by SR Jones
Her bathroom is crazy. She’s got an antique, gold effect freestanding bathtub fitted into the alcove. Shelves above it to one side on the wall contain a variety of dangling potted plants. Directly above the tub, on the sloping ceiling of the alcove are a huge pair of faded gold angel wings. Her sink has vintage black and rose gold taps. The whole thing is stunning, I must admit. It has a faded opulence that suits the house well.
My bathroom is modern: huge white freestanding tub, double granite sink, walk-in shower, and a simple black stand for towels.
Tomorrow, I’ll need to check in with Allyov to make sure he doesn’t need anything before I arrange to go visit Reece.
Weary, fed up, and sick of this life in a way I don’t normally feel, I strip off my clothes and fold them over the sturdy leather armchair in the corner of the room. Naked, I stride to the bathroom and turn the shower controller until steaming hot water is pounding out of the large showerhead.
If I could walk away, I would. But to do what? This, my slow vengeance on the mob, is all I know. Only Allyov is off limits to me because he’s useful, and he never hurt anyone of mine. The other’s, I’ll take them out for the sheer hell of it.
I don’t go after poor fucks who haven’t paid their dues like a lot of muscle for the mob does. Allyov doesn’t do shit like that. He doesn’t shake down small, regular businesses. Doesn’t need to. He’s into the big stuff: running guns, drugs, and money. Anyone involved with Allyov isn’t clean. They aren’t innocent families being shaken down, and it’s one of the reasons I like working for him. I know I'm not aiding and abetting harming ordinary folk.
You get a visit from the likes of me, and you’re already so covered in sin, you stink of it.
Stepping into the shower, I groan as the hot water pelts down on my back, on my aching neck and shoulders. I’ve been holding a lot more tension in my body than usual, since being given my gift.
Partly because the whole thing has disturbed me, but partly because I want her. It’s a constant drumbeat under my skin, a tingling need that never goes away. One look, one whiff of her delicious, light scent, and all I want to do is crawl between her creamy thighs and drown in her.
I wonder what she tastes like there, between her legs. What she smells like. The sounds she makes as she comes undone.
Fuck, the fleeting relaxing vibe disappears as my thoughts wind me up anew.
I’m hard as a rock. I could call one of my fuck buddies. Take a drive, but I’m not leaving Violet alone, and somehow the thought of either of my female friends leaves me cold right now. It’s not good. I can’t get attached to Violet, and I can’t and won’t take her.
If I could though, if I had her in this shower with me…
I’d lift her up and wrap her legs around me, push her against the wall as I fucked into her. At first, I’d take my time. Take it slow, let her get used to me. Rubbing her clit with my thumb as I fuck into her, I’d kiss the water from her neck, her face, her lips.
As I let the fantasy unfold, I begin to stroke my dick. I pour some of my extortionately expensive, hand-blended, shower lotion into my palm and slick my dick up some more.
Closing my eyes, my fantasy changes to one of Violet on her knees in front of me in my bedroom. She’s taking me in her mouth, her lips already puffy from where I’ve kissed her hard and wet. She’s not the best technique wise because she’s new to all this, but I love showing her what to do, teaching her to take my cock.
I wrap her long, silky hair around my fist and tell her she’s such a good girl, and she flushes, looking up at me with those deep purple-blue eyes of hers.
Just like that, with the thought of those big eyes staring at me as she swallows my cock, I come. I splatter the tiles in front of me with six shots before I’m done.
Fuck.
It’s good, and it takes the edge off, but it’s nothing like I imagine the real thing would be. Since when did I become the kind of guy to lust over a girl he couldn’t have? I take what I want, always have. I don’t find it hard to get women.
Violet is attracted to me, I think. A little. I remember the times I saw her staring at me in the restaurant, before she’d look away, all nervous and shy.
I put it down to her being the quiet type, until I looked closer and noticed the makeup she used to appear less attractive than she truly is.
