by Bea Paige
Ivan looks over his shoulder at the woman sitting perfectly still a few metres to his left. Her head is lowered, her hands are clasped together in her lap. She’s subdued, quiet.
“Who is this, Ivan?” I ask.
“Her name is Anne,” he responds, watching me as I remove my coat.
Even though the sound of my voice gives her cause to stiffen, she doesn’t lift her head, trusting Ivan implicitly.
I learn something valuable about Ivan in that moment. Despite what he’s told me about how he hurts women, within the confines of these four walls he treats them with the utmost care and the respect they deserve. She wouldn’t return otherwise. It makes me wonder then, why this room is the place his demon comes alive. I guess I’m about to find out.
Placing my coat over the seat of a chair next to me, I walk towards Ivan. As soon as our eyes meet, he drops his gaze.
“In this room, be as you always were, Ivan,” I say.
“Are you certain, Rose?”
“Yes. We need to see this through.”
He nods, understanding.
Beneath his tight fitting top, Ivan’s muscles tense with apprehension. Then slowly, as he raises his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes, I see the man whose past haunts him still. As we look at each other, the arrogance returns in his gaze and the darkness creeps into his soul.
I see the demon emerge.
This, this is the man I’ve been battling, unable to control himself around me without strict rules in place, and now I’ve given him permission to be the dominant man he’s always been in this space. Was that a mistake?
I guess I’m about to find out.
“I need to see, Ivan. You need to show me what happens in here.” I’m fully aware that I’ve tilted the scales of power, that we’re walking a precarious tightrope.
“Once I start, I won’t be able to stop,” he responds tightly, still holding onto the threads of his control.
I understand his fear, I do. But I’m not afraid of him and I don’t fear the demon he holds inside either. He needs to see this through if we’re going to move forward. We both do.
“Show me what happens, Ivan,” I repeat.
He looks at me for a long time, and for a minute I think he’s going to back out on our arrangement. Then he nods his head and reaches for something in his back pocket, pulling out a flick knife.
I watch in a kind of sick fascination as he pulls the blade free, the sharp point glinting in the low light of the room. Somehow, I manage to keep my face neutral, even though inside my heart is hammering and my demon is roaring. Ivan has often referred to himself as a bad man, but I know he isn’t a murderer or a sadist. This blade is used for something else.
“She used this knife to end her life, right here in this room. The stain of her blood remains here still,” he says, pointing to a darker section of wood in the middle of the floor.
I turn to look at where he’s pointing, understanding dawning… suicide. Not knowing what to say, not being able to find the words, I let him continue.
“I use it to remind myself that I was the reason Svetlana died. Every time I bring a woman in here, I add my blood to hers. A small offering to the sacrifice she made because I couldn’t love her the way she needed to be loved,” Ivan says, as he pulls up the sleeve of his top.
On his arm I see a multitude of scars, some old, some new. They crisscross his skin, his guilt and pain etched forever into his flesh, a constant reminder of the damage he caused to Svetlana, to these women, to himself. I have the same kind of scars, but none of mine are visible. Mine are wrapped inside a heart that broke the day my father murdered Roman.
“And the women?” I ask, wanting to understand why he brings them here of all places.
“I fuck these women in this room because I need to rid myself of the memory, of the pain her death caused. When I find release, I find peace, and for just a moment I’m able to convince myself Svetlana has given me her blessing.”
“But it doesn’t last,” I say.
“No.”
I nod my head, understanding the complicated man that he is. His guilt, his pleasure, his pain, his need, it’s all wrapped up in the death of his wife.
But what he wants and what he needs are two very different things.
In this room they become twisted and I need to help him unravel them. I need to show him the difference, because today, for a few hours, he did find peace when he submitted to me. I want him to find that again, more permanently this time.
“This is me, Rose. This is the man who’s responsible for his wife’s death. This is the man that takes more than he should, so he can feel something other than the monster who ruins the women he uses. I can’t be saved. For a moment today, I thought I could, but the minute you gave me permission to be the man I’ve always been I realised that I can’t be anything else. I’m not strong enough.”
Ivan drops his gaze and without flinching runs the tip of the knife over his arm. The wound is about an inch long and deep enough for his blood to run freely. A very large part of me wants to go to him, to wrap my hand around his wound and comfort him, but to do that now would be dangerous for both of us. So, instead, I watch as his blood slides from the wound and runs down his arm, dripping from his fingers onto the floor below.
“Svetlana didn’t understand what I needed, she was too pure, so I searched for it elsewhere. In the end, I broke her. I may as well have cut her wrist myself,” his voice breaks on the admission.
Behind him Anne draws in a frightened breath and as her fear takes hold, as the atmosphere turns a darker shade of black, I make a decision. Call me stupid, foolhardy even, but so help me I’m going to save this man from himself and I don’t need a stranger to help me to do that.
“You should leave,” I say to Anne.
But still she remains.
“You shouldn’t be here. This stops now.”
Anne doesn’t move. I know she’s frightened, but her loyalty to Ivan remains. She’ll only go if he tells her to. “Ivan, she needs to go.”
