I knew nothing of the man until I read about him. The diary had been locked. Why did I allow my curiosity to overrule my good sense and break that lock? I envisioned him being some middle aged, balding business man with a pot gut. Nothing could have prepared me for the tattooed gangster that ambushed me today. The man is sex on a stick. He also looks dangerous—very, fucking dangerous. Once again, my curious journalistic streak has gotten me into trouble.
It was like once I began reading, I just couldn’t stop. My imagination went into overdrive with book concepts almost immediately. My head is always full of characters and ideas and my brain went crazy when he provided me with the perfect storyline. Since I write for an edgy magazine, I’m already familiar with publishing practices so I just thought I would write a book and see how it did. I never expected it to be a best seller. That never happens to debut authors. Now I am getting offers for a sequel when I have basically stolen the man’s biography to write the first book in the series.
I never imagined him finding out. I should have known when I read about his ties with the Russian mob that he would find out about his story being released. Nothing gets past men with that kind of power. It’s like I just keep getting buried in this shit deeper and deeper and now I’m at the mercy of a killer—a man with sadistic tendencies and no mercy.
Novak
Seeing the fear in her eyes made my cock hard. I have been watching her for quite a while now. I’m a literature junkie and as soon as that book hit the New York Times bestseller list, I knew it was my story. I bought it as soon as it was released and reading it was like reading an exact copy of my diary—sneaky, little, thieving bitch. She needs to be taught a lesson and I’m just the guy to do it. The fact that she is beautiful is just icing on the cake. Subjecting her to some good, ole fashioned humiliation should put her in her place. If she was a man I would beat her ass, probably kill her. I may still do that anyway.
It didn’t take much research to find her because she is such a novice, she didn’t use a pseudonym. When I opened that book—my book—and saw her picture in the jacket, I knew I had to have her. She radiates class, a sexy, feminine, professional class, and she wears it quite well.
Images of peeling her out of that tight ass pencil skirt and bending her over her a desk, with nothing on but a garter, hose, and heels, are racing through my mind and making my loins stir again. I’m going to fuck her in more ways than one. Nobody steals from Bratva and gets away with it. I don’t care how good she looks, she owes me a lot of fucking money and I have every intention of collecting that debt from between those sweet, long ass legs of hers.
Chapter Three
Katrina
I collapse in my chair and try to gather my wits as I reach for the diary I have hidden away in my locked desk drawer. I can’t resist cracking it open to sneak another peek. Its pages lure me in like some dark, forbidden secret I can’t get enough of. My sex life has been nonexistent for the last two years and this is the first time I can even remember feeling aroused in what seems like forever. I have even gone so far as to earmark my favorite parts. I open the clasp, which I now keep unlocked, and I begin to read…
I eyed my helpless, little victim who lied in my bed, vulnerable and restrained.
I subdued her with rope and placed a large ball gag between her pristine, red lips.
I toyed with that girl well into the night, driving her to the brink of insanity.
She was so beautiful, begging and pleading with her eyes as she emitted those unintelligible moans from behind that gag. Her body moved sensually, performing a beautiful dance in my ropes.
I left her restrained, with just enough give to allow her body to thrash around so that I could watch her aimlessly struggle for my pleasure.
You see…this is one of my favorite things to do. To take an uptight woman and turn her into my slut is exhilarating.
My most favorite thing to do, though, is to take a professional, alpha female and bring her under my rule. The ultimate sexual high for me is to have a woman who is in control and running things by day, come home and be submissive to me by night, and I do mean submissive. Complete and utter control is what I crave, and I want it from a woman who is powerful and doesn’t relinquish that power to any man but me.
I love taking a woman who is independent, confident, and doesn’t submit to any other man and turning her into a devoted sex slave.
Yes… I love knowing that a self-assured, self-made woman submits to no other man, yet she bows at my feet, wearing my collar and hooked to my leash.
I shut the diary and sigh, knowing this is going to be fun for him and he has every intention of reveling in it.
Maybe I can just act docile and he will lose interest in me. I know that is not going to happen though; I have too much of a temper for that. The minute he crosses me, I will let him have it and the battle will ensue. It is just the way I am wired. I am not the kind of girl to just cower before a man. No, that is never, ever, going to happen. I will just have to hang on tight because I have a feeling I am in for the ride of my life. I don’t need the diary to know this man enjoys taking what he wants. He relished trying to intimidate me in my office. He was feeding off the fear and uncertainty he was causing in me when he had me backed into that wall.
The man likes control and the fact that he is a mobster tells me that he not only likes it, he needs to maintain it. He has every intention of not only teaching me a lesson, but sending a message to others by doing so.
The question is, why is there a part of me that is turned on by the thought? He isn’t the kind of guy I would normally ever date. I date straight-laced professionals. He may wear a professional suit, but underneath that white-collar attire, he’s a dangerous thug. Why the hell did I get myself into this? No amount of money is worth being indebted to a man who kills people for a living. No matter how much I toss things around in my mind, I can’t think of any way out of this horrible situation. There just doesn’t seem to be a way to successfully escape him.
