Slavic’s offer to find another dom held her interest for a second or two, but it wasn’t the restraints or the toys or the fancy equipment that drew her passion. It was the man who’d controlled her with a mixture of gentle encouragement and firm punishment. Nothing could duplicate the comfort from being held, touched, and nurtured. After too many years on her own, it was the human connection she would remember at a time in her life when she’d clearly needed it.
She rubbed her shaved pussy against the rough fabric of her borrowed pants. It would be months before all of the hairs grew back, months before anything would be the same, but nothing had really changed. From her earliest memory, she’d accepted that she was alone. Nobody would take care of her. Nobody would place her above their own wants and needs. Nothing could ever alter that, but she was surprisingly at peace with the understanding.
Leaving him would be like taking off a Band-Aid. She had to do it quickly. The pain would be instantly overwhelming, but experience had taught her it would eventually subside.
Chapter Nine
He settled her in the front seat of Anton’s Jeep and turned up the heat to warm her against the cold, but they drove in silence. After their stressful encounter in Zoya’s kitchen, he was grateful for the respite from her queries. The satellite radio played 1970s American rock with a few songs sounding familiar, the rest just sounding loud. He was not a fan of the genre, but with no idea what she preferred, he chose to let it play to the end.
Even after one night, a good dom formed an inevitable connection with a submissive, but to prevent attachments, he’d long since made it a point to maintain an emotional distance with the women in his charge, limiting aftercare despite their gyrating hormones and natural desires. But his koshka had come to dinner with a frozen expression etched into her fake smile, and it didn’t take much to conclude his lack of attentiveness was the cause. He’d been pleased when she’d started to chatter, emerging from her melancholy as their conversation grew.
As she persisted with her questions, however, it became clear he’d made a serious error in judgement, allowing his guard to fall and his emotions to fill the void. Despite her pretty smile, he should have shut her down before he’d shared any personal details, certainly before she’d garnered any information about the shooting that led to Anton’s injury. Her safety depended on her ignorance. She deserved happiness, a big McMansion in the suburbs with a doting husband and a few perfect children to round out her life, not the Petruskenkov version of living.
His job responsibilities were simple. He took care of ‘problems’ far beyond his country’s borders and destroyed conflict by whatever means necessary, often at his own risk. As the youngest of three sons, he was expendable, and like his siblings, Luka had no personal future to offer a long-term companion.
His oldest brother was a harsh man who’d been raised since birth to lead their family. Artur’s quiet, mousy wife had been handpicked by their father, and she’d dutifully delivered four identical sons in five years, securing another generation to their dynasty. His second brother had married a woman of his own choosing, but Timofey’s marriage was wrought with violence from both sides. Her shrewish ways made Luka’s stomach turn almost as much as watching Artur’s meek wife break into tears over her husband’s neglect or brutality.
Only Ana had left his heart broken, another reminder that nobody defied their father. Less than a year apart in age, he and his sister had been closer than twins until they were separated at their mother’s death. Ana had disappeared from their father’s home as a teenager while he was away at school, but Luka assumed she was long dead despite his father’s insistence she’d run away. There was no other way to escape Damir’s control.
The GPS followed the snow-covered expressway past the frozen traces of the Erie Canal before directing them into the heart of the city. There was little traffic at that late hour, and they moved through the snowy roads with the help of the heavy four-wheel-drive vehicle.
He pulled into the driveway of her small house and shut the engine off. From his inside coat pocket, he retrieved a thin cloth bank bag and held it out to her. She froze, staring at him as though he’d pulled his gun on her.
“Take it,” he demanded. “You’ve earned the money and this was our agreement. I’ve given it to you in hundreds so you can spend it easily, but you should be careful about putting the whole thing in your bank account at once to avoid unwanted attention.”
“I... I don’t think I want it, Luka,” she said with a trembling voice. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“Don’t be foolish.” He held it out a little further, adding an angry shake to snap her out of this nonsense. “You’ve earned it doing a job you’ve spent years preparing for. Besides, you told me you need this money. You don’t even own a car. It’s dangerous to walk the streets after dark, and...”
The louder he grew, the wider her eyes became. Fear as part of her arousal was one thing, but he didn’t want to terrorize her in the driveway of her own home. He paused for a second before lowering his tone. “...and I need to know you are safe. Please. Don’t refuse me.”
“It’s not that,” she stammered, still not taking the bag. “I’m just... I don’t know. It’s a lot. And I’m not an idiot. You got that money illegally, and I’m struggling with that.”
“Don’t judge me by your societal standards,” he said, still willing his voice to remain calm. “I live in a different world, and laws between men in my world reflect those differences.”
“I understand different worlds, but it sounds like you’re justifying your actions. Laws have a purpose. They serve the entire community.”
“But who creates laws? Who do they benefit? In a perfect world, laws may work for the masses but we are far removed from a perfect world. What makes a person from my country have to accept a tariff or a tax from your country? What makes pot illegal in one state, but two miles down the road, in a different state, it’s acceptable? How come I could purchase alcohol when I turned eighteen in Russia, but in your country, they make a man wait until he turns twenty-one?”
