by Raven Dark
That need, that hunger, scours away the irritating compulsion to keep her safe, and only underscores the importance of distance tonight. I can’t let her under my skin.
But that’s just it. It’s too late. She’s already there, in every cell, in every breath I take. Fuck, I really need to get a handle on this shit. My cock is so damn hard for her right now it could hammer in nails. I want to possess her until she can’t breathe, can’t think without my permission. Until no one will get near her except me for fear that they’ll find my hand around their throat.
I spend the next hour on my laptop trying to finish up some paperwork on the latest deals of the day, but my gaze keeps going to the monitor in front of me. To the perfection sleeping in a bed that seems at once too far from me.
Shit. There’s only one way to solve this problem.
I push to my feet and slap the laptop shut. Then I find my way to my bedroom on the opposite side of the lodge from her. Twice on the way there, I nearly double back and stalk to her room instead.
By the time I shut myself in my room, my chest is heaving, and I can’t imagine how my cock hasn’t punched a hole through my pants. My hands are shaking with the need to stroke myself to an explosive release.
That, or pound her so hard she sleeps for a week.
Fuck, no one has had this effect on me in my life.
Need makes my thoughts cloudy, as if I’m high. I stalk over to the bed that dominates one corner of my giant bedroom and untie the long blue scarf from the golden headboard. Bringing the cloth to my nose, I inhale Aurora’s scent deep. Reminding myself of what she is. My slave. The woman who’s family destroyed the person I could have become. The sweetness of her scent both soothes the savage beast pacing within me and stirs its need to a raging storm.
I require the control that could only come from my own release. I need to solidify what she is in my mind.
“She means nothing to me. Nothing.”
Again, I inhale her scent on the scarf, conjuring up the vivid image of her face last night in my mind. The mix of rapture and horror at what I’d put her through.
Amazingly, my cock stiffens even more, begging for attention. I undo my pants and leave them hanging low on my hips. I sharpen the image of her tied up, her perfect little body spread out for me. Precum leaks from the head of my cock, and I slick my shaft with it. Then I wrap the scarf around it, fisting it tight with long, slow strokes.
First, I imagine her hanging widthwise over the bed, wrists tied with extension straps I would have brought with me, ones that leave her bound between the head and footboards. Her head hangs over the side, at the perfect height for me, while I thrust in and out of her sweet little mouth. I imagine her trying to turn away until I grab her chin and fuck her mouth until tears stream down her face.
Giving her everything she deserves.
Breathing raggedly, I stop myself the moment before I explode, changing the image of her in my mind. Now she’s stretched across the bed lengthwise, wrists and ankles bound, slicked pussy spread open to me. Perfection. Helpless perfection.
Imagining her eyes flashing in anger, I see myself getting between her slender legs, pounding her pussy fast and hard, hammer-fucking her into the mattress. When she screams, I clamp my mouth over hers, eating her cries.
There’s no one here who will help her; I cover her mouth because I love the sound of helplessness and anger in those muffled cries, the piercing knowledge that she’s mine and there’s no salvation from me.
Need licks at my cock, and I start up again, pounding myself faster. Only a few strokes, and I’m beating fast, letting the silk of her scarf serve as the tight, slick sheath of her eager pussy.
In my mind, Aurora tosses that pretty head of hers, crying out, half pleasure, half hatred. Pussy clenching around me just as it had last night.
Finalizing the fantasy with the perfect ending, I imagine untying her swiftly, flipping her onto her stomach, wrapping her scarf around her throat and pulling it just tight enough that she chokes. Then I shove my cock into her tight ass, taking her mouth with mine so that she screams into my violent kiss.
The intensity of the image catapults me over the edge, and I growl my release, spilling into the silk scarf.
Knees weak, I pant and lean on the bed with one hand, tossing the soaked scarf aside. Focused and more self-controlled, I take a shower and get off two more times before the night is out.
The mountain of paperwork in my office remains untouched.
I’m going to have to break that woman, and then figure out what to do with her before she gets any further under my skin.
Chapter 10
Innocuous
I wake to the feeling of something soft and featherlike brushing my cheek.
I swat at the whatever-it-is. Or rather I try to, only my hands seem to be stuck together.
The thought flits through my sleep-sluggish brain—why can’t I move my hands properly? There’s something metallic around them, binding them together.
Panic slips through my disorientation, and I jerk upright, my eyes snapping open. Through a curtain of my disheveled curls—curls that had apparently tickled my nose and turned waking up into an ordeal—I look down at my wrists, at the handcuffs encircling them.
The sight of those cuffs sends the memory of last night flooding back as reality begins to reassert itself in my mind.
Michael had not only cuffed my wrists and locked me in this room, but he’d left the cuffs on all night.
The bastard had come into the room to leave me Aspirin and a glass of water, but he’d slipped in sometime while I’d been asleep, leaving the medication there and then leaving without my being aware of it. My head had legitimately started hurting when I woke up around midnight, so I’d taken the pills.