Once more, my mind ends up on the treadmill of thoughts about who she is. My only option, other than interrogating her, which I’ve already ruled out as being way over the line of my vow, is to investigate her.
In the next few days, I’m going to visit Reece. I’ll mostly likely have to take Violet with me as I don’t want to leave her alone. The thought makes me nervous Reece doesn’t miss much, but not as nervous as leaving her alone.
Toweling off, I brush my teeth and take a piss before heading into the bedroom. I usually sleep naked, but tonight I put on loose, checked Armani lounge pants. If I must get up in the night to go investigate any problems, it’s best not to be naked.
Not that I’m expecting any problems. It’s my total bolt hole from the world. I don’t want it tainted with that life.
I stop short. Violet’s a part of that life, isn’t she? Yet, I brought her here. I told myself it was to keep her safe, but I’ve never let people here I don’t trust.
Maybe, I’ve let a trojan horse into my private space.
Thinking about her sleeping next door, her long hair laid out over the pillow, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Chapter 8
Violet
I can’t sleep.
I’m in insomniac hell but within a slice of pure heaven. This room is the bomb!
The whole damn house is. It’s the most luxurious place I’ve ever seen. The bed is a four poster, for God’s sake. It’s old-fashioned looking, but the comfort levels tell me it must be new and simply looks rustic. Or at least the mattress is new. The bed is made of a dark, rich wood which matches the wood paneling on the walls. It’s decorated with red bedding and gold braiding on the pillows and comforter. There’s a Chesterfield sofa by the window, in a rich leather that matches the wood in the room beautifully.
There are lamps dotted around, and they are stunning with heavy brass bases and shaded in gold beading that drapes softly over the light like heavy curtains. The light peeks through in a shimmering waterfall of golden color.
It’s gorgeous and heavenly, and I’m trapped here.
I’m so angry right now at Aliya for going off to volunteer in the bloody middle of nowhere because I need to talk to someone so much it hurts. Not that I have a phone. When Andrius gave me my belongings back, he didn’t give me my phone. He also didn’t give me my old iPad. However, he gave me a Kindle, a brand new one, and it’s loaded with books. There are so many my mind boggled when I looked.
At first, I thought he’d bought me a Kindle and simply synced it with his account, but I realized it wasn’t the case when I looked at the titles. He’d put romances on there, and classics, all of Austen’s works, and he must have done it at some point today after our chat on the way here.
A small part of me thinks it might be nice to simply give in to this. To become his little pet, living here without any free will but with a ton of luxury. Life isn’t going to be easy for me. I don’t have much money, no family, and one friend.
I’m not stupid, but missing lots of my education when my family was killed, and Dad uprooted me from my home, affected my education. I could train to become a veterinary nurse, but I know the pay isn’t great.
I’d been hoping one day I’d meet a nice boy, someone normal, and we’d pool our limited salaries and maybe rent somewhere and perhaps one day be able to afford to buy.
Being the property of Andrius would mean I’d get to live in this amazing house, with a Kindle full of more books than I could read in a year, while I wasted away my days lazing by the pool in the summer, and wrapped up warm reading by a window in the winter.
Would it be so bad?
I s
hake my head at my stupidity. Of course, it would be bad. A bird in a gilded cage is still in a cage for God’s sake. And a pet is reliant on its master to be kind. To be good. Your life is only as good as the life you get given. No one wants that. Not even me in my weak moments.
Not that it’s on offer anyway. I don’t know what the hell is going on exactly, but it’s clear Andrius isn’t going to make me his. I’m here for now, because there’s nowhere else for me to go and be safe, and because if he lets me go it makes him look suspicious to his bosses.
He said it himself, I am a wrench in the works.
Not a guest. Maybe not even a prisoner. Shit … I’m an inconvenience.
For him.
Nothing more.
The thought makes me sick to my stomach because it puts me in danger. If I’m only an inconvenience, at what point will he decide enough is enough and either throw me out or give me back to Allyov?
He said he wanted me though, didn’t he?
