by Zoe Blake
I huffed good-naturedly. “Blackmail.”.
Gregor walked over to the painting. “You’re making fast progress. An impressionist work?”
He surveyed the hectic brushstrokes in various shades of purple and green, with shadows of grey and white to create the illusion of light. It was odd. I should feel nervous with him looking at my work. Like most artists, I had a rather thin skin when it came to criticism, so I rarely let anyone see my work unfinished. Not that many had clamored to. My parents never gave a damn about my hobby. Yelena and Nadia had always been enthusiastic and supportive, but with Gregor it was… different. For one thing, the man actually knew about art. All this should have had me scrambling to hide the painting under a tarp, and yet I found myself eager to hear his opinion.
I nodded as I also assessed my work. “I decided to work with acrylic instead of oils like the true impressionists would have used. By adding a drying agent over a thickening agent, I will achieve the same texturized look. Plus, there is virtually no drying time.”
“Smart. This will look beautiful in our study in Washington. I know just the place. Near a window so it will catch the morning light, and I’ll have a view of it from my desk.”
There I went, tumbling down the rabbit hole again as a feeling of pride rushed over me. I needed to focus on his presumptive phrasing that my painting would hang in his other home. Not all the gushy, warm emotions which rose at the thought of him already planning on hanging a simple painting of mine in a place of honor in his home. My own parents had never done me that honor.
Shrugging, I tamped down my true feelings. “Whatever. It’s just a throwaway practice piece.”
Ignoring my defensive comment, Gregor gestured for me to sit and eat.
“Do you always do that?” he asked casually as I lifted the lid off my lunch plate.
“Do what?” I asked evasively as I paid way more attention than was necessary to unrolling my napkin.
“Downplay your talent,” he said, his voice dark and gravely. “I will not push you… for now. But just know that I know you’re lying. You’re a talented artist, Samara. Each of your paintings mean something to you. I know it, even if you won’t admit it.”
My cheeks flamed. In many ways, what he was saying now was far more intimate and soul-seeing than any of his previous scandalous comments about having sex with me, which made every word he uttered that much more dangerous.
We settled into an uneasy ceasefire as I cut into the roasted chicken Rose had made for me.
After rolling a cherry tomato around my plate for a few moments, I finally worked up the courage to ask him, “How do you know so much about art?”
“Why? Do I not seem like the type of person who can appreciate high culture?” He snatched the same tomato off my plate and ate it with a wink.
“I’m serious.”
He nodded toward my plate. “Take a bite of salad, and I’ll answer.”
Spearing a single leafy green with the prongs of my fork, I raised it to my mouth and ate it with a flourish and a cheeky smile.
“Cheater.”
“You didn’t say how big of a bite. Now answer my question.”
Without quite realizing it, I held my breath for his answer. I needed to know. Was his interest in art just a ploy, part of his scheme to get me to relax my guard under his control, or was it a glimpse into the real him?
Gregor thought for a moment as he finished chewing his bite. “My life is filled with darkness and destruction. I see the worst of human nature in all its disgusting glory on a daily basis. Art reminds me that humans are capable of creating beauty. It shows me there is some higher power out there, trying to balance the scales. I am in awe of anyone who can take a piece of canvas or wood and some globs of paint and create something that gives you a glimpse into the human mind and soul.”
I was speechless, struck by the raw honesty and intensity of his response. Somehow, I expected some machismo speech where he denied it. This man continued to confuse and intrigue me.
Clearing my throat, I risked raising my eyes to his, knowing the danger of looking deep into that cold, hypnotic gaze. “Beauty will save the world.”
He nodded. “Dostoevsky’s The Idiot. One of my favorite books.”
“Mine is Dracula.” I wasn’t sure why I offered that. We were having as close to a normal conversation as I believed either of us were capable of, and I didn’t want to ruin it.
“I know.”
My arm stopped halfway to my mouth with a piece of roasted chicken speared on my fork’s prongs. “How do you know that?”
“Same way I know you can’t cook worth a damn.”
“What? I certainly can to cook—”
“You cannot. I doubt you could even boil water.”
“So? What does—”
“By all your underlined passages in the copies you’ve left behind over the last three years, I also know your favorite book is Dracula because you're drawn to the vampire’s dark soul. Tempted by it.” His voice was low and suggestive.
I blinked. This was cutting a little too close to the bone.
“Your red lips and dresses come from your love of film noir. Your favorite film is In a Lonely Place with Humphrey Bogart.”
Dropping my fork, I folded the napkin on my lap into a tiny square. “So, you’ve learned a few random things about me, that doesn’t prove—”
His silver gaze focused on me. Reaching over, he stroked my cheek with the back of his knuckles before tucking a long curl behind my ear.
“It proves that you are not just a family name to me. I will admit that was the case at one time but hasn’t been so from the first moment I had you in my arms.”
I shook my head. “You were just playing games with me then as now,” I accused as we both remembered his Russian roulette trick.
