“I want you to count off the strokes of your discipline for me, Natalia,” he said, and as the words sank in, he rubbed my ass, igniting the already burning skin. “I am going to give you ten firm strokes. And you are going to count them off, to show me that you understand who commands here.”
His thumb had traveled down to my pussy, sweeping with it a scandalous amount of slippery juice, and was poised at my eyelet by the time he finished speaking, wet, warm, massaging me gently.
“Do you understand?” he growled, and at the same time he thrust his finger inside of me. There was a sharp burst of pain, and I threw my head to one side and wailed, but the pain subsided almost instantly, and all I could feel was the delicious, dull, full ache of his finger, moving in a clockwise direction, pressing up and out against the inside of my ass.
He thrust in deeper and I pushed up against him, wanting him in further, craving the sensation as far as he could go. I whimpered, but it was more from pleasure than pain, and my face burned again with fresh humiliation.
I couldn’t be... enjoying this, could I?
I bit my lip as he fucked me with his thick thumb, my body howling with a new kind of pleasure I had never felt before, the submissive act of it intoxicating me, the physical feel of it almost too intense to withstand.
He squeezed my tailbone between his four fingers and his thumb, and I howled.
“Are you going to be a good girl?” he asked me.
All I managed to say was, “Oh!”
He squeezed more tightly, and so I burst out, “Yes. Yes! I’m going to be a good girl.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” I purred. Then I exclaimed, “Oh!” again as his thumb roughly left my ass.
I felt empty.
“Count for me, like a good little girl, and think about what you are going to do to...”
There was an unusual pause, almost as if he had to take a sip of water in the middle of a speech. “To please me.”
I shuddered. My pussy throbbed.
But the moment was over, and my ass stung suddenly with the crack of his strap.
The thick leather landed somewhat lightly, the sting manageable.
“One,” I breathed.
But each successive whipping was sharper, and each number became more difficult to say, until in the end my face was wet and my whole bottom was on fire. “Ten,” I managed to choke out, after the last stroke sliced through my skin and melted away slowly into a tingling heat.
I had not, I realized, had time to think of what I would promise him to please him. Fear seized me, my ass was too sore for any more.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I gasped. “I’ll... I’ll eat now. I promise. And I won’t give you... any more... trouble...” I babbled.
He moved his hand over my bottom in slow circles.
“What else are you going to do?” he asked.
His voice was different now, almost tender.
“Wh-what...” I stammered. I was trying to say, “What do you want me to do?” but I couldn’t get it out.
“What else are you going to do to please me, Natashka?” His hand was moving over my ass, sending mixtures of pain and pleasure through my body that crowded my mind and blocked out that he was now calling me some other name.
My lips moved: I wanted desperately to tell him that I would do whatever he wanted. At that moment, I would have. I would have gotten on my knees, taken him into my mouth, and swallowed his seed—I wanted to. I would have bitten the sheets as he filled me from behind, swallowing the pain just to feel the fullness inside of me, and to please him with an act of submission. I would have loved to feel him between my legs; I would have ridden on him while he whipped me like a horse. “Anything,” I breathed.
It was true and it was a ploy, what could I say? Surely he would take me now, and ease the ache between my thighs. My back tingled, wanting to feel his hot skin against mine. So what if he was going to kill me? I wasn’t thinking straight any longer...
I expected to feel him in my ass, dominating me, pushing me to the mattress like a sexual slave. Instead, when the thickness of his cock filled me, it was inside my pussy. He was as thick as I had imagined, so hard he pressed out against the root of my clit and practically sent me over the edge with the single, slow thrust that he gave to fill me up.
I heard him gasp, and my own breath caught in my throat. Then he pulled me by the legs and sank over my body, until I was lying flat with him deep inside of me.
I had expected him to fuck me hard and dirty—and don’t get me wrong, the state I was in, I would have loved it—but instead, he moved slowly over me, his cock dragging in languid strokes within me, making my thighs shake almost immediately. I whimpered; the pleasure was as intense as a showerhead right on my clit, only better, because of the heat of his skin all over me, protecting me.
I felt my body seize up with the crest of an orgasm, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, or to stop myself from yelling as I came. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through me, like nothing I had ever felt before.
“Don’t move...” I thought I heard him say, and then something in a strange tongue. He balled my hair in his hand and thrust deep inside of me, and I felt his hot seed explode deep in my body.
I was still quivering like a tray of Jell-O, unable to think about anything but coming down from the excruciating pleasure I was feeling. It was too wild, too uncontrolled. Vaguely, in the back of my mind, I thought of him coming inside of me, and how that should have been a very bad thing. But as I lay there trembling, his hot body over me, his cock still twitching inside of me, I was—stupidly, recklessly—unconcerned about it.
How long were we like that? I could have laid there forever.
But something seemed to shake him, suddenly, from the dreamy state we were in.
His weight was suddenly gone from the mattress, my knees freed, and within moments the leather straps holding my wrists were being impatiently removed.
