by Anna Zaires
She looks up at me, and I see that her eyes are slightly reddened, as if she’s been crying. She doesn’t say anything, but I don’t expect her to. I have a strong suspicion tonight’s dinner won’t be a particularly chatty affair.
Bending down, I untie her and help her out of the armchair, ignoring the way she stiffens at my touch.
“Come. It’s getting late.” Determined to maintain control of my temper, I lead her to the bathroom.
I wait as Yulia uses the restroom, and then I bring her to the kitchen. I was hoping she’d make dinner despite being upset, but she just sits down at the table and stares straight ahead.
“All right,” I say, not letting my irritation show. “You can sit if you want. I’ll heat up some leftovers.”
She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move as I set the table and prepare everything. Luckily, the chicken and mashed potatoes she made for lunch taste great even when warmed up in the microwave.
Given Yulia’s withdrawn state, I half-expect her not to eat, but she digs into the food the moment I set the plate in front of her.
I guess her hunger is stronger than her anger with me.
We demolish the chicken in silence; then I cut us each a slice of apple pie for dessert. I’m about to put Yulia’s slice on her plate when she startles me by saying, “None for me, thanks. I’m full.”
“All right.” I conceal my pleasure at having her speak again. “Do you want any tea?”
She nods and rises to her feet. “I’ll get it.”
With those graceful, efficient movements I’ve come to know, she makes us each a cup and brings them over. Placing one cup in front of me, she sits down across the table and blows on her tea to cool it down. I do the same before taking a sip. The liquid is hot and slightly bitter, but not unpleasant. I can almost see why Yulia likes it so much.
We don’t speak as we drink our tea, but the silence doesn’t feel quite as strained as before. It gives me hope that this evening won’t be a total disaster.
When we’re done with the tea, I take care of the cleanup while Yulia sits and watches me, her expression unreadable. Does she hate me? Wish she could stab me with the nearest fork? Hope I never return from this trip?
The thought is more than a little unpleasant.
Pushing it aside, I finish wiping the counters and approach Yulia. “I arranged for two guards to watch over you in my absence,” I say. “Diego and Eduardo. You’ve already met Diego—he’s the one who carried you off the plane.”
“Yes, I remember him.” Yulia’s voice is quiet as she rises to her feet. “He seems like a decent-enough guy.”
“He is—and so is Eduardo.” I stop in front of her. “They’ll take good care of you.”
“Jail me, you mean,” she says evenly, looking up at me.
“Whatever you wish to call it.” I lift my hand to pick up a lock of her hair. “They’ll make sure you have everything you need.”
She nods and takes a small step back, her silky strands sliding out of my fingers. “All right.”
“Come.” I catch her wrist before she can step out of my reach. “Let’s go to bed. I have to wake up early.”
She stiffens, but allows me to lead her to the bathroom without an argument. I let her in there to take a quick shower—I showered earlier, so I don’t need one—and then I take her to the bedroom. As we enter the room, my cock rises in anticipation and erotic images fill my mind.
Fighting off the sudden surge of lust, I stop next to the bed and turn to face Yulia. Releasing her wrist, I frame her face with my palms, smoothing errant strands of hair back with my thumbs. She doesn’t move, just gazes at me mutely, her blue eyes large and shadowed in her delicate face.
“Yulia…” I don’t know what I can say to her, how I can fix the situation, but I have to try. The thought of leaving for two weeks while things are so strained between us is unbearable. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” I say softly. “It can be… better.”
She blinks, as if startled by my words, and I see a fresh sheen of moisture in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she whispers, her hands coming up to curl around my wrists. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To hurt me? To punish me?”
“No.” I let her pull my hands away from her face. “No, Yulia. I don’t want to hurt you, believe me.”
Her eyebrows draw together as she releases my wrists. “Then how can you—”
“I don’t want to discuss this anymore. It’s done. We’re going to move past this. Do you understand me?” My words come out unintentionally harsh, and I see her flinch as she takes a step back.
