’s the only thing I can stomach. I don’t want to go outside, but staying down here is beginning to give me cabin fever. So I suck it up and open the door.
The sun is bright and warm, and my skin instantly basks in the rays, desperate to thaw the chill from my bones. That feeling soon submerges, however, when I see Saint. He’s sitting on the edge of the boat, writing in what looks to be a leather-bound journal. I arch a brow as I’ve never seen him writing in a journal.
He senses my arrival and slowly lifts his chin.
He isn’t wearing his ski mask as it seems futile now. The sunshine just seems to highlight his good looks. Last night, it appears, the darkness revealed a sliver of what he’s packing because the daylight exposes just how handsome he truly is. I suddenly hate the daytime and wish I was once again shrouded by darkness.
Ignoring him, I walk up the stairs and sit as far away as possible from him. My pleasured moans echo loudly around me, reminding me of when I was putty in his hands. Turning my back to all three of my captors, I open my can of fruit and fish for a piece of pineapple with my fingers. The moment the sweetness hits my tongue, I moan low as I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
As I’m digging out a slice of peach, I’m hit with a delectable fragrance that has nothing to do with my fruit salad. I close my eyes and take three calming breaths, refusing to entertain the memories of last nigh
t as they collide into me. There is no point ignoring him as he’s proven that doesn’t work, but I refuse to be civil.
“Please go away…I’m trying to eat, and you being here is spoiling my appetite.” He has the gall to laugh. I’m thankful my back is to him as I don’t want to look at him.
“You look nice,” he says, which has me inhaling my peach. I thump on my chest, hoping to dislodge it, but nothing can extricate this heaviness he makes me feel.
“Really? I’ll be sure to never wear this again then.” My bravado is big and tall, but I’m trembling on the inside.
“Well, I do prefer you with nothing on, but this is also good.” Damn him and his smugness, and damn him for knowing what I look like without clothes.
My cheeks heat, and I instantly lose my appetite. As I attempt to stand, he places his hand around my hip, stopping me. His touch is electric, and goose bumps paint my skin. “Don’t be shy. I know you liked it,” he whispers into my ear while I hold my breath. “If you behaved…I would have allowed you to finish. But you know the rules.”
“You know nothing,” I spit, referring to many topics. “And rules? These were set without my consent. I don’t want to play your game; therefore, these rules are not ones I will ever abide by. Your boss will never make a submissive out of me because that’s what I am, right? To be his sex slave? Concubine? Whore?”
It’s the first time I’ve expressed aloud what I fear my future holds. Saint doesn’t need to reply because I know the answer. The answer I still do not know, however, is why is Saint here? What’s in it for him?
“I’m beginning to see that,” he replies, his soft scruff tickling my skin as he leans in closer over my shoulder. “But we all break, sooner or later.”
There are promise and knowledge behind his words. “You may have, but I’m a lot stronger than you think I am,” I reveal, unbending as his tepid breath bathes my flesh. “I learned that from when my mom’s boyfriend pinned me down and tried to rape me when I was fifteen.”
A sharp intake of breath escapes him, giving away his surprise as his fingers tighten around my waist.
“So you can do whatever you want to me…nothing can ever compare to my own flesh and blood turning her back on me when I needed her the most.” I have no idea why I feel the need to share my deepest, darkest secrets with him. I suppose, after last night, he destroyed a piece of me. So this is me, taking it back.
His silence is my victory.
“You can break my body. It’s only a shell. But my spirit, you will never touch. That will always belong to me. So I’m ready. Do your best. Take me to Russia and deliver me to your boss, but know that I will never stop fighting for my freedom. I will never stop trying to break free.”
I have nothing left to lose.
“Now, please let me enjoy whatever freedom I have left alone. That’s the least you can do.” This sudden bravery has left us both stunned it appears.
His hold around me loosens, and he stands. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says, leaving me winded as his heavy footsteps announce his retreat.
Only when his fragrance fades do I breathe normally again.
I wasn’t expecting that response from Saint. I never wanted his pity. So what do I want from him? That’s the million-dollar question.
I continue eating my fruit, not really tasting it as I lose myself in the vastness of the deep blue sea. Being out here confirms my problems are merely a drop in the ocean as I feel so insignificant, so small. No matter my problems, the world will continue to turn.
My thoughts as always drift to Drew. Is he okay? Even though he’s the apparent reason I’m here, bound for Russia, I still want to know how he is. He made me happy once, and I can’t help but care.
A phone ringing snaps me from my thoughts, especially when Saint’s deep voice answers the call. He’s speaking in Russian, and I get the sudden sense he’s talking to someone important. My shoulders instantly sag as I guess it’s Aleksei Popov.
Lost in Saint’s voice, I don’t notice Kazimir sneak up on me until his stench hits me. “You owe me, bitch. I was supposed to be off this boat a rich man, but I’m still here.”
“Why did you do it?” I ask, leaving crescent moons into my palms as I clench my fists.
“Because your ass is worth a lot of money.”
I was right. “So you sold me to some other asshole?”