I ignore the heat blooming on my skin at the thought of those words, and try instead to logically analyze my situation. He wants me, but he won’t have me because of his code.
It’s not as if I don’t lust after him in return. He’s horribly attractive to me in a way I don’t want but seem powerless to stop.
If I acted on it, let him have his wicked way with me, while I had mine with him, would I no longer be an inconvenience? Would I become someone worth guarding for reasons other than a shaky moral code?
I sigh and head to the bathroom where my toiletries have been placed on thick glass shelves above a large, oval white sink perched on a marble-topped wooden plinth. Even the damn bathrooms are straight out of a home décor magazine for the insanely wealthy.
The taps are beautiful and elegant. The bath is too, built into a corner of the room; it’s huge. For a moment, I consider having a soak, but I’m so exhausted, I know I’ll fall asleep in it and wake with a crick in my neck.
Or worse, partially drown myself and make Andrius and Justina think I’m attempting suicide again.
I take another pee and head back to bed hoping I can now sleep some. I stare at it and shake my head before climbing in with a yawn. I have turned the glitzy floor lamps off, but the small bedside lamp remains on, and I leave it that way. I’m way too spooked and freaked out to sleep in the dark.
As it turns out, I still can’t sleep at all. I lay awake, mind racing, too tired to read or do anything to distract myself, too wired to sleep. It’s the most horrible feeling.
Finally, by thinking about how I’d decorate this place if I owned it, I start to drift off in what must be the late early hours.
“Ni.” The word is shouted. A sound that rings out in the house and makes the hair on my nape stand on end.
It means no in Ukrainian. Another of the words of my native language I remember. I can recall certain phrases. Swear words, weirdly … how to count to ten, and a few basics like yes, no, please, thank you, how much. The rest of it is gone, lost to my childhood.
Once more the word rings out; it’s Andrius saying it, his deep voice clear to me despite the thick wall and doors between us. It sounds odd though, as if a child is speaking with the voice of a grown man.
Crap, what do I do? I should ignore it, wait for the nightmare or whatever it is that’s consuming Andrius to pass. Maybe Justina will hear, although she’s another floor above us. Still, the way he’s shouting, the sound must carry. There is silence, and I sigh in relief, snuggling down into the sheets.
“No. Don’t fucking touch her.” This time the words are uttered in a deep, guttural English.
“Ni. Nye.” Two more variations of no, both in Ukrainian.
Oh God, I can’t leave him trapped in what clearly is an awful nightmare.
Is my door open? He said he wouldn’t lock me in here, but what if he did? I can try though.
I push the sheets back and climb out of the high, opulent bed. It’s like something out of the Princess and the Pea. A fairy-tale I used to love.
Reaching the door to my room, I test it and see it’s not locked. I open it, step out into the corridor, and with my heart picking up speed, hurry to Andrius’ room.
He’s not shouting now, but I hear a low groan, so I turn the handle and am surprised when it opens. He didn’t lock his door, either. Which, considering he thinks I may be here to spy on him, surprises me.
Stepping into the room, I pause and stare for a moment. The curtains are open, and a bright stream of moonlight illuminates the room well enough for me to see by. Andrius is tangled in his sheets. One arm is thrown up over his head on the pillow, the other on his stomach. He’s laid on his back, and the sheets are around his hips.
One leg is straight out, I can make out the shape of it easily under the thin white cotton sheet, while the other is crooked at an angle and has bedding wrapped around it.
He’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him. Power, symmetry, all in perfect ratios that make my hands itch to pick up a charcoal pencil and begin to draw him.
His head thrashes side to side, taking me out of my momentary stupor. A fine sheen of perspiration covers his skin, and his forehead is creased in a deep frown.
Crap, what do I do? I should wake him, but what if he’s angry at me for violating his privacy? I’m torn between the healthy fear I feel for this man, and my desire not to see him suffer any longer in the horrible nightmare he seems to be inhabiting.
