by Raven Dark
“Yes I will.”
“How?”
“Pull up your dress, Aurora.”
My mouth falls open. “You’re fucking joking.”
He chuckles. “Nope.”
“You want me to spread my legs on your damned monitor for all the world to see?” Humiliation and arousal make my blood heat.
He hums in agreement. “I told you, no one can see you but me. Do as I say, or when I get back to that lodge, I’ll tan your ass.”
“Are you recording this, Sir?” I shake out.
“Let me see your pussy.”
Oh, God, he is. The thought of him sitting in his office getting off while he watches a recording of my nakedness makes me so wet I want to stroke myself right then. “There’s something very wrong with you, sir.”
“Are you going to make me tell you again?”
Closing my eyes to block out the shame, I push my dress up to my waist, baring myself to him.
A low growl vibrates through the phone. “So fucking perfect. Look at you. Do you have any idea how hard I am for you right now?”
Oh, God. I hear the heat in his voice. My whole core is on fire.
If I’m lucky, he’ll get a good look and that’ll be enough. He’ll hang up and leave me to my misery.
No such luck.
“Touch yourself, Aurora. Let me see you play with your pussy.”
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes. Getting off in front of someone isn’t something I’ve ever even considered. The idea of doing it for him makes me feel filthy and cheap. And so sexy.
“You don’t have to be shy with me, kravitsa.” His voice is a low croon that, were the situation different, would soothe the fear crawling into me. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I was stroking myself while I watch you?”
My breathing hitches. “Strangely,” I snap, “no.”
Which is a bull-faced lie. My mind fills with the image of him sitting in the back of his car with his fist around that mammoth cock, stroking himself slowly while he drinks me in. My eyes roll as my pussy throbs.
“Yes it does.” There’s a strange hitch in his voice. “Stroke yourself, Aurora. Let me see.”
Wishing he’d get out of my head, I slide my hand down my belly to the wetness pooled between my legs.
The moment my fingers glide over my clit, the ache there mounts, urging me further. His breath catches, and I wonder if he really is getting himself off.
“Good girl. Look at how wet you are,” he growls.
He can see me that well? No, there’s no way. No one’s camera is that good unless he can zoom it in. He’s fucking with me. Still, the idea has me stroking faster.
“Slow down. I don’t want you coming before I do.” His breathing is fast and harsh.
Holy shit, he is jacking off. I bite back a groan and slow my strokes, swirling my fingers around my center, slicking up my fingers. I can’t believe how wet I am. My fingers brush my clit, the moisture intensifying every sensation until I rock my hips.
An animalistic sound from him fills my ears. “That’s it. Show me how you get yourself off.”
My eyes roll closed. Damn, this is hot. His breathing grows harsher, letting me know he’s stroking faster. My mouth waters for a taste of him. A strange sense of connectedness with him settles in, as if the two of us gaining pleasure from this single erotic act has bound us together in a way deeper than our pasts could ever go.
I glide my fingers up and down, and suddenly my strokes are matching the raspy breathes coming through the phone, the quickening sound that tells me the rhythm he’s using.
“Fuck, you look so good like that. I’m sitting here imagining it’s me inside you now, you know that?”
I pant, stroking myself harder, faster.
“I can feel your tightness around my cock, Aurora.” His breathing is fast and hard. So is mine. “You wanna come, baby?”
Did he just call me baby? God, that’s so sexy. I nod, breathless.
“Do it. Fuck your fingers until you come.”
I slip my fingers inside, thrusting them in and out, rubbing my clit with my palm on each stroke.
He lets out a Russian curse as if the sight is straining his control to its breaking point. His breathing hitches again and I can almost hear the sound of his fist jerking his cock.
I careen toward the edge. My fingers thrust furiously, my hips bucking up high off the bed. The orgasm of a lifetime rips through me, white lights slashing across my vision. Michael grunts in release.
“See how crazy you make me, kravitsa? Fuck, you made me come so hard I think I went blind.”
I pant, blood rushing to my head. It hits me what he just made me do, and shame rolls in, deep and raw and cutting. I let my hand drop and throw myself onto my side, burying my face in the quilt. It doesn’t change the fact that I just had crazy phone sex with my childhood bully and my stalker captor.
“I’m tired, Sir. Can I sleep now?”
I’m not in the mood for sleep, but I want him off this phone.
“What will you do when I hang up, Aurora?”
“Shower. Sleep. Plot your death.”
He laughs. “I love it.” He sighs as if he hates to hang up. “All right. I’m letting you out of that room tomorrow if you behave yourself. Keep your nose clean, Aurora. I’ll see you in the morning. I will dream of you.”
The phone goes dead.
I switch it off. “Fucker.”
By the time I head downstairs the following day, doing so for the first time in forty-eight hours, I have a new plan. It’s clear I’m not getting away from Michael anytime soon. Which means dealing with this situation isn’t about waiting for another chance to escape. It’s about taking it one day at a time and playing by his rules for now.
Toeing the line has never been easy for me, not with anyone who tries to control me. Not with my father, not with Antonio, and definitely not with Michael. I won’t become a doormat, but if I have to play nice to survive, then that’s what I’ll do.