I looked up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but his face was steely, and he seemed almost angry again. I turned to the mattress, waiting, the fabric of the shirt I was still wearing soaked through with sweat.
Silk fell down on my legs.
“Get dressed in this,” his voice said curtly.
I rolled over, surprised, my blood pounding in my ears, my body reeling from the crash it had just suffered, still longing for him, angry now that I was actually giving a shit that this... this maniac... was displeased with me, and wasn’t going to cuddle me or something.
“Wh-wha...?”
“Get dressed,” he repeated. His accent was stronger almost as though he was distracted. But when I studied his expression in curiosity, his face was set in stone. He looked like a cold-hearted assassin. “Turn left at the door and go to the stairs. There is a kitchen up there. Sit down and eat your breakfast.”
I had to concentrate hard to snap my mouth shut.
Okay, fine, asshole, I thought. I should have known a psycho like you would just want to bang me and leave me, and I don’t care.
I ripped my shirt off, furious with myself for the moments I had actually had the silly, stupid, childish thought that we had been sharing something beautiful.
I knew better than that, I thought.
But inside my chest, my heart was sinking wildly, and I had to impatiently brush away a tear wrung from that spiraling pain.
Fuck him, I thought. He wasn’t going to see me cry. I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of thinking I had thought anything about any of this.
I could be just like him.
Chapter Eleven
Alaric
The last thing I needed was Natalia Karkarov fucking up my life, fucking with my head, causing me to make terrible decisions. One after another. But there she was, with something overpowering about her. Making me use nicknames, making me want her, making me afraid of losing her.
She did what I said: she put the robe on and walked straight up to the kitchen. Fina
lly, she was doing one damn thing I told her to. I watched her from my workroom, where the whole house could be viewed by hundreds of cameras. And as I sat there, my heart still beating wildly, almost out of breath—I realized what the problem was.
I didn’t get out of breath. My pulse didn’t go above eighty unless I’ve been running for miles. I do a hundred push-ups before I take a piss in the morning. But Natalia Karkarov was going to make me have a heart attack, and all she was doing was eating breakfast.
The idea, right from the start, had been to comply with my code of honor. But to tell the truth, back when Natalia was just an abstraction, I didn’t really give a shit what happened to her one way or the other. I didn’t care that she was working at Kitty Bang Bang, I didn’t care that she was using drugs, I didn’t care if she was blowing every Russian mobster this side of the Mississippi, and I didn’t really care if she fell off a cliff—as long as I had done my duty to keep her out of their crosshairs, then everything was fine by me.
That’s the way I wanted my life. That’s how I survived. Fear is a game you can win within yourself, but you’re fucked if there is anything—or anyone—outside yourself that you’re afraid of losing.
I’ve never had anything I was afraid of losing. Anything you can buy you can replace, and so the trick is to buy everything. Buy your women, buy your friends. Trust no one and nothing and above all, don’t give a shit about any of it.
But this long-limbed beauty, sitting casually on a stool in the kitchen, eating the breakfast I’d made her with a forced politeness in spite of being alone and also being starving—this girl made my chest ache. People usually describe fear as icy and cold, but those are people who feel it all the time. To me, it felt like my blood had begun to boil.
Why Natalia Karkarov would have this effect on me, I had no idea. I closed my eyes.
The best course of action would be to take her somewhere, give her money, threaten her profusely, and walk away from all of this. I could put someone like Nick on duty watching her and write all of this off as having done my very best. It was enough to comply with my promise.
But thinking of leaving her out there somewhere in the world, where she could be found, activated a switch I hadn’t known existed inside me. I wanted her where I could see her and protect her. I didn’t want her stripping at Kitty Bang Bang, I didn’t want her being touched by anyone but me.
And the thought of one of the shady figures out there in Kyril’s old playing field laying a finger on her, hurting her... killing her was unbearable. I recoiled from the thought like it was a red-hot coal.
I could sit there, trying to talk myself out of it. I could tell myself over and over what the right thing to do was. I had always imagined myself falling for some pussy—it happened to everyone—but when I did, I was convinced I would be able to talk myself out of it.
The memory of the silky heat of her body around me, beneath me, squeezing me, wet and velvet and tight, was as fresh as though I were still inside of her. I wanted more. I wanted to make her submit, I wanted her to give herself to me—but now I wanted more than that as well. I wanted to keep her and protect her, and the fire inside of me was hotter than any feeling I had ever felt—and the only feeling I’d felt for a long time.
I’d lost control with Natalia. The feeling settled in around me, closing in like a vise. What if she’d gotten pregnant? Then what?
I never lost control, so I never had this problem. I’d never even given it any thought. Then what?
I peeled my eyes away from her and shifted to the other screens.
Within minutes, I had enacted another plan entirely. Because I needed more time with Natalia, more time than what I had needed before. I didn’t want to scare her; I didn’t want to wash my hands of her. And if anything had happened, if she was pregnant with my blood...
I put the thought out of my mind.
Whether she was or she wasn’t, I was already in deep.
I wanted her to myself.
