“Take your eyes off my face,” he snarled, ice dripping from his voice.
She jerked her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut. If she were braver she would continue to stare him down, show him her compassion. Show him the reason he’d taken her from the stage in Moscow and rushed her into marriage, then hunted her across the continents when she’d run from him. But a part of her still didn’t trust him not to just finish her. Wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze the life from the woman who made him feel more than he ever wanted to. Regret was hindsight, but she’d still be just as dead if she pushed him too far down that path.
With her eyes closed she was forced to feel the fullness of his finger gliding within her pussy. He added another, curling them inside her and pressing them against the front wall of her vagina. She moaned and arched against him, pressing her small, pointed breasts into his rock hard chest. He nipped at her jaw, placing stinging kisses along her flesh.
“You want to feel sorry for me, dancer?” he snarled, forcing his fingers deeper, forcing more wetness from her passage while she writhed helplessly against him, her leg still hooked high on his hip. “I love the feel of cold steel in my palm. I experience a rush when I pull the trigger and watch my target go down. I love to stalk and kill, Natasha, it is in my blood.” The last word was spoken on a growl in her ear.
She whimpered, her body climbing higher toward an orgasm even though his words made her head whirl in horror. She squeezed her eyes harder, trying to shut out his words. He bit her earlobe, drawing a sharp cry from her. He slipped his fingers from her clenching pussy and replaced them with his cock. He filled her for the first time in two years, rocking into her in one hard thrust. She cried out, digging her nails into the skin of his hand.
He spoke fast and hard, ice dripping from his hot breath as he whispered into her ear, “I knew when I married you that I would have to kill you, Natasha. That one day I would have to take the sweet, innocent light from your eyes. Watch it dim to nothing as my dancer ceased to exist in this world.”
A short scream left her lips as he pulled back and slammed into her, taking her body in long, hard thrusts that filled her tight passage completely and took her breath away. Though she was wet and her body craved his on a primitive level, it had still been years and she was so much smaller than him. His savage possession was bruising her small hips and pussy. His words were beating her up more than his fists could ever do, frightening her. Tears seeped from her eyes, soaking the pillow beneath her.
Still he spoke to her, hurling words at her, like daggers. “I was going to wait until my obsession waned. Wait until you were something less…”
A sob left her lips, though her body soared higher, a fever igniting in her blood. She shook her head, trying to shove his mouth away from her. He captured her face in a brutal hold, forcing her to watch the savage, possessive light that had taken hold within the icy depths of his soulless eyes. She tried to shake her head, deny what he was telling her without words, but he refused to release her. Not her mind and definitely not her body.
Her mouth opened in a silence scream as her body constricted in orgasm, her pussy clasping him tight as he bottomed out against her cervix. He gathered her off the bed and jerked her into his arms until she cried out from the sheer strength of his hold, as though he was shackling her with his body. Her orgasm crashed on and on, despite the bruising hold, his cock buried so deep in her body she didn’t know where she ended and he began. She sobbed in misery and ecstasy. It feels like coming home again, heaven and hell…
She writhed in his arms, pain and euphoria crashing together in a silent symphony while he stared down at her in awe of her graceful movements. His dark features were a mask of tightly held emotions warring for release, but never quite escaping the cage within his breast. Finally, as she began to drift back from the heaven she’d experienced he recaptured her wrists in a bruising hold, slammed her back into the bed and shoved her ankles over his shoulders.
Her eyelids flew open as her legs bent and he pushed his cock into her incredibly tight passage, stretching her pussy painfully. She cried out and arched her back to relieve the pressure. He leaned forward, pushing his forehead against hers, a lock of his hair falling against her face. Her eyes met his. Vulnerable clashing with satanic, and she read what he wanted her to see. He was in control of himself once more.
Tears filled her eyes as he continued to use her body, pushing himself toward his own peak, then overflowed as he spoke, his voice barely above a grunt as he continued to fuck both her body and her mind, “You would have been the same as any mark. I would have put the gun against your head and pulled the trigger… except I would have done it while you were asleep. Peaceful. Goodnight, Natasha. Do’svidanya.”
She flinched, a sob escaping her throat. As he spoke of killing her, she could feel the swelling of his cock within her body and the answering release of fluid from her own pussy, easing the tight glide of his brutal thrusts. She hated him for doing this to her. For treating her like a vessel that could be violated at his whim. Or worse, disposed of. She dug her nails into his back hard enough that she might have drawn blood. His eyes flashed fire, but not anger and he slammed his hips into her so hard she screamed out and withdrew her nails. With a final thrust he lodged himself deep against her cervix and flooded her with semen. She closed her eyes, helpless against the sensation of her husband’s seed bathing the walls of her pussy.
With eyes still tightly closed against him, she rolled her head to the side. She didn’t need to look at him to know what she would see. Possession, triumph, and, as always… ice. He had proved something to her; he owned her, body, heart and soul. She comforted herself with the thought that, while he may own her once more, she, in turn must own a piece of him as well. After all, he never pulled the trigger.
Chapter Fifteen
“What’s in this room?” Tasha asked, rattling the locked door handle.