This whole conservation had taken a disturbing turn. After years of false identities and playing pretend, it was intoxicating to believe that someone out there knew me… the real me.
“I’m not playing a game, Samara. This is far too important to me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’ll just have to show me a little faith,” he whispered as he continued to play with a lock of my hair.
“Faith, that faculty which enables us to believe things which we know to be untrue,” I responded, quoting from Dracula.
“There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.”
My heart skipped a beat as he quoted it in return. And damn him for quoting one of my favorite passages in the book.
“Whether or not you want to acknowledge it, you are in danger, Samara. You don’t get to choose who saves you. You don’t get the hero; you get the monster. Nothing and no one is going to harm you on my watch. You are mine now, which means your problems are mine to solve.”
The crazy thing was, he meant it. All I’d have to do is say the word, and he would swoop in and fix everything as if it were no more than a scrape on my knee.
I searched his face but couldn’t read his expression beyond an earnest offer of help.
Once more I was struck by the same dizzying sense of being off-balance around him.
I had to remind myself that fixing my problems was just another element of control. Control I wasn’t sure I wanted him to have - no matter how intoxicating the idea might be. He kept alluding to some kind of danger. I refused to take the bait. It was just a ploy, a game, a threat of something going bump in the night so I would run into his arms seeking protection.
Brushing off my fingers, I got up and returned to stand before the painting. “I need to get back to work.”
Though he didn’t say a word, I could feel his disappointment.
“Very well. One last surprise before I go.”
Again, he went out into the hallway and returned with a McCafe cup in his hand.
“A mocha!”
The moment I reached for it, he held it high out of my
reach.
“What do you say?” he asked playfully.
Giving him a coquettish look, I sing-songed, “Thank you.” And gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek, which surprised the both of us.
He handed me my still warm mocha and then gave me a slap on the ass as I turned back to my painting.
Once again, I had survived a round of Russian roulette with Gregor. The problem was, according to the laws of probability theory… I was running out of chances.
Chapter 22
Gregor
She feels something for me. She may hate herself for it, but it’s there.
I knew if I had reached for my belt and bent her over the closest chair, I probably could have gotten an admission out of her, but that was not how I wanted to play this. I was in it for the long haul with Samara, and in order for that to work, she had to start trusting me. I wanted her to come to the understanding on her own that I was the man who would keep her protected.
It would not happen overnight. Someone like Samara didn’t trust easily. She was also far too independent to willingly hand the reins over to someone else.
I wasn’t a patient man but I would be for a prize like Samara. I also didn’t trust easily, but I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that she was the woman for me. And I had absolutely no intention of letting her go, even if she never learned to trust me fully.
I would just have to keep proving her wrong.
She really looked adorable when she painted. Faded jeans, a little V-neck t-shirt splattered with paint, her hair up in a messy bun, and the cute way she bit her lower lip when she was concentrating.
It was late. She had already worked through dinner and into much of the night. I knew from my surveillance of her that she liked to work late into the night but that was going to change. I had spent most of the day away from her, dealing with the escalating situation with her father and the Novikoffs, and now craved her touch.
“Time’s up, malyshka. You can start on it again tomorrow.”
“I just wanted to finish her necklace. Just a few more hours,” she said without even looking up from her task.
“No.”
That got her attention.
“Listen, just because I’m a prisoner in your house doesn’t give you the right—”
I stormed over to her, careful to avoid paint splatters in my bare feet since I had changed out of my suit and was now also in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and an old long-sleeved t-shirt.
Without saying another word, I reached my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. I took complete possession of her mouth, bending her body into mine. It was a reminder of who was really in charge.
After I had her breathless, I pulled away. “Yes, it does.”
With that, I picked her up in my arms and carried her out of the studio and down the hall to the master bathroom in my suite.
Setting her down, I turned to start the shower stream. Some of the best money I ever spent was on installing a large marble shower with multiple jets at varying heights. Adjusting the water so it was hot but not too hot for her delicate skin, I turned my attention back to my adorable little artist.
“Arms up,” I commanded.
She kept her arms tightly wrapped around her middle. “You’re crazy if you think I’m getting in that shower with you!”
Placing a hand at her lower back, I pulled her forward till our bodies met. Skimming my lips over hers, I taunted, “I’ve already told you I won’t fuck you till you beg for it. What’s the matter, malyshka? Worried you’ll start screaming my name the moment you see my cock?”
“You wish,” she spat out, rising to the challenge.
Staring down into her eyes, I lifted the t-shirt over her head. I loved her eyes.
Next, I pulled the red bandana out of her hair. Her soft brown curls tumbled down past her shoulders. It was the perfect length, just long enough to wrap my fist in it.
My knuckles skimmed her stomach as I reached for the buttons of her jeans. Her quick inhale at my touch was like music.
“Step out of them.”