If somebody is about to kill you or your family, you instinctively retaliate. Only the strong, the invulnerable, survive in this world. Those were the true laws of nature, but he didn’t add that observation to her list of worries. Tapping her chin to face him, he growled, “These are arbitrary decisions established without meaning. Now, take the money before I grow angry, because there is time to teach you a final lesson about my temper. If you were mine, we would be working on this attitude problem.”
Taking the bag tentatively, she held it for a second or two as though she were still evaluating her options, but she slipped it into her bag without opening it. He wondered if the money would sit under her mattress, taunting her for years with the biggest mistake of her life, spending two days with a Russian gangster who had no heart. In a way, however, he was relieved she didn’t explore the contents of the bag. When she discovered he’d added an additional five thousand dollars, she would tire him with her protests.
She spoke quietly, but her tone was fast returning to the commanding general with a spark of fire. “Fine, I’ll take the money.”
He nodded his approval. It was what he wanted, but a small part of him regretted he had no reason to discipline her. It would have been hard, maybe impossible, to walk away from her if she’d given him a reason to stay. She was beautiful and intelligent. She challenged every preconceived idea he had about women and their place in his world. He enjoyed her companionship as much as he enjoyed her body, but she needed to live her life in peace.
“Just don’t forget, Luka,” she said, meeting his gaze as she pulled a dangling key chain out of her bag. “I’m not yours. Our relationship is over, as you and I both agreed, but it’s a long way for you to go home, and it’s freaking cold out here, big guy, so you are invited inside for a quiet cup of coffee before you drive all the way back.”
“I will choose what I forget, koshka,” he growled, taking the
keys from her before he opened his car door. “And I strongly suggest you do not call me big guy, ever again.”
* * *
He went to her front door, fumbling with her keys until she directed him to the correct one. As they entered her home, she bustled through the first floor, turning on lights and moving piles of laundry and stacks of books that, at quick glance, covered every genre imaginable from romance novels with scantily clad men and women on the covers, to travel guides from around the world, to medical reference texts, thick and dull in their presentations.
“I’m sure this place looks like a nineteenth-century workhouse to you,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip, “but it’s going to be great when I get it all fixed up. I bought it from a colleague’s elderly parents before it was put on the market, so I got a great deal and it included most of the furniture and all of the appliances, too. I figured I could put the cash into the renovations as my salary grew, and I’ll have a lot of equity that way.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said as he ran his hand appreciatively over the carved mantel on the fireplace. It separated from the wall under the slight force, but he caught it before it hit the floor and he continued without missing a beat. “This is a beautiful home, rich with history. Everything is original and just needs sanding and refinishing to make it glorious.” Still trying to fit the mantel back into its original spot, he mumbled, “And maybe a few nails, but the kitchen is too small. Have you thought about an addition to the back yard?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Because I have envelopes of cash lying ar—” Too late, her gaze went to the pink bag lying on the kitchen floor.
She turned to the pantry, rubbing her forehead as though she were fighting a headache. “Would you like tea or coffee? I think I have some cookies someplace, too. Um, what kind of cookies do you like?”
“Tea. And I’ve never said no to any cookie. Americans make them very well.”
“You won’t say that if they expired three years ago. I don’t get a lot of company. Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable.”
She busied herself with the hot water while he laid his coat over the banister leading upstairs. Staring at her back as she moved through the kitchen, he removed his gun and holster from his calf, wedging it into the arm of his coat sleeve to secure it. He raised his voice so she could hear him in the next room. “Do all of the locks work on your doors and windows?”
“More or less,” she yelled back. “I can’t find any cookies, but I have some nice donuts in the freezer. They won’t take long to defrost.”
He moved through the first floor to assess her security, checking the doors and windows before disappearing up the skinny staircase to continue his assessment. Her two spare rooms were filled with boxes and broken pieces of furniture, resembling over-stacked storage lockers rather than places of relaxation. A single hall bathroom was dated with broken black and white tile, and a worn faucet leaked a steady drip of water that left a permanent brown stain in the sink.
The biggest bedroom of the three was obviously hers with a small double bed on a metal stand. The covers were rumpled, and the single pillow still showed the indentation where she’d slept, making it easy to picture her snuggled under the bright pink comforter. The effect was Spartan, but there was something intimate about standing in her private space that pushed at his cock, and he wished she were there to share the moment of discovery with him.
“Luka,” she called up the stairs. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing up there, but that’s the only bathroom that really works, so use it if you need it. And don’t judge me. I’m too busy to clean and most of that junk came with the house. I haven’t had time to get rid of it. The attic and basement are even worse.”