She knew it was an entire room and not just a door that led outside because they’d been in the cabin for almost a week and David had finally let her outside during the day. She’d gotten a chance to see that the cabin extended further than she would have thought given what she’d seen of it from the inside. It was actually a fair size, for a cabin. Not that Tasha was a house snob or anything. True, when she lived with David she had come to expect the best of everything. They lived in penthouses and luxurious hotels all over the world, enjoying the best of everything. But prior to David, she’d lived in dorms with other girls near the Bolshoi. And then after David… well, after, she’d taken pretty much whatever she could get. Some of the places she had lived in had been pretty awful. Tasha knew it was a miracle she had made it as far as she had relatively unscathed. She had used her wits and instincts to keep her out of bad situations. Until David had found her again.
David was sitting at the cozy kitchen table, cleaning his guns. Not something he would ever have done around her before. Now, he didn’t seem to care if she was comfortable or not around the tools of his profession. His head was bent at an angle as he concentrated on first one gun and then the other, treating them as though they were a part of his own flesh.
Tasha shivered and maneuvered the sleeves of her long sweater to cover her hands. She wrapped her arms around her middle and dropped her eyes so she could observe him from beneath her lashes. She watched him covertly as he continued to maintenance his weapons. There were other things on the table. Bullets, knives, holsters and things she did not recognize.
Finally, when she thought he wouldn’t answer her question, his deep, accented voice penetrated the warmth of the cabin. “It was meant to be a gift, if you were obedient.”
Her eyes snapped up and she frowned. He continued to look at his weapons though. What did he mean, he was giving her a room? Like… an entire room? She didn’t understand at all. She frowned speculatively at him wondering if she should push the questions. He hadn’t been inclined to answer her questions over the past week. At best, he
treated her with indifference when she spoke to him, and at worst… she shivered as memory rushed through her.
It had happened four days ago. When she’d finally cracked under the pressure of his silence and the isolation of the cabin and begun hurling questions at him. He’d shoved his laptop aside, stalked toward her and showed her why she shouldn’t ask questions. Because he had many of his own, still unanswered. He’s pinned her down in front of the fireplace, leaving no part of her body untouched, brutalizing her with his touch and his words as he’d demanded to know each and every time a man had touched her while she was out of his sight. She’d screamed and cried, denying his accusation.
He’d called her names she hadn’t ever dreamed her adoring husband of two years ago could possibly call her. Whore. Slut. Shlyukha. Bitch. Cheat. Runaway. Such awful names! She’d denied his accusations. But he insisted he’d seen Jordan from the gym touching her body in a way he should not have. Having lustful thoughts about another man’s wife. He seemed convinced that she’d fucked Jordan, no matter how many times she assured him she had never touched another man.
He pinned her mercilessly to the floor and tortured her for hours, forcing her closer and closer to the edge of bliss, before pulling back and leaving a helpless, sobbing creature, willing to give him whatever he wanted if he would just finish her. He denied her at every turn, tormenting her naked body while she begged and cried for mercy. He sat next to her, legs bent, wearing only a pair of jeans, holding her wrists so she couldn’t ease herself.
Finally, he’d muttered, “I believe you,” before pulling her heated body against his chest for a searing kiss that she felt through to her soul. Her tears had met their lips as she’d eagerly fallen into his arms, wrapping her legs shamelessly around his hips and rocking herself into his body, squirming for friction. He’d fucked her then with his tongue, fingers and cock, giving her everything she’d needed to explode in his arms.
After that experience, she had become far more cautious when it came to drawing his attention to her. He still made love to her, but often at night, in their bed. And always with control. He seemed to struggle with the need to punish her for running from him, but whenever he did, he lost some of his hard-earned control in the process. A fact, she discovered, he despised about himself. He wanted to take his wife, keep her and punish her, with the extreme control he’d spent a lifetime cultivating.
They had spent their days in a sort of truce. Tasha would keep to herself mostly, cooking meals and staying alone in the bedroom. She was bored, but she feared retribution if she spent too much time near her stoic, watchful husband. There were several books, so she read them. She would practice her dancing, as much as she could in the enclosed space, spinning around the bed and pretending the end post was a partner. Once she caught David watching her through the doorway as she was bowing to her fake partner and then laughing at the absurdity. She thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his hard lips before he turned away.
For his part, David kept to himself, speaking very little. He would check his weapons, go over some kind of book and check his phone or laptop. Honestly, David had never been much of a talker, so this new David wasn’t such a deviation. But two years ago, Tasha would have filled up the awkward space between them with laughter and chatter. She wondered now if the noise had annoyed him, since he seemed more inclined to keep her quiet now. She found this thought bothered her. Natasha was naturally cheerful, she didn’t like their long silences. She didn’t like to think he preferred her silent.
Finally, unable to hold the questions back any longer, she asked, “I-if this room is to be a gift for me, does this mean you’ve had this cabin for a while? I don’t really understand, David.”
His dark eyes flickered up from the table, taking in her petite form clad in the leggings and sweater he had provided for her. “You do not need to understand,” he grunted.