Kicking off her converse sneakers, she then stepped out of her jeans and panties. I reached around to unhook her silk and lace bra. Unable to resist, I leaned down to flick one dark pink nipple with my tongue. Placing my hands under her arms, I lifted her into the shower. As I undressed, I watched as the water caressed her body, making it slick and warm. By the time I stepped in to join her, my cock was already long and hard.
Her beautiful eyes skimmed over my chest and arms, careful not to slip lower. I knew she was taking in the chaotic burst of colorful tattoos which stretched across my collarbone, over my shoulders and down both arms. People could only see a hint of the amount of ink I possessed with the suits I wore.
She couldn’t mask the warring emotions of desire and fear in her gaze.
“Gregor….” she started.
I placed a finger over her lips. “Stop overthinking. Just let me take care of you. You have my word; I’ll only take this as far as you want.”
I placed the soap between my hands and rubbed till I had a nice full lather. “Close your eyes.”
The first thing I wanted to do was wash off her makeup. She looked beautiful with her liquid black eyeliner and red lipstick but I wanted to see her fresh-faced. Gently, I moved the tips of my fingers over her cheeks and eyes, memorizing the feel of each delicate feature. When I was done, I titled her head back into the jet stream to wash off the suds. Her eyes were bright with unmistakable need when she opened them again.
Taking up the soap, I lathered my hands again and started on the soft slope of her shoulders before moving down her arms, then over her flat stomach and the gentle swell of her hip. Her gaze stayed on mine as I moved my hand around to her lower back. My hand dipped over the curve of her ass. My middle finger slipped along the seam, applying subtle pressure. The tip circled the puckered ridge of her asshole. I watched as awareness flared in her eyes. Her pretty mouth opened on a gasp. I pushed in just to the first knuckle, a subtle reminder of what I still intended to do to her.
Her small hand reached up to grasp my cock, which was pressed against her stomach. My head fell back as I let out a throaty groan.
This is the first time she’s touching me willingly.
The silky grasp of her hand moved up and down my heavy shaft. I clutched at her shoulders. It was then she shifted and moved to her knees.
Her sweet, innocent face looked up at me as she opened her mouth. The wide head of my cock disappeared between her lips.
“Fuck, malyshka,” I groaned.
She released my cock and looked up at me with an impish smile. “No cursing.”
She then licked the tip before sinking her mouth around my cock again. I pushed my hand through the wet strands of her hair, as I gripped the back of her head. As she moved forward, I pulled her even closer, challenging her to swallow me deeper for longer. Her hands gripped my thighs as I watched my thick shaft disappear down her tight throat.
With a growl, I pulled her up by her shoulders and pushed her against the now warm marble wall of the shower.
Placing my hands around her narrow waist, I lifted her high. “Put your legs around me,” I growled, my voice harsh with need.
Shifting my hips, I pressed the head of my cock against her heat. Using every ounce of restraint I possessed, I forced myself to not enter her. The hot water beat against my back as I leaned into her soft curves. Reaching between our two bodies, I fisted my shaft. Using the head to tease her clit, I pumped my hand up and down the heavy length of my cock, imagining my tight grip was the clasp of her sweet cunt.
The need to enter her in one violent thrust clawed at my insides, but I ruthlessly forced it down.
I could feel her fingernails dig into my shoulders as her head rolled from side to side.
I ran my open mouth along the slim column of her throat, wanting to taste her pulse.
Her beautiful mouth moaned as the tip of my cock s
wiped over her clit again and again. Applying just enough pressure to tease, but not enough to get her off.
Rising on my toes, I pumped my hand harder until I felt my balls tighten. I threw my head back, relishing in the wave of pleasure that coursed through my veins the moment I released my seed onto her wet stomach. Knowing soon, I would do so deep inside her body.
Unwrapping her legs, I let her slowly touch the ground, but only for a moment. I immediately lifted her into my arms and carried her out of the shower. Not caring about our wet bodies, I walked into the bedroom and placed her in the middle of my bed.
Standing over her slight form, I could read every emotion on her adorable face.
“I know what you want, but you’re going to have to ask me for it.”
Samara buried her face in the pillows. “I can’t,” came her muffled response.
“Then I guess I will just get dressed,” I teased.
Her lower lip popped out as she flashed me a glare.
I shook my head. “You’ll have to ask me.”
Stubbornly, she turned her head away.
“Another minute, and I’ll make you beg for it instead of just asking,” I warned her.
I watched as pride warred with desire in the golden green depths of her eyes.
Kneeling up, her legs slightly open so I could peek at the soft curls hiding her pussy, she whispered, “I want you to—“ She stopped. I knew she was warring with herself, with her body. “—make me come,” she finished in a rush.
We both knew that wasn’t what she really wanted.
“Only if you put your face down with your ass in the air,” I commanded.
It surprised me when she did as she was told.
Kneeling behind her on the bed, I raised my hand, waiting for just a moment till a shiver of anticipation coursed down her spine. Then my hand came down on her right cheek with a resounding smack. Samara yelped and pitched forward, but quickly righted herself. I smacked the same cheek again and again before switching to the left one.