For the record, I haven’t given up. I’ve shifted my focus. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
On my way toward the kitchen, I catch Michael’s voice. I’m still too far away to hear what he’s saying, but the deep, bass timber is like a shot of whisky to my soul—rich, smooth, and fucking burning. I let the loss of my independence stoke my anger. Then I call up the image of that scarf, the feel of that cane, letting all of it drive away my attraction. I’ll play nice, but I won’t let myself forget what he is.
Michael’s voice drifts from the kitchen again. The quiet sound of a woman crying follows.
A few feet from the kitchen now, I halt in my tracks.
Jo?
“I’m sorry, Sir.” Joanne sniffles.
Worry for her pricks at me. Is he upsetting her? I walk faster.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I shouldn’t be crying in front of you, sir.”
“Jo, come on.” His voice is so tender it catches me completely off guard. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me. Let me help you.”
I halt again, my ears perking up.
Jo heaves a sigh. “I don’t want to burden you with my personal problems. Please don’t worry about it.”
“Jo,” he drawls.
She blows out a breath. “It’s Alicia. She’s sick again.”
“Your sister?” Concern laces his tone.
“Yeah. The cancer is back.”
My eyes widen.
“Damn. I’m sorry.” Michael. “Is there anything I can do?”
She blows her nose. “You did so much for us last time she had it, I won’t ask that of you.”
“She needs the procedure again, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah. They say she won’t make it without it. If it was just the treatment, I’d be fine. But that asshole husband is still dragging her through that divorce. She can’t… Sir, please don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get money out of you.”
“Jo,” h
e soothes. “Stop that. I told you if you needed anything, you tell me. How much do you need?”
“Sir, no. Absolutely not. I—“
“Joanne. I have your account information. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just put in an amount myself.”
Hearing the determination in his voice, I can imagine him standing there, crossing his arms.
An unwelcome smile at his generosity pulls at my mouth. He has a habit of forcing it on others, doesn’t he? He did that to me at the bus stop with that ticket.
“Sir.” I hear Joanne laugh brokenly. I don’t hear the figure she gives him, but I can guess it’s huge.
“Done,” Michael says. “It’ll be in your account within the hour. I’ll add a few extra thousand to cover the divorce. Just don’t—“ I miss whatever he’s saying because they walk into the adjoining dining hall and the door shuts.
I walk into the kitchen in a daze, trying to process what I’ve just heard. Sadness for Joanne’s sister tugs at me, along with confusion over what Michael is doing for her. His actions don’t square with the twisted man I know him to be.
Then a realization hits and I put my head back with a groan.
Then again, maybe they do.
I’ve lost count of how often my father has done those kinds of things for his staff and his crew. The thing is, it always comes with a catch. To the point where it’s widely known among those who’ve seen the real him that you don’t accept help from him unless you are prepared to owe him.
Everything in me wants to tell Jo to be careful, to warn her that once she accepts his money, he might use it against her later. That sort of manipulative tactic unfortunately does fit him, but would even Michael stoop that low? Would he use a sick woman’s vulnerability to hold it over his employee’s head? I remember dozens of times as a kid when he did things that appeared to be helping me and then he later used it against me. But he also punched a guy in the face for wanting to abuse a teenaged girl, so I know he’s not all bad.
Fuck, I don’t know what to make of this, and I hate the idea of Jo stepping into a trap. If I tell her, she might back out of the only option she has to save her sister’s life when he could be trying to help her out without expecting anything for it.
Damn it.
I’m still mulling over whether to stick my nose in while I raid Joanne’s fridge to make myself a corned beef and mustard sandwich.
“Nice view, kravitsa.”
I groan. I’m bending down to the crisper for the lettuce with my ass in the air and Michael is standing behind me, obviously enjoying himself.
“Bend over a little more,” he adds.
I make an angry sound and round on him. He grins and my cheeks heat.
“Dobrey utro, kravitsa.” He looks like it’s a very good morning indeed.
“Sir,” I grumble, slamming the lettuce head on the counter, along with the mustard and corned beef. My plan to play nice for the sake of a pain-free life is fading fast.
“Jo can make that for you.” He crosses the room and takes my hand off the lettuce. “I need a word with you. Come with me.”
The mention of Jo brings to mind the conversation I heard between her and Michael, and I let my mistrust of him scour away the heat his fingers send jolting through me. If he’s taking advantage of her…
“What for, Sir?”
“Just come with me.”
Unwilling to let the meat sit out, I sigh and put the sandwich stuff back in the fridge, then follow him to his office. Once we’re inside, he shuts the door and goes to the large desk that dominates the cozy space. He walks in behind it.
“So. As of today, you’re allowed to go anywhere you want as long as you remain inside the lodge.” The emphasis on my staying inside the lodge is unmistakable. “But to ensure that you do stay inside…” He pauses and opens a drawer. “We’re going to give you a little extra incentive not to leave.”
“Incentive, Sir?” I don’t like the ominous sound of that.
Michael pulls something out of the drawer and holds it up between his fingers.
My eyes widen. “Oh, hell no.”