His callous chuckle has my hair standing on end. “Yes. I did. But now I look like an idiot. Luckily, I have plan B.”
“What?” My stomach drops. Plan B? I don’t know what frightens me more—Russia or plan B.
My speech now seems obsolete because it appears I don’t know my enemy at all. The unknown is all the more daunting.
“You will never see Russia, so don’t you worry. I’ll do you a favor. Boss will destroy you, just as he did Saint’s…”
But Kazimir never gets to finish his sentence as Saint’s sharp voice cracks through the air. “Kazimir, enough talking!”
I dare not turn over my shoulder. Saint’s furious tone scares me. Kazimir grumbles under his breath, clearly annoyed with constantly being told what to do. He and Saint are fighting for top dog position, which means if plan B is in motion, Saint is in danger. And I am certain this time, Kazimir will ensure he doesn’t fail.
Better the devil you know is the saying that seems fitting in my circumstances. Although Saint intends to deliver me to Popov, I know in some sense what’s headed my way. But the men who worked with Kazimir, they were inhuman, and if they are an indication of what my future entails, I would rather die right now.
Saint and Kazimir exchange harsh words in Russian before I hear Kazimir slowly rise. I’m waiting for a war of words, but Kazimir knows his time will come and soon. The fruit I just ate threatens to come back up, so I quickly bend forward, poised to throw up over the edge of the boat.
My raw stomach refuses to give up the small meal I consumed, however, and eventually, the sickness subsides.
“Boss will destroy you, just as he did Saint’s…” Just as he did Saint’s what?
“Go back downstairs.” Saint’s command jolts me. Just as I’m about to protest, he reveals this isn’t up for discussion. “There’s a storm coming.”
I’m about to scoff, but as I shield my eyes from the sun with my hand, I see that on the horizon, the sky looks punishing. I don’t fancy being up here when that happens, so I stand and turn around. Saint is a few feet away, and when we lock eyes, the yearning I felt last night hits.
The sunlight draws out the lighter blond strands of his hair, contrasting the darker shade. It’s kicked to the high heavens, and the reason that it is, is revealed when he runs his fingers through it. The bright sun highlights the golden swirls in his eyes and somehow seems to emphasize the pinkness to his supple lips.
I’m quick to snap myself from staring for too long and hurriedly push past him, muting my whimpers when I accidentally brush too close to him. What has me almost tripping over my own feet, however, is that I could swear a similar sound slips past his lips.
I don’t allow it to come to fruition because that’s just ridiculous.
The moment I’m in the galley, I inhale deeply as my heart races wildly. I instantly slump onto the mattress, drawing my knees to my chest as I bow my head and cradle my brow. Ironic that a storm is coming because I can’t help but feel a tempest is brewing within.
A thunderclap pierces the punishing sky, the sharp flash of lightning illuminating my small haven below. We sailed into rough waters about two hours ago. I thought it would get better, but it hasn’t. As the boat rocks from side to side, I press my back to the wall and take three deep breaths.
The howl from the punishing wind wails loudly, adding to the already unsettled vibe. Saint wasn’t kidding when he said a storm was coming. But this kind of feels like a monster storm as the mammoth waves can be heard smashing against our small boat. I yelp and curl myself into a smaller ball when the crack of a thunderbolt sounds like the w
hip of God.
The door suddenly heaves opens, and a gust of wind yowls down the stairs. Turning my cheek, I see a sopping wet Saint fighting with the door to close it. He’s wrestling with the wind and the rain, but he finally wins.
He bounces down the stairs, shaking the raindrops from his snarled hair. It’s futile, however, because he is drenched. When he sees me huddled on the mattress, he stops in his tracks. It seems like he wants to ask me if I’m okay, but that would be a ridiculous and pointless question to ask.
I watch as he crosses the room in three large steps and heads into the bathroom. A small brown towel hangs from a hook, and he reaches for it, running it over his hair, face, and back of his neck. His long-sleeved shirt is soaked and clings to him like a second skin. It’s difficult not to notice his rippling muscles and well-defined physique.
However, when he grips the edge of his shirt and tears it over his head, it’s impossible not to admire that hard body in the flesh. His skin is slick and bronzed, and when he rubs the towel over his chest and abs, I’m transfixed by the way his hypnotic six-pack undulates. His obliques are firm and toned, adding to the muscled ecstasy.
I instantly turn my cheek, though, as I hate this response I have to him.
There is no mistaking him stepping out of his soggy boots, and when I hear his belt buckle and pants hit the floor, a shiver passes over me. Curiosity wins out in the end, and I sneak a peek, gasping when I see him standing in nothing but black boxer briefs.
He is drying himself off, and a simple chore shouldn’t be able to elicit this response from me, but it does. I suddenly get hot. His legs are lean, muscled, but it’s the impressive bulge which has me biting my lip to stifle my approval.
Once he’s dry, he enters the room, and I quickly turn away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me look at him without disgust. I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I hear him unfasten a bag and the rustle of clothes alerts me to him hunting for something to wear.