I take a deep breath. The jealousy is still festering inside me, but I’m determined not to let it spoil our last night together. Forcing myself to move slowly and deliberately, I pull off my T-shirt and drop it on the floor, then remove my shoes, shorts, and underwear. Yulia watches me, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink as her gaze falls on my growing erection. To my relief, I see the hardened peaks of her nipples through the white material of her dress.
She might hate me, but she still wants me.
“Come here.” Unable to hold off any longer, I reach for her, clasping her slim shoulders. She’s stiff as I pull her toward me, but I see the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. She’s far from immune to me, and I intend to use that.
One way or another, tonight Yulia won’t be thinking of her lover.
I bend my head, wanting to taste her soft lips, but at the last moment, she turns her head and my mouth grazes her jaw instead. I feel her shudder, and then she twists out of my grasp altogether and backs away. Her chest is heaving and her face is flushed, her eyes glittering as she stares at me.
“I can’t—” Yulia’s voice cracks. “I can’t do this, Lucas. Not after—”
“Stop.” The unwanted jealousy returns, the pit of my stomach burning with anger as I come after her. “I told you I don’t want to discuss this.”
She keeps backing away. “But—”
“Not another word.” Her back meets the dresser, and I close the remaining distance between us, trapping her there. Placing my palms on the dresser on both sides of her head, I lean closer, breathing in her delicate scent. Every dark fantasy I’ve ever had slides through my mind, and my voice roughens as I whisper in her ear, “I’ve had enough of this. You’re mine now, and it’s time you learned what that means.”
28
Yulia
The damp heat of Lucas’s breath on my ear makes me quiver, my thighs clenching convulsively to contain the growing ache between them. The treachery of my body adds to the tumult in my mind. I thought I’d have to force myself to endure his touch, but revulsion is the last thing I’m feeling.
Even knowing he’s a heartless monster, I can’t stop wanting Lucas.
His mouth trails over my jaw as he holds me caged against the dresser, and my heart rate accelerates as the hard length of his cock presses against my belly. “Don’t,” I whisper, my hands bunching into fists at my sides. I can feel the warmth of his powerful body surrounding me, pressing in on me, and my stomach twists with a combination of fear, shame, and longing. “Please… let me go.”
Lucas ignores my words, moving his right hand to my shoulder. Hooking his fingers under the strap of my dress, he pulls it down. His mouth is now on my neck, teasing and nibbling, and my arousal intensifies as his hand slips into the bodice of my dress and cups my breast, the rough edge of his thumb rasping over my nipple.
Heat blooms low in my core, my arousal intensifying even as self-loathing fills my chest. I don’t want to feel this for my cruel captor. I’m not fighting him because I can’t risk jeopardizing my upcoming escape, but I shouldn’t be enjoying this.
I shouldn’t desire the man who plans to kill my brother.
As if reading my thoughts, Lucas lifts his head to gaze down at me. There’s lust in his pale gaze and something else—something dark and intensely possessive.
“No, beautiful,” he murmurs, his hand still on m
y breast. “I’m not letting you go.”
I begin to respond, but he lowers his head and slants his mouth across mine. His left hand grips my nape, holding me still, and his right hand moves down to pull up the skirt of my dress. In one yank, he rips off my thong. I hardly register the act; his kiss is too ravenous, too consuming. His lips and tongue steal my breath away, and it takes everything I have to remember why I shouldn’t want him. Desperate, I splay my palms on the dresser behind me to keep myself from reaching for him. It’s a small victory and one that doesn’t last long. Still devouring my mouth, Lucas turns around, dragging me along, and begins backing me toward the bed.
The backs of my thighs hit the edge of the bed, and then I’m on my back, my dress hiked up above my waist and Lucas bending over me. His face is taut with hunger, his eyes glittering. Before I can recover from the kiss, he grips my knees, spreading them wide, and moves off the bed to crouch between my open legs.
“No, please, not this.” I try to scramble backwards, but Lucas holds me tight, pulling me closer to the edge of the bed. His lips twitch with an ironic half-smile—he understands why I don’t want this pleasure—and then he buries his head between my thighs and swipes his warm, wet tongue along my slit.