She frowned a little and tried to convince herself now would be a good time to stop talking if she didn’t want to find herself punished. David’s patience for her seemed to be thin at best these days. She eyed his gun with trepidation, but boredom and curiosity created a deadly combination that convinced her to plow on. “But you seem to have been set up for the most part when we arrived, except for a few food supplies. How long have you been in Canada, David?”
“Leave it alone,” he snapped, slapping a metal cylinder against the wood grain of the table.
“Pozhaluysta, David,” she whispered, reverting to the language of their birth as she pleaded with him, her light eyes caressing his face. “Won’t you tell me what is beyond the door? How do you come to have a gift for me all the way up here in the Canadian Rockies? Help me understand, muzh.”
Perhaps it was hearing her refer to him as husband in their shared language for the first time in two years that finally broke through his resolve or maybe it was the constant boredom he was subjecting her to, but with an annoyed sigh, he finally pushed himself back from the table. Tasha stepped quickly back when he stalked toward her, fearful that she’d brought his wrath down upon her head with her sudden willfulness. He simply stepped up next to her, extracting a key from high up on the kitchen cabinet.
His dark eyes met and held hers for several seconds as he unlocked the door and shoved it open. A cold rush of air met them causing her to shiver from head to foot. She stepped back instinctively, but he caught her arm and swung her forward into the room. She flinched, half afraid it might be some kind of terrible sex dungeon. He reached past her and flicked a light on. Her eyes widened and a gasp flew past her lips.
David’s hand fell from her arm and he turned to stalk away from her. She whirled on the spot, catching his wrist before he could leave. He paused in the threshold. She turned wide, confused eyes up to him. “B-but I don’t understand?”
“You have said this already,” he said coldly, turning away.
She knew he could turn on her at any moment, but she needed answers too much to care. She gripped his wrist harder and stepped into him, pressing her small body against his. He stiffened as her curves fit into him from chest to hips to thighs. His hard muscles clenched in reaction as her softness yielded and pressed against him. She brought her hand up hesitantly and placed it against the curve of his incredibly hard pectoral, tracing the muscle over top of his shirt. His eyes flashed a warning that she didn’t heed. She already knew she was treading dangerous ground.
Finally, she tilted her head back, her dark hair sliding across her shoulders, some of the strands catching against the soft fabric of her pink sweater. She raised her lashes and met his eyes defiantly, praying she wouldn’t find herself stripped and beaten within seconds of receiving this incredible gift. She licked her lips and asked softly, “You said you were going to kill me. Y-you had the gun… you shot out a mirror over my head. But, then… how can this be?”
Her eyes flickered in pain and fear as she remembered the glass shattering around her and the anger in his eyes when he realized he couldn’t bring himself to kill his wife. He’d been so close to doing it. She knew he had been close to killing her. Yet, this… gift told her otherwise. Didn’t it? “You were going to kill me, weren’t you?” she whispered.
“Da,” he confirmed her words, his voice emotionless.
Her eyes flicked past his broad shoulders to the room beyond. The perfect replica of a ballet studio. It was long with hard wood floors, mirrors on two walls and windows along a third wall. A bar was set along one wall with another free bar set off to the side. She saw a stack of mats and small weights off to the side. Everything she would need for dancing and workouts. Even the light rose hue of the walls was her favourite colour.
She realized that he was watching her as she studied the room. He was taking in every nuance of her emotions as they flitted across her face, as though they were somehow precious. When she looked up at him, he was unable to hide the hunger in his gaze before slamming the shutters down. He wanted to see her surprise and her happiness. For that, she found herse
lf wanting to give him something for the first time since he’d hunted her down and forced her back into his life.
“David, it is so beautiful,” she whispered, squeezing his arm where she held it. “Spasibo.”
“You are welcome, Natasha,” he said softly, shifting his eyes away from her.
She frowned, eyeing the room once more. She shook her head in consternation. “But it would have taken time to build something like this! I simply don’t understand. If you never intended for me to live, then why build a dance studio?”
He took her arms in a hard grip so suddenly that Natasha feared he was about to attack her. He shoved her back, further into the room before letting her go. She stumbled and almost fell. Shocked, she watched as he stepped back out the door and snarled, “You do not need to understand.”
He slammed the door shut and locked it with her inside.
Natasha stood staring at the door for almost a full minute with open-mouthed astonishment. She knew she should probably be frightened. David killed people for a living and had admitted on multiple occasions to thinking about killing her. He’d spent the past week terrorizing her. She whirled around to look at the room, her eyes caressing each detail lovingly. She knew David was supposed to get rid of her. Yet, this room and each item within, told her a different story. The man that built this room never intended to kill her.
Chapter Sixteen
Natasha enjoyed her new studio immensely. The room brought her more pleasure than almost anything else in her life ever had. It was something built especially for her. Not an expensive bauble meant to give her a brief spark of happiness, nor the applause of a thundering audience after she’d pushed herself to her very limits for their benefit. No… this was all for her. Whether he realized it or not, David had built this place to give his wife a sanctuary. By opening that door for her, he’d once more cracked her heart open.
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