Ivan clenches his fists, his body shaking with anxiety, lust, fear, pain. All of it swirls around him in a dangerous storm that needs to break before he does.
“If Anne goes there’ll be only us, Rose,” he warns.
“I know what I’m doing,” I respond, stepping closer, not further away.
“Rose, I’m telling you. I won’t be able to stop. I will just take. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I understand you. Do it, Ivan. Tell her to go.”
“Anne, leave. Don’t fucking come back,” Ivan barks out.
He doesn’t even look at her. Ivan stares at me, with lust, with fear, with fucking agony.
Anne stands abruptly, relief evident on her face. She picks up her shoes and rushes towards the door. As she draws level with me I grab hold of her arm.
“What you’ve heard in here remains between us. I will come for you if any of this gets out, do you understand me?” I warn.
Anne nods her head and with one last look at Ivan, runs from the room.
Now it’s just me, Ivan, and his demons.
“Why did you send her away?”
“Because you don’t need her anymore.”
“You’ve no idea what you’ve done, Rose. You’ve unlocked the door and now my demon wants release, and he’ll take it any way he can,” Ivan growls.
“I know exactly what I’ve done,” I respond, taking a step towards him.
Ivan’s hand shoots out and he grasps me on the arm, pulling me roughly towards his body. His other arm wraps around my back as he crushes me against him. Lowering his head, he whispers in my ear.
“I have you now, Rose, and this time you won’t get away.”
Leaning back, I twist my head to face him. “This time I’m not leaving. You don’t need to run from who you are anymore and neither do I.”
For a beat we just stare into the heart of each other, then Ivan lifts me into his arms hauling me against him. He strides
over to the wall of mirrors, drops me to my feet and turns me around roughly.
“I’m not fucking running, Rose,” he growls.
I watch him in the mirror as his hands reach for the opening of my shirtdress. His fingers curl around my collar and with one quick tug he pulls apart the material, red buttons scattering across the floor like drops of blood, my own offering to the woman who took her life in this room.
I watch us both in the mirror as his hands cup my lace covered breasts. He squeezes them hard, and I feel a warm slickness as his weeping wound leaves a trail of blood over my skin.
“I can’t stop, Rose. I will devour you,” he grinds out, his gaze catching mine in the reflection.
“Tell me to stop.”
But I don’t.
I need to feel the full force of his demon, I need to stare it in the eye and then I need to rule it. It’s the only way.
Ivan’s hand lowers to my panties and his fingers seek out the warmth between my legs. He isn’t gentle, he doesn’t explore me the same way he had when I was spread wide for him on his desk earlier today. No, his fingers plunder and pillage, they spear my hot centre searching for power over me and though my insides turn to molten lava at his touch, on the outside I remain impassive, still.
It infuriates him.
“I won’t be gentle, Rose. I won’t be kind,” he bites out, yanking my torn dress from my body.
“I know that, Ivan,” I respond as my dress spills to the floor, a red puddle at my feet.
Ivan’s face darkens further as he steps away from me. I see the last reserves of self-control leaching from him. He’s trying to take it back by separating himself physically from me.
But he needs to see this through. It’s the only way.
Turning on my feet, with my back to the mirror, I face Ivan.
“Don’t be afraid. Take what you need, Ivan,” I say.
I’m offering myself up to the most dangerous parts of him. I’m giving him permission to take from me in the knowledge that he won’t break me, because I’m stronger than the demon that bares its teeth now.
I’m stronger than Svetlana who took her life in this room.
I’m stronger than the women he’s dominated in here before.
You see, in the second it takes for Ivan to rise to my bait, one truth becomes clear.
I already own him.
He’s already submitted to me, and even if he doesn’t realise it, he’s submitting to me now.
“Do it!”
Ivan throws his head back and roars. The sound is pained, animalistic. The veins on his neck protrude with the emotion, the anger, the absolute agony he feels.
I know what he's trying to do, but he won’t frighten me into submission.
I’ve stared into the eyes of a beast once before, and Ivan is nothing like that man. I had loved Roman, yes, but he was all shades of wrong. If I can survive him. I can survive this.
Ivan prowls up and down. Like a caged animal, he watches me, trying to decide whether to pounce or stalk me further. Either way, it doesn’t matter.
I’m ready for him.
“Get on your knees, Rose,” he snarls, taking a step forward.
I remain still. “No.”
“Get on your fucking knees!”
He’s trying to assert his power, to dominate, because that’s all he’s ever known until recently. But underneath it all I understand the heart of him even if he still doesn’t quite understand that himself, and because of that I allow him this last act of dominance.
“I’m going to fuck you into oblivion, Rose,” he says, ripping his t-shirt from his body.
The red length of silk I’d given him falls to the ground with his top, a splash of bright colour against the white.
“I will own you,” he continues, stalking towards me.
The tautness of his muscles and the dark smattering of chest hair has my body reacting to him. My nipples tighten, and my breath quickens, but even though the sheer manliness of Ivan has my heart beating faster, and my core clenching, I remain impassive, waiting. Even if my body betrays me, I must not submit.
