by Zoe Blake
This was the kiss that had haunted my dreams every night for the last three years.
He gave no quarter. His tongue dueled with mine as his free hand cupped my breast. He tasted of mint and tobacco and of bittersweet memories and longing. With a cry, I kissed him back, my fingers clawing at his lapel as I stretched up onto my toes. His hips ground against my own. The threatening press of his hard cock against my stomach both terrified and excited me.
This was precisely what I was worried about… this all-consuming feeling of being swallowed whole, body and soul, by him.
I pulled away, gasping for air. Clinging to him even as I yearned to be set free.
“Please,” I begged, crushing the silk of his jacket in my fists. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be the girl you want.”
Three years of independence had strengthened my sense of self and showed me what I did and didn’t want out of life. My dreams of being an artist may have been fading, but that didn’t mean it prepared me to resign myself to a life as the wife of Gregor Ivanov and nothing more. Even as an unsophisticated, immature teenager I knew I could never be the biddable accepting wife he probably wanted and expected. Someone who thought only of her husband’s needs and never of her own. Someone with no identity outside of her marriage vows. My mind ranted and raved at being put into such a tiny box for the rest of my life.
He stroked my bottom lip with his thumb. “Ty milaya malyshka. To, chto ya khochu pryamo seychas, ochen' prosto.”
I was almost startled to hear him speak Russian. It had been so long. Out of precaution, Yelena and I only spoke English, and we avoided the Russian neighborhoods in the cities we had been hiding out in, knowing the extensive reach of Gregor Ivanov and his family as well as my own.
I licked my lips, all too aware of his gaze focused on my mouth. He said what he wanted in this moment was very simple. I was afraid to ask but knew he would keep me here, imprisoned against this pillar all night if I didn’t.
Bracing myself for him to demand sex, knowing that no matter how much I may protest, in the end, my body would probably betray me. I was no match for his strength and skill.
I exhaled on a sigh and lowered my gaze before asking, “What do you want, Gregor?”
“I want you to say you were a very bad girl.”
Chapter 10
Samara
What?
“Say it. Tell me what a bad malyshka you’ve been,” he growled.
Despite my fear of him demanding more, a rush of heat pooled between my thighs at his commanding tone and sexually charged demand.
I licked my now swollen lips before responding. A low rumble emanated from deep within his chest.
This was a command, not a request and I was in no position to refuse.
“I’ve… I’ve been a very… bad girl.”
His hand slid from my jaw, over my throat and down my front. With a flick of his fingers, he undid another button. The cream lace edge of my bra peeked between the sweater folds.
“And what happens to bad girls who run away from home?”
In quick succession, he undid the two remaining buttons. Looking down, I could see the soft swells of my silk and lace covered breasts on full display.
“Please.” I wasn’t sure what I was begging for. I just knew I was dizzy and overwhelmed with fear and twisted lust.
He dipped four fingers into the waistband of my black dress pants and pulled me forward. With his superior height, my stomach pushed against his lower hips. I could feel the press of his thick cock as it grazed against the thin fabric of his suit pants.
“Answer me. What happens to bad girls who run away from home?”
Fuck this is getting out of control.
“I don’t know!” I cried out.
I had never felt so off-balance in my life. I didn’t know the rules of the game. He was in complete control of the board and all the moving pieces. All I knew was he was fucking dangerous, and I had crossed him.
Gregor pressed the brass button on my pants till it popped through the hole. Then slowly, keeping his eyes locked on mine, he lowered the zipper.
“Push them off your hips,” he commanded.
My eyes filled with tears. “Just let me go, please!”
With the tip of his index finger, he caressed the nipple on my left breast through the silk of my bra. He gently circled it till it responded to his touch, forming an erect nub. Then with his finger and thumb, he grasped it and cruelly twisted.
I rose on my toes in a futile effort to escape the pain. “Stop! Stop! It hurts!”
“Then do as you are told,” he ground out, anger making his voice tight.
I scrambled to push the pants over my slim hips, feeling both relieved and vulnerable when they hit the floor. Before releasing me, Gregor placed his foot between my open legs and dragged the pants free of my feet. I now had no real protection from him, dressed only in a pair of bra and panties with the opened sweater hanging from my shoulders.
Turning my head to the side, I let out a sob as he finally released my tortured nipple.
“Samara. Baby. I’m going to need you to concentrate and listen carefully.”
I bit my lip as I tried to focus on what he was saying.
His large hand spanned my lower back. I remembered how it felt to feel his hand there as we walked around the gallery. I should have realized then it was his subtle way of letting me know he was the one truly in control, the one moving my piece around the board.
Then his hand dipped lower, the tips of his fingers caressing my ass which was exposed because of my flimsy pair of lace thongs.
“Now, let’s try this again. What happens to bad girls who run away?” he whispered against the delicate shell of my ear.
I sniffed. “They get punished.”
“Very good, Samara.”
I felt a sick moment of pride at his praise. There was just something about the way he said my name. It sounded like spiked dark chocolate on his lips.