The only thing I can do is go to his home, face the music, and hope I can talk some sense into him. Maybe I can reason with him and appeal to his business sense by offering to pay him a percentage of the book sales. I can only hope so because the bottom line is… I’m at a complete loss and absolutely terrified of the man
Chapter Four
Novak
I stand at the door, watching my little victim as she drives up to my home and then remains seated in her car.
I actually think that it’s kind of funny, all of the conflict that must be going on inside her head right now.
I am just starting to wonder if the little bitch is going to chicken out when I see her take one last look in the mirror at her make-up and exit the car.
She makes her way up to my door with her head held high and exuding much more confidence than what I’m sure she has right now. I will give it to the girl; she has heart. Hell, truth be known, the chick has balls.
I open the door before she knocks and pull her in before she has the opportunity to change her mind.
I slam my hands against the wall, pinning her in against it. I take my time and slowly lean in to growl in her ear, “Strip!”
The whine of defeat that comes from her lips is absolutely delicious. I’m going to enjoy systematically breaking this woman down.
I grab her hand and lead her into my bedroom. I sit in a leather chair and command her, once more, to strip for me. I even have the nerve to tell her to do it slowly. I want to make her squirm. She needs to be humiliated not only for what she has done, but for having the audacity to do it. I’m bothered that she believes she is so entitled that she could steal from me and not suffer any consequences for it. If she were a man, I’d have put a bullet between her eyes by now.
I’m going to enjoy taking it out on her in various other sexual forms. Reminding her over and over that she is my toy is going to be fun because I know it will piss her off. There is a part of me that is glad she stole from me. I have
her right where I want her—under my thumb and in my bed. Revenge is not always best served cold.
She is so pissed off at me right now. This woman isn’t accustomed to dealing with arrogant men. She hates the fact that I’m bold enough to sit in this chair and demand she bend to my will. The defiance in her eyes only serves to stoke the fire in my loins.
“Get busy, girl. I don’t like repeating myself and when I ask you to do something, I expect you to immediately comply with my wishes. Whether you like it or not, Katrina, you’re mine. You don’t have a fucking choice. Of course, there is always jail time or a body bag. I can always sue you and ruin your reputation as an author and a reporter. Your good reputation is nothing but a false façade of innocence.” I chuckle as I allow my eyes to slowly run their way up and down her body. “You and I both know you are anything but innocent. Now, get busy and give me a show or I’m taking off my belt. I love to see a woman cry out in pain and you need discipline, you lying, little thief.”
I’m enjoying this little game already because this girl has got fire in her eyes right now. I want her to fight me despite knowing her resistance is futile. I enjoy when a woman struggles. Yeah, I’m fucked up like that…
Katrina
This arrogant bastard, I hate him right now! Seeing him sitting in that damn chair with that smug ass look on his face is almost more than I can handle. I want to rake my acrylic nails over his face and rip those piercings out until he bleeds.
My hand trembles as I work with the buttons on my white dress shirt. I feel a chill as it drops to the floor at my feet. I hatethis bastard right now. I unzip my skirt and let it fall.
His voice cuts through the air, “I don’t like pantyhose and the next time you wear them, I will cut them from your body and gag you with them! Do you understand me?”
“Yes” I spew, eyeing him with utter contempt.
“Yes, Sir! Say it, young lady!”
“Yes, Sir!” I hiss at him through clenched teeth.
“From now on, you will wear black, opaque thigh highs and if you wish to wear any other color, then it will be necessary to get my permission.”
My next words are out of my mouth before I can even think about them. “How long does this little arrangement last? I’m not used to asking permission for what color hose I wear for the day.”
I see a dark cloud pass over his visage and it sends a chill down my spine. I want to grab my clothing and run out the door.
“Repeat to me what I just said to you. Now, young lady!”
“I’m not permitted to wear anything but black, opaque thigh highs, unless I get permission from the great and terrible one,” I smirk.
He comes up out of the chair so fast I never see him coming. He literally grabs me by the hair and drags me, caveman style, to the bed.
In one swift move, he tosses me over his knee and commences wearing my ass out with his bare hand.
By the time he is finished, I am sobbing like a baby. That fucking hurt—badly.
He tosses me onto the bed and all but tears my hose off of me.
“Don’t you dare fucking move,” he hisses as he removes his clothes. “Look at me!”
I groan, as I look up at him and I see the smirk on his face.
“I will break you down right into submission, girl.”
He spreads my legs and bends my knees back. As if reading my mind, he speaks, “Don’t you dare close your legs. I want to see my new property, purchased and paid for in full with all that book money.”
A wave of humiliation spreads through me. It is embarrassing enough to be spread open in broad daylight, but to be so blatantly informed that I am nothing more than merchandise to him has me simultaneously cringing in mortification and shaking with rage. This guy certainly isn’t shy when it comes to sex. He is the most uninhibited person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.
The bastard eyes me and leers. He is licking his lips and staring at my pussy, purposely trying to get a rise out of me. He knows I’m humiliated and he likes it.