I need to see this through.
“I will crawl into your soul and shred it with my own. You will never find peace with me, Rose,” he says, yanking his trousers down, the long hard length of his cock springing free from the confines.
“You don’t scare me, Ivan,” I say, with a calm self-control.
“No?”
“No.”
Ivan rushes forward, and in less than three strides he has me wrapped in his arms and pressed up against the cold mirror, my arse perched on the wooden barre. His mouth closes over my nipple, sucking hard through the thin lace of my bra. A rumble rises up his throat as my nails curl into his shoulders, but still I refuse to make a sound. Ivan’s fingers seek out the clasp behind my back and in less than a second, he’s released my breasts from the material. He moves backwards snatching the bra from my skin, then his searing hot tongue and mouth is clamped over my nipple once more.
Inside I’m a roaring wildfire, snapping and crackling with desire and need. On the outside my resolve is strong.
I will not submit.
So he tries harder.
“You will let go,” he growls, lifting me off the barre and back on my feet. He spins me around, yanks my hips back towards him and places a hand between my shoulder blades forcing me to bend forward. Instinctively, I reach for the barre, holding on.
“You are going to scream for me, Rose,” he snarls, raising his hand and slapping me hard on the arse.
I swallow the scream he’s so desperate to hear, refusing to give in.
Between my legs heat erupts as the sting fades and his fingers feather over the sensitive skin of my arse. Ivan rips my panties from my body, then drops to his knees behind me. The elastic of the waistband snaps, leaving a pink welt over my hip. That sharp pain is taken over by another as Ivan bites the round globe of my arse, then kisses the same spot, his tongue lapping at my skin.
A hard slap, followed by a light touch, followed by a bite, followed by a searing kiss.
All of it winds me up into a whirling vortex of feeling, poking my own demon. I can feel her respond in the heat of my skin and the twitch of my clit. She wants nothing more than to unleash on Ivan, but I have to see this through.
Not now, not yet.
Ivan slides his tongue up my slit in one steady motion. Then he raises his hand and slaps me again on my other arse cheek.
“You will call my name, Rose. You will kneel for me,” he says, his fingers lightly tracing over the sting.
I clamp my mouth shut on the moan that he elicits, my hands tightening around the wood as I hold on for dear life. Trying to find an anchor, to centre myself.
I will not submit.
Ivan is relentless in his pursuit to dominate, in his need to hear my cries. But I won’t give him what he wants. Not like this.
“You will scream for me, Rose,” he snarls, before forcing my legs apart and sliding between them.
Beneath me, Ivan sits on the floor facing my glistening pussy, his hands slide up the back or my legs, drawing a trail of fire from ankle to hip.
I’m so wet, so turned on, but still I make no sound. He leans back slightly, looking up at me.
“You’re strong, I’ll give you that, Rose,” he chuckles darkly before grabbing my breasts that dangle over him.
A wickedness glints in his eyes as he tugs on them, twisting my nipples. The sudden sharp pain is swallowed by intense pleasure as he suckles on them. Lightning bolts of pleasure rush to my core, but still I remain silent.
He lets go of my breast, his mouth popping open as he looks back up at me.
“So fucking beautiful, Rose. So responsive. I know you want this. I can see it in your eyes, but if you think I’ll back down, you don’t know me very well. I always get what I want, and I want your cries of pleasure, I want your tears. I want your fucking soul.”
I stare back at him, biting down on t
he moan desperate to release from my lips. I don’t respond, knowing if I were to open my mouth now, no words would come, just the pent up pleasure that’s desperate to release.
Ivan’s lips curl up in a smile.
“You won’t win this game, Rose,” he says, before closing his mouth over my other breast, sucking and licking with sheer determination to get what he wants from me.
But, I refuse to make a sound, and suddenly my silence becomes a commodity valued like no other. Ivan will work my body until he gets what he wants, but I refuse to give it to him.
He must break first, only then can I build him back up and set him free.
Chapter Thirty
Ivan
The need to own her rushes beneath my skin.
The need to carve open her chest and devour her heart burns inside my soul.
With every slap, with every lick and every touch of her velvety skin I pluck away at the petals protecting her heart.
I know she’s enjoying it. I see it in the pink flush of her skin, the clamp of her jaw, the smell of her desire and the slickness between her legs.
Yet, she battles me with her silence.
Sliding between her legs, I pull on her breasts, twisting her nipples into hard points. She clamps her lips closed, biting down on the cries of pleasure I know are bubbling in her chest.
“This isn’t a battle you can win, Rose,” I say, then bury my head in her pussy.
Her hips pull back in her need to escape, but my hands grip onto them forcing her wet heat against my mouth.
Still she remains silent.
Stubborn, beautiful, fierce. I want to own her. I need to own her. I need release. It’s like a drug I can’t satiate.
I spear her opening with my tongue, lapping at her juices. I suck on her folds, graze my teeth against her nub. I devour her, sliding my tongue up and down her length. I feast on her like she’s a meal fit for a king.