I glare at the cuffs, my already foul mood souring even more at the thought of what he’s done. Hatred burns like acid in my veins. It isn’t only that he’s slowly stealing away my freedom. It’s that he’s doing it so easily, seemingly taking delight in my captivity.
Blowing my hair out of my face, I glance at the half empty glass of water on the nightstand. He’d been able to get in and out of the room without my knowledge, apparently using the same stealth he must have used to get in and out of my apartment. I shiver. Nothing is sacred to that man, is it?
My gaze veers to the double doors. It would be too much to expect him to have left the doors to the room unlocked, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t make that kind of mistake, would he?
Before another thought can form, I’m out of bed and marching across the room. When I try the doors, they’re still locked.
“Of course they are,” I mutter.
Panic begins to nibble at my consciousness. He never gave any indication of how long I’d be in here. The bastard could force me to remain locked in this room for days.
Or months.
My gut clenches at the thought. The room suddenly seems a lot smaller, the rest of the world unreachable.
Until I’d started college, my father had told me who I could see, where I could go, what I could do. Having bodyguards around all the time made certain things a tricky business, especially dating. As a result, I’d always longed for the sort of freedom and independence other girls grew up with. Still, as tight a leash as Vincent kept me on, I’d never felt this much like a prisoner.
The only reassurance is that a maid had brought dinner for me a few hours after Michael had left me in the room. The empty plate I’d set on the side table after I’d finished eating is gone. Perhaps he’d taken it when he left the pills.
So, I won’t starve, but the idea of being locked away in here for who knew how long scares the shit out of me.
I trudge across the room and flop onto the bed. Now what? I can’t just sit here and let fear eat away at me. I need to find a way out of here, but I know damn well that isn’t going to happen. I’d spent an hour yesterday night trying to find one.
At a loss, I lay staring at the ceiling. Think, Aurora.
Think!
I hate the feeling of helplessness that tries to take over. My brain scrambles to make sense of the turn my life had taken.
How the hell had I ended up here?
Only two days ago, I was set up for a job I loved and had worked my ass off for. I would have been ready to enter the field fully registered within a year. It was job in which I could make a real difference in the lives of people who needed it. I had family. I had friends. My apartment had been a dump, but it had been mine. It was a home. And just like that, because of Michael’s sick, depraved obsession, because of my single mistake, it was all gone? The idea seemed unfathomable, a new reality that left me shell-shocked and reeling.
A knock on the door makes me jerk upright. Hope springs to life in my chest. “Michael?”
“Adrian.” A much more stoic voice drifts from the other side of the door. “Are you decent?”
I stand. Early last night, Michael had come in, taking the cuffs off only long enough for me to change out of my clothes into one of the nightgowns he’d left in the closet for me. “Yeah, come in.”
A key rattles in the lock, and then the doors open. Adrian steps in.
“Morning, Miss Romano.” He pockets the key to the room.
“Where’s Michael?”
“He’s out for the day. He’ll be back later.” He takes out the smaller key to the cuffs as he crosses the room to me.
Looking at Adrian, I wonder, almost out of the blue, if he’s killed anyone while protecting Michael. It was always a reality for the bodyguards Dad hired for us, and I always wondered the same about them, too. I’d asked some of them, but they’d never talked about it. Adrian is a man of few words. He probably wouldn’t either.
I hold out my hands and he unlocks the cuffs, then makes them disappear into the pocket of his blazer along with the key.
“Joanne has prepared breakfast for you.” Adrian heads for the doors. “It’s waiting for you downstairs.”
Joanne must be Michael’s cook.
“Wait.” My thoughts spin. “That’s it? He’s not going to keep me locked up in here for a year?”
Adrian stops at the doors and glances at me. It surprises me when I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “No. After you eat, he’s arranged for Katerina to show you around the lodge.”
Relief sweeps through me, but it’s followed by a bite of irritation. I roll my eyes at the idea of spending any time around that woman. I’d almost rather have remained locked in here alone. Almost.
“I’m not hungry, Adrian.” I’ve never been a breakfast person.
“Mr. Volkov has instructed that you’re to eat.” He waves at me to follow him.
So he intends to control when I eat, too? I sigh and throw on a pair of slippers Michael left for me beside the bed.
A few minutes later, I sit at the island in a chef’s dream of a kitchen, a plate piled high with light and fluffy homemade crepes in front of me. Joanne has topped them with strawberries, whipped cream, and maple syrup. They look delicious, but I hardly touch them, and the food tastes like ash.
“Is the food not to your liking, Miss Romano?”
I look up from my breakfast. Standing on the other side of the island, Joanne nods to my plate. With a welcoming smile, laugh lines on her cheeks, and a pleasantly plump frame, she has a warm approachability that doesn’t mix with the situation I’m in at all. She doesn’t look like a woman who belongs on my kidnapper’s staff. She looks like she was someone’s loving grandmother. Under normal circumstances, I would have liked her, wanted to trust her. Looking at her, I have to remind myself that however nice she seems, that doesn’t mean much. Gio had been my friend for years before he’d turned on me.