He’s holding a collar, of all things. Except it has a device on the front of it with a LED light on it. I’ve seen one of those before. My dad used to use one on Fetch while training him before he had to be put down. It’s a shock collar.
Michael smirks and comes around the desk toward me. I step back, hands in the air.
“Forget it, Michael. You are not coming near me with that thing.”
“Would you rather remain locked in that room for the duration of our stay here?”
I drop my shoulders and roll my head back. Forty-eight hours in that room with nothing to do was bad enough. “If I wear that thing, how do I know you’re not going to set it off just for kicks?”
He shakes his head. “I told you before, I’m not a monster, Aurora.”
“That’s debatable.”
His eyes dance. One step toward me, and he snags my wrist, pulling me slowly toward him. “It gives me no pleasure to do this, kravitsa.”
“Oh, no?”
“All right, maybe it does. But I wouldn’t torture you like that.”
Everything in me screams to bolt, but it would only put off the inevitable. “You’re twisted, Michael.”
He holds up the collar. “On or off? You’re choice. But we may be here a while. There are other storm systems on the way in. You could be locked in that room for a long time.”
“Fuck.” I deflate in front of him. I’ll just have to hope he’ll be good to his word and not decide to have fun with that thing. “Fine. Put it on.”
“Good girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Really?”
His shoulders shake, telling me the double meaning was probably intentional.
Moving my hair out of his way, he slips the collar around my neck almost gently, buckling it at the back. He turns it around so that the mechanism at the front is at my throat.
To say the collar feels strange is an understatement. It’s snug enough to keep it in place, but without choking, the mechanism at the front making it impossible to forget what it is I’m wearing, or what it’s meant to do. Humiliation heats my cheeks at the idea of being seen in this thing. Strangely, though, the level of control it gives him makes my muscles tighten deliciously.
Michael looks me over, his eyes hungry as they fixate on the collar. He brushes the strap with his fingers. “Fuck, you look hot like that.”
“Great. Can I go now, Sir?”
“Not yet.”
Once more going behind the desk, he takes the remote control for the collar from the drawer.
“The collar has been calibrated so that it’ll go off the moment you set foot outside of this lodge. If you do, you’ll receive a mild shock. But I will have the remote with me at all times.”
Figures.
He comes around the desk to me, remote in hand. “I will not use it…for kicks….as you put it. But if I see you do anything that looks like an attempt at escape, I’ll set it off.” The remote disappears inside the pocket of his blazer. “It’s on the first setting. If I have to set it off a second time, the setting will increase. Don’t give me a reason.”
With nothing else to say, I settle for a curt nod.
“Good. Now get gone, woman. I have work to do in here.”
As soon as I’ve left him, I slump against the door, letting my head fall against the wood paneling. My hand instinctively reaches up to the collar on my neck. I shiver. If I had any doubt that my situation here is hopeless, the feel of the little box under my fingers chases it away. I hate the shame his actions continue to inspire, almost as much the increasing rightness I feel building deep inside.
Michael owns me.
And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Chapter 17
One Day
Having left Michael in his office, I make my way to the kitchen, my blood still burning with anger. It’s not fair how many doors I’d noticed th
is place has to the outside now that I can’t use any of them without getting shocked. The only experience I’ve ever had with electrical shocks is the little zap I sometimes get after coming in from outside and touching a doorknob. Worse, it’s not as if I can forget the collar is there. Or that Michael has the remote control on him, allowing him to set it off at will.
Wanting to get a look at the vile thing for myself, I stop at a small mirror on the wall near the front door, catching my reflection.
God, there’s no chance of anyone who sees me missing that collar. The box at the front that provides the shock is the size of a small fist, and the green light indicating that it’s on glows iridescent in the light from the hall. Draping my hair around my shoulders hides the strap, but it doesn’t hide that box, and the white cashmere sweater Michael chose for me that day has a low neckline, leaving nothing to hide the front of the collar.
Turning to stomp off to the kitchen, I nearly bump right into Katerina.
Great. This is all I need right now. It’s all the worse looking at this woman when I know that I’m wearing this collar at least partly due to her meddling. It pisses me off that her influence with Michael gives her power over me in some way.
Carrying a suitcase in each hand, she steps back, and her gaze goes straight to the damn collar. A smile tugs at her pretty mouth as she looks me over.
“Can I help you with something, Kat?”
She snickers. “Woof woof.”
I cock my head at her. “Seriously?”
She ignores me and carries her suitcases toward the doors.
“Are you leaving then?” I say pointedly. “Need help packing?” Or help over a cliff?
She grins at me while she sets the luggage down. “I’m going shortly, yes. Michael needs me to take care of some things back in New York. I need to be gone before the next storm hits tonight.”
Oh, thank fucking God. However long I’m stuck here with Micheal, at least I won’t have to deal with her anymore. “Well, have a safe trip. Or not.” I turn to leave the hall.
“Miss Romano.”
When I look at her, she clasps her hands in front of her. In her three-piece black suit and heels, with that golden hair twisted up in a loose bun, she’s the picture of poise and elegance. Even without the heels, she’d be a good head taller than me, but even if she was the same height as me, she has a presence about her that makes her seem to tower.