His fingers slid to the lower curve of my ass, before traveling back up to my lower back, then down again in a slow, rhythmic movement.
“And who’s going to punish you?”
This time, I knew better than to hesitate. “You are.”
Gregor smiled. “That’s right.”
It wasn’t a genuine smile. More like the triumphant smirk of predator the moment before he strikes and kills his prey.
His fingers dipped along the seam of my ass. He hooked two fingers in the fabric of my thong and pulled. The soft silk rubbed my cunt as he stretched it taut before snapping it back into place. I swallowed a gasp as the movement sent a jolt of awareness up my spine.
I was so lost in the chaos of my mind and body that I failed to see him raise his arm. He struck with no warning. His open palm hit the smooth cheek of my ass. The sound of skin connecting with skin reverberated throughout the open loft.
I cried as the hot sting spread over my cheek. I had never been spanked before, not even as a child.
“Shhh… malyshka, don’t cry. I just needed to make sure you fully understood the consequences of disobedience.”
Gregor ran the back of his knuckles down my cheek before sweeping the pad of his thumb over my lower lip.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Like a cobra seducing its victim.
Still, I cried.
“Now, open your mouth.”
His face was an indistinct blur. I swiped at my eyes to clear them of tears.
He smacked my ass again. In the same spot.
I howled in pain as I instinctively tried to move away from him. Gregor shifted his legs wider and leaned against me, pinning me between the wooden beam and his own muscular body, using the press of his cock as both a threat and a promise. His hands grabbed my thin wrists. Wrenching my arms upwards, he secured me with one hand. The other he returned to my face. Pressing his thumb against my tightly closed lips, he snarled, “Open. Your. Mouth.”
I
obeyed.
His thick thumb pushed between my lips. I could taste the salty tang of his skin as it slid along my tongue.
“Suck it.”
Keeping my eyes trained on him, more out of fear than anything else, I hesitantly swished my tongue over his thumb.
He pulled it back, then pushed it into my mouth again.
I groaned. I knew what he wanted me to think, to feel. He was manipulating me. Taunting me. Once more there was the threatening promise of his cock as it pushed against my stomach. This was just another test. A test of my obedience. My willingness to submit to his command.
Pulling his thumb free, he wiped my saliva off along the upper swell of my breast. I could feel it cool on my skin.
“Does my malyshka understand what will happen if she doesn’t do exactly as she is told?”
I nodded my head. There was no point in responding in any other way. This was his game, not mine. I was no longer the one in control.
“Good. Now go over there and open your present.”
At first, I didn’t understand. A present? I thought he was going to fuck me right here against this beam whether I wanted it or not, and now he’s talking about presents? The shift in topic left me feeling even more confused and disoriented. I followed his gaze. On my kitchen counter was a long, rectangular white box secured with a pale pink bow.
Stepping to the side, I glanced over my shoulder to see where I was going before taking another step back, then another. Refusing to turn my back on him, I edged my way to the counter. After one more step, I could feel the cold lip of the granite countertop at my back. Keeping a wary eye on Gregor, I pulled on the box ribbon.
Slowly, the bow unraveled. I lifted the lid and set it aside. I carefully pulled back the light pink tissue paper. Inside was a dress. Holding the shoulders between my fingers, I pulled it free of its packaging. It was a 50s inspired swing dress.
Jet black taffeta with a sweetheart neckline and a thin, baby pink belt around the trim waist. Peeking out the bottom was a matching baby pink crinoline. I had only to glance at it to know it was not only my style, it was also my size.
Fear spiked through me. There could be no doubt in my mind the only way Gregor could have known my dress size and style was if he had been watching me. The question was for how long?
Gregor slid his suit sleeve back and looked at his watch. “Samara, I have no wish to be late. Please do as you’re told and put on the dress so we can leave.”
At least he said please, I thought sardonically.
Late? Late for what?
“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on,” I demanded. The small bit of distance from his domineering presence gave me false courage.
I didn’t even have a chance to run.
Gregor reached me in two strides. Putting his hand behind my head, he fisted my hair. First, he wrenched me forward, then turned me around and forced me to bend over the low kitchen island. The dress provided a meager cushion between my naked stomach and the freezing granite top. Holding me down by my hair, Gregor spanked my ass.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The swats came in quick, brutal succession. Two on each cheek.
I screamed and kicked but could not dislodge his grip.
My skin was on fire. Every merciless touch of his palm sent shocks of pain across my whole body. This was nothing compared to the abject humiliation of being bent over and spanked like an errant child.
“What did I say about doing as you are told?”
“I will. I will. Just stop!” I begged.
Lost in my degradation, it was several moments before I realized he had stopped. Hesitantly, I rose from the countertop, hissing as the motion sent another wave of discomfort over my now heated, sensitive skin.
“And don’t let me ever hear such foul language coming from your mouth again. Cursing is a sign of coarseness, and I won’t have it.”
“Yes, sir,” I said without even thinking as I stepped into the dress.
I gasped as the stiff crinoline scraped along my punished skin. With his warm hands on my body, I held my breath. The fabric of the dress tightened around my middle as he zipped up the back.