“You better not close those legs,” he says, as if daring me to disobey him. He is talking while he undresses and I can’t help but stare. Fuck, he looks good… and I mean rock star good. He has various tattoos that I’m sure have meaning for his allegiance to Bratva. He’s ripped from top to bottom with sinewy muscle. His cock is huge and jutting out like a pierced weapon intent on violating and doing me bodily harm. I can’t help but wonder if getting that piercing hurt.
He mounts me, using his balled fists to hold his torso up so that he can watch my face as he fucks me. He studies my every expression. The entire time, from his initial thrust that had me gasping at the size of his cock, until my eyes roll back into my head from the pleasure, he watches me. Oddly enough, the way he searches my face is making the act of fucking feel much more intimate.
The man feels so, so, so good.
I have never had a man take me like this man is taking me right now, and as badly as I want to not enjoy what he is doing to me, I can’t fight it. He is fucking me like I have never been fucked before and that cock piercing feels so damn good.
As if reading my mind, he speaks, “You like what I’m doing to you. By the time that I am done with you, you will crave my cock, girl. I’ve spent a lifetime studying women and I can pleasure you in ways you’ve never experienced. I will subject you to pain too, just because I like it and your body is mine to do with what I please. There is nothing I find more sensual than a woman’s face contorting in agony. You are mine. You have been paid for with the money you essentially stole from me. If you’re fucking anybody else, stop… or I’ll kill him.
“You will eat, drink, sleep, live, and breathe me, and no other man but me. I don’t play well with others, I don’t fucking share, and I damn sure don’t ever take no for an answer. You’re property now, my property.”
He is no longer taking me; I am offering myself to him.
“Beg me to fuck you, you little thief, you liar, you bratty, little, entitled bitch.”
“Oh fuck, please, please, please, I will do what you said. I’ll wear what you want, anything, anything, anything.” His cock feels so fucking good. The way the man is moving his hips is amazing.
“That’s it, you’ve never been worked over like this, girl,” he hisses in my ear.
The slow thrusts have now turned into a rapid succession of deep pumps and each time he bottoms out, he hits my clit. The man is going to do what no man before him has done; he is going to make me come by doing nothing but fuck me. It’s evident he knows a thing or two about the female anatomy and it looks like he has every intention of using that knowledge against me.
I scream out, promising him the moon, the stars, my very life, if only he’ll let me come. I dig my claws into his back to leave my mark. I won’t be the only person remembering this night of primal sex tomorrow; my scratches up and down his back will see to that.
This will be a night that neither of us will soon forget…
Chapter Five
Katrina
“Hey baby, you are awfully dressed up today. What do you do for a living?”
I eye the man standing next to me in the elevator. Apparently we have differing views on the appropriateness of subjecting the world to his plumber’s crack. God, it is absolutely disgusting.
He is clueless to the fact that any woman, with an ounce of self-respect, will be running in the other direction at the sight of it.
I look him directly in the eye and state, with all the sincerity I can muster, “I polish apples at the local grocery store.” I guess I could have said cucumbers, but that is a little bit tacky.
I leave him standing there, gaping, and, no doubt, wondering what the hell I just said to him.
I exit the elevator before he has a chance to gather his wits and ask me which grocery store employs me.
All eyes turn in my direction as the click clacking of my heels hits the hard floor.
It really doesn’t bother me anymore. For some
reason, I live life as if a large spotlight is positioned above my head, beckoning those around me to assess and dissect my very being.
I had been adopted as a child and the woman who had earned the title of “Mother” always told me that I had what every Hollywood star had, The It Factor.
Ironically enough, now that I’m all grown up, her words have proven true as I now grace people’s TV screens and the front pages of newspapers everywhere. I had never prepared myself for fame when I wrote that novel; it really had been a form of venting for me, even though I did it with Novak’s diary. Literature has always been an escape for me. Whether in the form of reading or writing, it offers the peace of mind I crave.
I call the man who has inserted himself in my life ‘Novak’ because it’s his Bratva name. I don’t care if he doesn’t like it. He’s a thug; he knows it and now I know it. Everybody else can call him Carl Sims but I’m not going to because I know his true nature. I guess now he knows mine too. Maybe we do deserve each other—two conniving, deceitful opportunists.
There is no danger of the fame gained from his book going to my head, and it can’t go to his because he can’t admit that it’s his story. Because of his inability to publically take credit for the book, I have more power than he thinks I do. I know for me, the media wields a double edged sword and it can cut me to ribbons, coming and going, if I don’t handle it delicately and with much respect. An author is only as good as their next book and in my other job, as a journalist, I’m only as good as my next article.
I’m also smart enough to realize that, right now, Novak has the upper hand because of his connections. Through doing research on him, I have learned that he is the cousin of the most vicious Russian mobster to date, Glazov, and I know it will take some shrewd calculation on my part to outwit him.
I make my way into my office and sit, tugging at my skirt to cover the lace at the top of the black, opaque thigh highs I’m wearing. My ass still hurts from the spanking he subjected me to so I’m not quite ready to disobey him… yet.
Novak Page 2