The lash of pleasure is almost brutal. My entire body arches up as he latches on to my clit and begins sucking on it in soft, rhythmic pulls. Gasping, I try to close my legs, to move away from the erotic torment, but Lucas’s grip is unbreakable and his rhythm doesn’t falter. I can feel the slickness of my arousal seeping out, and my nipples draw tight as unbearable pressure builds inside me, intensifying with every moment.
He picks up the tempo of his sucking motions, his lips squeezing my clit with every pull, and a stifled cry escapes my throat as I feel the orgasm approaching. My brother’s killer… The words whisper through my mind as my body begins to contract in release.
“No, stop!” Without thinking, I jackknife to a sitting position and twist to the side with all my strength, breaking his grip on my thighs. The suddenness of my resistance catches Lucas off-guard, and I manage to scramble on my knees almost all the way across the bed before he leaps after me, his fingers closing around my ankle at the last second.
Acting on instinct, I turn and kick at him, aiming for his face, but he jerks to the side, causing my kick to miss. Before I can try again, he catches my other ankle and drags me across the bed toward him.
“What the fuck, Yulia?” Controlling my flailing legs with his knees, Lucas pins me down and captures my wrists to stretch my arms wide at my sides. His face is rigid with fury, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you that crazy about him?”
I stare at him, breathing hard. My body is throbbing with frustrated arousal, and a toxic cocktail of fear, adrenaline, and anger is boiling in my chest. Fighting Lucas was a stupid move on my part, but coming in his arms would’ve been a horrible betrayal of my brother. “Of course I am,” I bite out, unable to restrain myself. “What the fuck did you expect?”
Lucas’s fingers tighten around my wrists. “He’s nobody to you now.” Rage glitters in his eyes. “Nobody. You belong to me, understand?”
I gape at my captor, uncomprehending. How can he expect me to forget my brother? I know Lucas is possessive, but this demand borders on insanity.
Before I can gather my thoughts, Lucas’s face hardens. Moving swiftly, he drags my right arm over my body, joining my right wrist with the left one. I end up on my side, my wrists held in his left hand as he reaches over me for the nightstand, his heavy weight crushing me into the mattress. Air rushes out of my compressed lungs, but a moment later, he lifts himself up, relieving the pressure on my ribcage. Holding my wrists with his left hand, Lucas looms over me, his lower body pinning mine in place—and in his right hand, I see the reason for his action.
He grabbed a coil of rope from the nightstand.
A chill dances over my skin, my desire dampened by a spike of fear. “What are you doing?” The words come out in a frantic, pleading whisper. “Lucas, you don’t need to do this. I won’t fight anymore.”
But it’s too late. He’s already winding the rope around my wrists, and the old anxiety rises up, choking me with memories of Kirill. The paralyzing terror of the past rushes toward me, but at that moment, Lucas leans down and whispers in my ear, “I’m not going to hurt you—but I will make you forget him.”
I draw in a shaking breath, his words providing the modicum of reassurance I need to stay in the present. Not that my anxiety is lessened in any way; what he’s doing and saying is more than a little mad. I begin to struggle again, desperate to get away, but he’s too strong. Ignoring my attempts to throw him off, Lucas ties the rope tightly around my wrists and reaches down to grab my ankles. As he does so, his weight briefly lifts off my legs, and I manage to kick him in the side before he seizes my ankles.
“Oh no, you don’t.” His voice is a low growl as he drags my ankles up, folding my body in half. I strike out with my bound hands, but I don’t have much leverage, and the blow glances off his shoulder as he squeezes my calves in the crook of his muscular arm. With his hands free, he loops the other end of the rope around my ankles. His motions are swift and sure, utterly merciless. In a matter of seconds, he has me trussed up like a turkey, my ankles and wrists tied together in front of my body. With my dress flipped up and my underwear gone, my lower body is completely exposed.