“The food is fine, Joanne,” I say to my plate. “Just not hungry.”
“Call me Jo. Everyone else does.” She holds up a coffee pot, and when I nod my thanks, she fills the mug beside my plate. “Still not feeling well?”
“Oh, no, I’m feeling better now.”
As soon as I say this, I realize my mistake. Had I been smart, I would have pretended I was still sick. Altitude sickness would have bought me another day free of whatever twisted things Michael might think to put me through when he returns. I guess I’m not one to easily lie when it doesn’t have to do with my family’s affiliations or business.
Compassion fills her pale grey eyes, and Jo lays her lightly wrinkled hand over mine. There’s so much understanding in her eyes and in that gesture that it’s easy to forget that she can’t be trusted. The notion makes my chest tighten.
Surrounded by staff I may be, but I am alone here. Like Adrian and Katerina, Jo is Michael’s employee, and that means, no matter how trustworthy she seems, I have to assume her first loyalty is to him.
“I’ll leave you be, dear.” She squeezes my hand. Is there pity in her eyes now? “If you need anything, you give a yell.” She puts the coffee pot on the burner to keep warm and shuffles from the room.
I sip my black coffee and stare at my plate, my mind a whirl of questions and dark thoughts.
“Ah, you’re awake. You look better this morning.” Katerina’s much too pleasant voice fills the kitchen.
I sigh and close my eyes, silently counting to ten. Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any worse.
Katerina sashays over to the coffee pot and pours herself a mug. She looks at me over her shoulder. “I guess I’m your tour guide,” she adds when I don’t reply.
Joy. “You don’t have to do that. I can find my way around this place myself, thanks.”
“I’m sure you can.” She comes around the island to my side and leans against the counter top. She claps her hands. “Where shall we start?”
Good God. There’s something about the way this woman talks that always makes me feel like she’s speaking to very small child. I half expect her to offer to take me to a playroom where we’re going to finger paint.
“This place has a garden out back. It’s gorgeous, even in the winter. There’s a huge theater room, too.” She looks me over. “No, wait. There’s a library. Maybe that’s more your thing. You look like the bookish type.”
Wow. Someone has their claws out and sharpened today.
I give her a smile. “Are you hungry, Kat?” I push the barely touched plate of crepes toward her. “Put some of these in your mouth.”
Her perfect bow of a pink mouth stretches into a smile that is somehow both beautiful and ice cold at the same time. She glances at the food, but doesn’t touch it.
“You have spirit, Aurora. Michael may be tolerant of your fire now, but it will wear thin. He prizes loyalty and obedience above all else. Learn to curb that tongue of yours before it becomes a problem.”
The implications aren’t lost on me. Her tone screams of personal experience with whatever methods Michael uses to curb a woman’s “fire.” The thought of him using said methods on me sends a cold shiver up my spine. I’m almost tempted to ask her exactly what happened between them, except that she’d probably interpret the question as my feeling out the competition.
Her words raise another question, though. She obviously would rather me gone, so why is she giving me tips on how to get on his good side?
“Help yourself to the food,” I say, finishing my coffee and getting up from the stool. “I’m sure it’s delicious.”
I leave the room before she can figure out how to respond.
The last thing I want to do is spend my morning being led around this place by that woman, but the more I know about my environment, the better. Moreover, after spending the last seven years in a dump of an apartment, I’m not about to pass up a chance to explore this gorgeous lodge.
Upstairs, I’ve barely entered the bedroom when a buzzing from the nightstand reaches my ears. Furrowing my brow, I cross the room and pick up the phone. It hadn’t been there when I’d left the room an hour ago, so I assume someone left it for me. It’s a different brand than the clone.
Michael’s name flashes on the screen.
“Dobrey utro, kravitsa. Feeling better this morning?”
Damn, why does every word he says in Russian have to make my belly quiver?
“What does that mean… Sir?” I hate calling him that, but I haven’t forgotten his warning that he’ll find ways to remind me to address him properly. And I’m not giving him an excuse to lock me in here again. “Dobby…Dobree…” My face heats, aware that I’m butchering his beautiful language.
“Dobrey utro. It means good morning.”
“Ah. Wait a minute.” I’d barely walked in here and the phone had buzzed. I glance around, but I don’t see him. “You knew I came in here. How?”
“I have my ways.”
My gaze scans the room for a camera without finding one. He must have it hidden somewhere. “Are you watching me, Sir?”
“Would that excite you, Aurora?”
Damn him. My back stiffens with indignation knowing I’ll have to undress in here with him ogling me, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on to think that he’s been watching my every move.
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a creep, Sir?”
“I’ve been called worse.” The inflection in his tone tells me he’s smiling. “You didn’t answer my question, Aurora. How are you feeling?”
Taking off my slippers, I hesitate, seriously considering telling him I’m still not feeling well.
“Careful, Aurora. I’ve already asked Jo.”
So much for that. I roll my eyes. “Then why bother asking me?”
“Because I wanted to see if you’d lie to me.” His voice is low, hardening with a hint of warning.