He didn’t respond, turning to the dresser that looked like a beaten-up buffet from an old dining room set. A pile of clean, neatly folded clothes rested on top along with a few worn stuffed cats that appeared to be relics from her childhood. In a small plastic box with no lid, he browsed through her jewelry, mostly inexpensive chains and trinkets but there were a few vintage pieces, including a pair of heavy fake pearl earrings.
He turned the earrings over in his hand, examining the heavy screw backs that dated to the turn of the last century. His grandmother had had a similar pair that had been in her family for several generations, brought to Russia from America when she’d rebelled against her parents and moved halfway around the world to study communism under the Soviet model. He wasn’t sure who had the earrings now, but anytime he’d played with the expensive jeweled nipple clamps from his BDSM stores, his mind often wandered to the potential use of the antique jewelry.
“What are you doing up there, big guy?” she shouted from the kitchen. “Are you snooping through my underwear or something perverted?” With a smirk, he pocketed the earrings and returned to the first floor.
She joined him in the living room with a brilliant smile and a small tray with two mismatched ceramic mugs and a plate of bite-sized glazed donuts. “Here you go. And I promise, the mugs are clean and the donuts aren’t that old. I may have a mess around here, but I do the basics.”
“I am not confident about this Susan B. Anthony neighborhood of yours,” he said, sitting on her worn couch. “This home has no security. The locks on your door could be crushed with one kick and any one of those windows could be broken to give an intruder access without warning. I didn’t even look in your basement; I can’t imagine what you have down there.”
“I don’t know,” she said, looking around as though she were seeing it for the first time. “It’s as safe as anyplace. Both the state troopers and the city cops have offices around here, and other than the occasional kids doing something stupid, we really don’t have any real issues.”
“You need to take your security more seriously. There are people out there who are looking for trouble, and you shouldn’t make it easy for them to find it.”
“Yeah,” she said with an eye roll and a touch of sarcasm, “well, at least I don’t have a cage in the middle of my living room, so there’s that. Don’t worry, Luka. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I know what I’m doing.”
“We never got to use that cage,” he said, with an arched eyebrow. “Perhaps that was another error in my judgement.”
“Does everything come back to visualizing me over your knee, big guy? You need to come up for air every now and again.”
Something snapped inside of him, but it wasn’t his anger. Rising from the couch, he moved quickly to her side and pulled her to his chest. “Wait!” she squealed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He should beat her sorry ass for her cheek, but he followed his first instinct and kissed her. Long and hard, he forced his way past her lips to invade her privacy. She startled at first and pushed against his chest, but he pursued her, taking more of her exquisite taste. It took a few seconds, but her body relaxed as she succumbed to his control, opening for him and allowing him inside her warmth.
Thankfully, she still only wore the simple t-shirt and sweats, easy to remove and drop to the floor as she fumbled with his belt buckle, but that would never do. He unbuckled his belt, sliding it through the loops to make his point.
“Bend over the couch. We will take care of your attitude right now,” he said, doubling it to hold its length in his right hand.
“There’s no reason to get all dom-like, here,” she said, holding out her shaking hands. “You can just put that thing away, and we can talk about this. I didn’t—”
“I’m counting, and before I get to three, you had better do what you’ve been told. One...”
“Stop, Luka. Let’s talk—”
“Two,” he said, slapping the leather against his thigh to send a loud crack across the room.
His koshka wasn’t stupid. She ran to the couch and laid her body over the arm, squeezing her eyes shut. Luka chuckled as he walked to her side. He rubbed her ass before delivering three sharp stri
pes in a perfect line across her naked bottom, severe enough to make his point, but not so hard as to destroy their forward progress. He needed to drive his cock into her heat. His need to punish her was actually negligible, but there was no reason to pass up the opportunity.
She slid her back onto the couch, rubbing her ass furiously as she moved. She didn’t speak, but formed the pout she used to express her silent displeasure. He took off his shirt, standing over her for a second with his belt in his hand until she squirmed, lowering her eyes and losing the pout. He dropped the belt to the floor and kicked off his jeans, his cock hard and ready.
Covering her small frame, he continued his assault on her lips, sliding his hand between her legs to assess her readiness. Grabbing him around the neck, she explored his body, caressing her hands across his shoulders and down his abs before he realized she was tracing his tats. He straddled her between his thighs and reached for his pants to pull the earrings out of his pocket.
“Hey,” she exclaimed. “Where did you get those?”
“Upstairs. You shouldn’t let a thief in your home. As soon as I saw them, I knew they only had one purpose. Our ancestors had no idea what sport the screws could bring to a swollen nipple.”
“Just how long have you been planning this?” she hissed dramatically.
Pulling her hands above her head, he growled, “Don’t move. Do you understand?”
She nodded, cringing as he pulled on her nipple to create a sharp peak. He attached the first jewel to her tit, twisting the screw until it grabbed her sensitive nub. She whimpered as he tightened it another round or two for good measure, but she stayed where he’d put her without the benefit of ropes or restraints. Without waiting for her to speak, he repeated the act with the second, leaving her beautifully decorated with the pearl’s sheen framed by her breasts.
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