And if I wanted that, I would have to keep Natalia a very deep, hidden secret. For her sake, more than anything. In fact, it was best for her if Natalia didn’t know that she was the one thing I was afraid to lose.
Chapter Twelve
Natalia
“Get enough to eat?”
There it was again—a change in his voice. Why was he fucking with my head like this? If he was going to be a cruel bastard, then he could just go ahead and be one.
But that seemed to be his plan. To act like he cared, make me confused, and then drag my heart through the mud, wash, rinse, repeat, until... what? I was broken?
I set the half of a delicious croissant down. I’d already had three, plus some kind of egg business, and I’d eaten about half a huge bowl of fruit. I wanted more, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
I said nothing.
He looked at me pointedly, almost like a father would, and stepped into the kitchen. “You haven’t eaten for almost thirty-six hours,” he said. “You don’t want anything else?”
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or being kind. He was acting like a schizo, kind of like Lucy on one of her good days.
“I’m fine,” I said.
There was an awkward silence.
“Okay. Well. Go and shower—there is a guest room down that corridor. We are leaving in twenty-two minutes. Be prompt.”
I shifted in my seat. My ass was sore from his spanking, and his cum was spilling into the thick red robe he’d given me to wear. My heart felt cold again. Not that I had any idea why, but the idea of leaving this place seemed like something I wanted to avoid. I mean, I didn’t even know where we were, at all, but this seemed to imply we were going even further away.
“Where?” I said quietly. I didn’t feel as defiant, as much as I hated myself for it. It almost sounded—ludicrously—like something I wanted to do. ‘Go somewhere’ with him taking me there, and nothing but the heat of his body at my back to worry about... forget it all...
He was looking at me with his stone face.
“Somewhere. Go get ready. Clothing is on the bed.”
The fantasy bubble burst. I couldn’t ‘go anywhere.’ I had Lucy to think of, and this guy was... was... what the hell was he?
My eyes were getting wet. I looked down in frustration. I was not going to let this guy see me cry. That was probably just what he wanted. All of this was obviously just some kind of game to him.
It was decision time.
If I told him I didn’t want to go with him, it didn’t seem like he’d listen. If I told him why, he’d probably find a way to exploit that and use it against me. If I went with him, though... if I appeared to be taken in by his game... then maybe I stood a chance of getting away.
Raw fear was gnawing at me, but it was less about him than it should have been. It was more about me. About the fact that as much as I could reason to myself that this guy was a psycho, manipulative fuck, I felt like giving in to him, letting myself fall for his act. Maybe I even was, a little.
“Natalia, don’t start,” he said impatiently. I looked up at him, and the tears, against my will, spilled out of my eyes and rolled, hot, down my cheeks.
A look of pity flashed across his face, and then he was angry. “You will go. You will go to the room, you will take a shower, and you will be ready in twenty minutes. Now!”
I lost it. I was shaking my head and sobbing before I could stop myself. “I can’t,” I said.
He said nothing, and so finally I looked up at him.
“Natalia,” he said, after taking a deep breath. “I know this is hard. You don’t... you can’t understand.”
For a moment, looking at him, his eyes seemed to warm from their usual cool state, and I found myself actually thinking that he cared. “You have to trust me,” he said sharply. “I am doing this for your own good—”
“I don’t even know who you are,” I said. I had started off yelling, but I quieted down midsentence. Who could say why? Was I falling for his
act? Or was I just trying to save myself from another spanking?
Muscle along his jaw pulsed as he stared at me. The soft look in his eyes hardened. “Go,” he said quietly, his arm going out to the right. “Go now, if you know what is good for you. If you disobey me I—”
His breath caught in his throat, and in my chest a delicious, but very real, spasm of fear twisted.
“I will make sure you regret it.”
I pushed the plate away and slid off the stool. Something about his voice told me he was down to business.
* * *
I showered as fast as I could and got dressed while my skin was still slightly wet. The clothes he had brought me were as nice as the ones in the basket, but there was nothing very warm to choose from. I selected another pair of jeans, a perfect fit, which was mystifying and a little bit scary, and a white shirt. There were a pair of white panties, and no bra. Oh, well, I thought, and put the shirt on anyway. It was a plain t-shirt that hugged my figure. I glanced in the mirror: I looked good. Sexy. Appealing. And part of me didn’t actually mind that.
I calculated one problem while I hastily searched the room looking for... I don’t know, something useful.
He had come inside of me, and the reality of that was just starting to set in.
I’d run out of money for the pill a couple of months ago, which hadn’t mattered very much because I didn’t even have time to sleep with any of the sleazebags who came through my neck of the woods—and I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. So, money being what it was, I’d kept them around to use as a morning-after fix.
I didn’t have that now. And that was, potentially, a very big problem.
Even bigger than that problem was the fact that I had some stupid, stupid, stupid thing floating in my head that I almost liked the idea that he had filled me up with his seed and made me pregnant—
“Stop,” I whispered to myself, opening drawers, searching for anything useful. What? A map, a scrap of paper, a knife, a screw, something, anything...
His for the Taking Page 7