“Andrius?” I approach the bed cautiously. “Andrius?”
He doesn’t wake, but me speaking seems to reach him deep in his dream land because he raises his other arm above his head and parts his lips.
“Anastasia,” he says.
“Andrius.” I shake him, one hand on his shoulder, a quick hard shake before saying, “Wake up.”
One moment I’m stood looking down at him, the next the world tilts, and I cry out as I spin through the air to find myself on my back in the bed, a huge male body towering over me.
Andrius has one hand on my upper arm, the other is wrapped around my throat, and oh, God, I can’t breathe.
His chest heaves and his eyes glitter in the moonlight as he stares at me. At first there is cold, dead murder in his gaze; the next it’s as if a shutter opens and his soul comes back online.
“Fuck.” His hand on my throat loosens immediately, although he doesn’t let go.
He’s still breathing fast, as am I now that I can suck in air.
“Christ, Violet.” His deep voice brushes over me. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m fine, you didn’t hurt me.”
Scared the crap out of me, maybe, but not actually hurt me.
He blinks at me and frowns. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“You had a nightmare,” I tell him. “It sounded awful. I wanted to wake you up.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“I could have hurt you.”
“You didn’t though; I’m okay.”
There’s this look in his eyes, something akin to sorrow. A loss so deep and profound, I figure it must be to do with his dream. There’s also an edge of fear. And I’ve never seen him look scared before.
“I could have killed you, Jesus.”
“You didn’t hurt me, Andrius.”
We’re still laid with him on top of me. One hand on my upper arm, the other wrapped loosely around my throat. I’m so vulnerable like this. He’s big, hard, and strong. He could snap my neck in one sudden move.
But he’s the one who looks like he’s about to fall apart. I realize I’m seeing inside to the Andrius he keeps locked down. I’m getting a glimpse of the real him, the man with all the messy human emotions we carry with us. He does a damn good job of hiding it, but right now, sleep dazed and dream hungover, he isn’t wearing his mask.
Unable to stop myself, despite knowing it’s not my place, and knowing it’s a monumentally stupid thing to do, I reach out with a shaking hand and place it in the middle of his chest, between his
pecs.
“I’m okay. It’s okay.” I’m soothing a fucking hitman. A man strong enough to kill me with one twist of his hand on my neck. I must be insane.
He drops his head to look at where my hand rests on his chest, and when he lifts his gaze to me, there’s a hunger there. It’s not desire though, or not only desire; it’s as if he wants something else, this connection. A moment between two human beings with their guards down.
“Christ, Violet.”
It’s the only warning I get before his lips crash down on mine. He kisses me like he’s not had a woman in years. My body responds immediately. I give a moan, and he takes advantage, pushing his way in, savoring me, letting me taste him. And he tastes glorious, minty, fresh, and underneath it something dark and delicious. Something purely Andrius.
I tumble into the kiss, farther into this weird fairy-tale I’ve entered. God, if I am Alice in this story, then I am truly down the rabbit hole.
The hand around my throat caresses my neck, the one around my upper arm sweeps down to my wrist, to my hand where he holds it.
There’s something shockingly intimate about him holding my hand in his big one.
I arch up into him, pressing myself against him, loving the feel of his solidity. His strength.
My nipples are hard and aching, rubbing against the thin cotton of my top, and I can feel his hard length against my leg.
As suddenly as it began, the kiss stops. Andrius pulls back, and he’s panting once more as he looks down at me.
He shakes his head. “Violet, go back to your room.”
“What?”
I’m shocked. I thought we were going somewhere with this. Maybe not sex, but a hot make-out session, possibly.
“You’re a virgin. You’re here against your will, and you are scared, confused. This is wrong. Go.” His lips twitch then, almost tipping up into a smile. “Your heart is pounding like a little rabbit. Go to your room, I’m sorry I kissed you.”
He pulls himself off me, and I’m mortified. He’s rejected me. One moment he’s kissing me, the next he’s pushing me away.