I turned around to face him for inspection. The pink leather ballet flats I was wearing looked nice with the dress, although I wished I had high heels on. Even with a four-inch heel, my chin would still only barely reach his shoulder, but I would feel less cowed, less dominated.
After giving me an assessing look, Gregor strode across the loft to my vanity. He returned with my bottle of Coco Mademoiselle perfume.
Mesmerized, I watched as he spritzed a small amount between my breasts. Using his other hand, he ran his fingers through the scented liquid, caressing the curve of my breast before reaching behind my ear to dab. He then repeated the gesture with my other ear. By now my skin had warmed the liquid, sending a floral cloud of jasmine and white musk to enclose us.
Just as he’d done at the gallery, Gregor placed a hand on my lower back and guided me to the door. As he picked up the keys to my apartment off the floor, I caught my reflection in the hall mirror. My tousled curls looked wild, and my lips were swollen a dark cherry red. There was a high blush of color on my cheeks, and my eyes were bright with recently shed tears. If someone didn’t know any better, they would think I had just been fucked.
After motioning me over the threshold, Gregor locked the door and then pocketed my keys. Another not-so-subtle message to me about who was in charge now.
I truly was at his mercy. I didn’t even have my cell phone. I had no way of talking with Yelena.
“We should be just in time for the gala,” he said casually, as if we were on a proper date instead of him essentially kidnapping me.
Gala?
What the fuck is going on?
Chapter 11
Gregor
It had taken all my control not to pull out my cock and fuck her hard and deep the moment I had her bent over the counter. Especially with that small pink heart tattoo on her upper right ass cheek.
Christ.
I needed to stay focused around this woman.
She may have looked innocent and sweet, but I now knew better.
She was smart as a whip and cunning.
And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I found it arousing as hell.
Damn, I loved this spirited side to her… even as I seduced it into submission.
Still, I had made the mistake of thinking her biddable once and almost lost her.
I wouldn’t be making that same mistake again.
After shutting the door, I rapped my knuckles on the limo roof to signal to John, my driver for the night, to proceed. I had already given him instructions to under no circumstances lower the divider.
As the limo pulled away from the curb, I took a minute to study her, my little captured bird. She had shuffled to the opposite end of the limo and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her small ballet slipper clad feet peeking out from underneath rows and rows of pink ruffles. Since the museum gala was a formal function, I probably should have let her put on high heels, but I liked the feeling of towering over her slight form. Dominating her in every way.
She still looked younger than her years.
And vulnerable.
Fear did that to a person.
I was excellent at reading people. I knew the soft touch approach with her would never have worked. She would have seen it as a weakness. What Samara needed was a firm hand, literally.
Besides, building loyalty and trust took time and patience.
I had neither.
Fear was faster and just as effective.
I needed her to be off-balance. Needed her to not know how all the pieces were moving around the board. If she knew the complete picture, she could take advantage of the situation. Information was power. Keeping Samara fully informed was unacceptable. She would only know what I chose to tell her and no more.
I knew I was being too hard on her, but I didn’t give a damn. I was p
unishing her for the embarrassment she had caused me and my family over the last three years. It was difficult to save face with our criminal connections when we couldn’t bring two young women to heel. Fortunately, that was all over now. After tonight, word would spread that Samara Federova was in my possession… to have and to hold from this day forward till death do us part.
I flipped up the side console panel, grabbed a glass, and dropped a few ice cubes in it. Tonight's victory didn't call for cheap vodka, so I lifted the whiskey decanter and poured myself a generous portion. Savoring the warm fire as it coursed down my throat, I watched her.
How the pulse in her neck throbbed with every hesitant breath. The white of her teeth as she bit down on her full lower lip. How her fingers played with the edge of the crinoline.
The flush on her cheeks. Was it from fear or desire? Perhaps both.
“Come here,” I ordered.
Samara looked at me, her beautiful green eyes wide and bright.
“Don’t make me ask again,” I warned, keeping my voice low and controlled.
Samara swallowed nervously, unfolded her legs, and slid along the upholstered seat towards me, stopping a few feet away.
“Closer.”
I could see the hesitation in her movements as she slowly responded to my command. As her body slid further on the seat, it pushed the fabric of her skirt up higher, exposing her trim thighs. I could not help smiling when, noticing the direction of my gaze, she immediately pushed the skirt back into place.
Finally, she was within arm’s length. Without giving it much thought beyond the fact that I wanted to, I snatched her around the waist and placed her on my lap.
Her small hands balled into fists as she pushed them against my chest. One look from me and she quieted down. I liked that. Liked that we were already at the point where she would respond to non-verbal commands.
I pushed her wavy reddish-brown hair to the side and ran two fingers over her exposed shoulder, feeling her inhaled gasp as much as hearing it. The neckline of the dress was perfect on her where it gently cupped and lifted her beautiful breasts. Just enough to fill a man’s hands. From my vantage point, I could see the shadow of her cleavage, smell the musk of the perfume I had placed there not moments before.