The vulnerability of my position propels my heart rate so high I feel dizzy. Blood pounds in my ears in a thundering roar as Lucas forces my bound wrists and ankles up above my head, stretching my hamstrings to their limits. He secures the rope to the metal pole he installed by the bed and moves down my folded-in-half body. His hands grip my quivering thighs, and I see him looking at me—at my wide-open pussy and ass.
“What are you doing?” I can scarcely breathe through the growing panic in my chest. “Lucas, what are you doing?”
He looks up to meet my gaze, his eyes burning with savage heat. “Whatever I want, baby. Whatever I fucking want.”
And lowering his head between my legs, he latches onto my clit again.
29
Lucas
The taste of her is intoxicating, unbearably erotic. Her pussy is dripping with cream, and the heated feminine scent of her makes my cock weep with pre-cum. I want to thrust into her, feel her slick tightness cradling me, but I also want something else—something Yulia’s withheld from me thus far.
First, though, I need to finish what I started. Ignoring the lust burning in me, I suck on her clit using the same rhythm that brought her to the edge of climax before. I felt her beginning to spasm before she started fighting, and I know I would’ve had her in another second. She panicked—probably because she doesn’t want to betray him—but I’m not about to stand for it.
She’s going to come tonight, again and again, until her lover is nothing but a distant memory.
It takes less than a minute to bring Yulia to the brink this time; she’s already primed, her pink flesh swollen and sensitized from my earlier ministrations. She pleads with me, begging me to let her go, but I persist until I feel her pussy rippling under my tongue and hear her cry out in release.
Then I begin again, sliding my finger into her spasming channel to stimulate her as I lick her clit. She comes hard and fast, her juices coating my hand, and I go for the third one, even though my cock is ready to burst.
“No more,” she moans as I push two fingers into her wet heat, finding the spot inside that drives her wild. “Please, Lucas, no more…”
But I’m not done yet. I’m far from done. Using the two fingers to fuck her, I close my lips around her clit again. My fingers drill her hard and fast, and her cries grow in volume with every second. I feel her inner walls contracting in another orgasm, but I don’t stop. I keep going until I feel her come again—and then I scoop out the abundant moisture from her pussy and smear it on the tiny opening of her asshole.
She doesn’t react at first, just lies there with her
face flushed and her eyes closed as she attempts to catch her breath. With her ankles tied to her wrists and her pussy wet and swollen, she’s the epitome of helpless sensuality. Bondage isn’t normally my thing, but restraining Yulia is different. It’s not about kink; it’s about possession.
After tonight, she’ll have no doubt that she’s mine.
When her asshole is sufficiently lubed, I press the tip of my finger to the tight opening, watching her reaction. The one time I touched her ass in the shower, she tensed, and I realized she either has a problem with anal sex or is new to it. I hope it’s the latter, but I suspect it might be the former.
Sure enough, as my finger pushes in the first quarter of an inch, Yulia’s ass cheeks clench, and her eyes fly open. “Don’t.” Her voice is strained. “Please don’t.”
“Was it your trainer?” I keep my finger where it is, neither pressing forward nor retreating. “Did he hurt you this way too?”
She stares at me, her chest heaving, and I see her mouth tremble before she presses her lips together. She doesn’t say anything, but I don’t need a verbal confirmation.
The motherfucker did hurt her like this—and she’s afraid I will too.
Something squeezes painfully inside me. I don’t deserve her trust, but a part of me wants it. It’s a desire that directly contradicts my primitive need to subdue her, to keep her at any cost.
Even as I hold her bound and helpless, I don’t want her fearing me—not that way, at least.
“I won’t hurt you,” I say quietly, holding Yulia’s gaze. The savage hunger pounding through me dies down to a muted roar as I withdraw the tip of my finger. “I promise you that.”
She shudders with relief, her eyes closing, and I lower my head again, licking her pussy with gentle swipes of my tongue. Her flesh is pliant, still soft and wet. I know she’s nowhere near an orgasm now, and I don’t try to give her one. Instead, I soothe her with my lips and tongue, giving her undemanding pleasure. I do this for what feels like hours, and eventually, I feel the remnants of terrified tension leave her body.