Only Pretend

by Nora Flite

  Leonide bit down on my shoulder as he came; the wave of heat and fire seared into my blood. It was a wonder my orgasm stopped. When he slid out of me, my walls struggled to hold him in.

  Casting shadows down on my face, he stared at me with beads of salt slipping down his nose. Hair plastered to his forehead; I thought we must have mirrored each other. Genuine concern wormed into his eyes, took its time considering me where I rested under him.

  I spoke first, breath shuddering. “Ruined?”

  His mouth coiled, he showed me his back. The ripple of his pants closing had a finality. Standing, he started tucking in his shirt. “Go clean yourself up.”

  Hesitation kept me there. Finally, I padded on bare feet to the bathroom; the leash stretching to its full length. I could wash myself, scrub away the proof of what we had done just minutes ago.

  No amount of cleaning could take the memory from my brain.

  Even if Leonide didn't want me—if he even hated me to my core?—what we'd done was a new form of armor for my fragile state.

  In this fucked up situation...

  The two of us had managed to make love.

  And I was stronger for it.

  - Chapter Twelve -

  Celeste

  Deciding to make me sleep in his room—within god damn arm's reach of him—was a new form of torture. I wondered if, when I'd been drugged up and recovering, he'd slept in the chair near me while I took up his giant bed.

  It didn't matter if he had. Not as far as getting me used to it was concerned.

  That night, curled under the blanket and leashed to the frame, I huddled naked with a foot of space between us. Leonide was wearing nothing but a pair of form-fitting, dark grey boxers. He was essentially as nude as I was, with how I was blushing.

  “No trouble tonight,” he said, killing the light and pushing us into blindness. The vague blue from the bathroom illuminated the edges of everything in the room; including Leonide, his spine facing me, shoulder defined so I could note every segment of muscle. In silence we laid there, my gaze bouncing from one thing to the next.

  Always, it returned to him.

  Sleep ran from me. I didn't bother chasing it. The gentle sound of Leonide's breathing was a simple song. He must have no trouble sleeping. Lucky. Carefully I sat up, eyeing him without the pressure of his stare looking back. It was the first time I could fully study him, appreciate his fine features and soft eyelashes.

  His profile was refined, lids twitching with whatever he dreamed. Swallowing, I inched my hand towards his. Not so long ago, I would have taken this for an opportunity. A way to hurt him, perhaps strangle him with a pillow or my leash around his throat.

  Such ideas cracked away before fully forming.

  I didn't want to harm him anymore.

  My hand brushed his warm skin; he inhaled sharply. Jerking away, I held my air and waited for him to stir. Instead, he rolled closer, murmured sounds that meant nothing to me. It took me straining to understand he was speaking in Russian. I'd heard the language from him enough to pick it out.

  Wishing I understood, I bent close, studied his perfect lips moving. Fragments of English slid in between the nonsense. Even if I didn't speak Russian, I knew what distress sounded like. What is he doing, having a nightmare?

  His eyebrows twisted, he was... arguing with someone. What was going on in that gorgeous head? And then I heard a word, one word, but it was all I needed. “Mother,” he whispered, lips curling harshly.

  My heart throbbed. Ignoring my nerves, I slid along the mattress until my chest was against his side. Snaking my hand over his ribs, waiting for him to startle, I finally embraced Leonide without him opening his eyes. Through his skin I heard—felt—his murmuring blood.

  Whatever he dreamed about in regards to his mother, it was not fond imagery.

  Reveling in his warmth, in my desire to bring him comfort, I snuggled with the man who had ripped me from my world...

  And I slept better than I had since arriving.

  ****

  Something woke me. I didn't know what.

  With my eyes adjusting to the low lights, I first felt him under my hand before seeing him. My fingers spread on his chest, nose caressing the nook below his shoulder. Somehow, I'd slid my ankle over his knee, tangling our legs. It was a position meant for intimate lovers, not for a kidnapper and his prey.

  It occurred to me to move before he awoke and found us like this. But then he spoke, and I knew he was what had woken me up. “What are you doing?”

  My limbs became paralyzed. Lifting my eyes without moving my head, I saw him staring down at me. Those hard irises—I was compelled to speak the truth. “You were having a nightmare.” Under my hand, I sensed his heart quicken. “I think it was about... your mother.”

  Leonide rolled away, sat on the edge of the bed.

  Clutching the blankets to my chest, I lifted my head. “Are you alright?”

  “Of course.”

  “You don't look it. Was it a nightmare about her?”

  Running a hand through his hair, he narrowed his eyes at me. “Go on, psychoanalyze me some more.”

  Guilt rose its ugly head. “Sorry. I wasn't trying to pry.”

  “No, you were.” Cracking his back, he stood to his full height. Clicking the lamp on revealed his sculpted hamstrings. “It was just a dream. Forget it.”

  I couldn't; not really. I knew that dreams were never just dreams. “What happened to her?” I know his dad is dead, but... what about her?

  Pure, deadly poison welled in his stare. Without lifting a hand or a weapon, I felt the wafting danger. “I told you to forget it. Don't make me force it from your head, Celeste.” He watched me wilt, softened his voice. “I'll bring breakfast up.” Dressing in a lush robe, he slipped out the door.

  He didn't leave me for long.

  Leonide returned with a tray of food, a few bits of clothing over his arm. He handed me a strapless white bra and panties; it wasn't much, but I wasn't going to complain.

  Sitting on his mattress, we ate the meal in silence. My skull was pulsing with questions and curiosity. My heart? Well, it fought to grasp the feelings I had for this wicked man. Looking down at the scar on my arm, I rubbed it idly.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, sipping from a mug of coffee.

  I opened my mouth; closed it. “Honestly? I'm wondering how to keep you from sending me off to Vitaly.”

  Wiping his lips, he set the cup on the bed stand. “You can't stop that.”

  “Maybe not. But you can, sir.”

  Leonide's eyebrows crawled to his hairline. “Hardly. My reputation is at stake. I've never pulled out of a marriage contract, I'm not about to now.”

  You're going to ruin everything. It was what he'd accused me of while we fucked. “You've thought about it.” He sat up, lifted his chin high. “Yeah,” I went on, passion soaking into my words. “I'm not crazy. You've thought about telling him he can't have me.”

  “Don't act as if you know what's in my head,” he said coldly. “There are things at play you know nothing about.”

  “Then tell me! Make me understand.”

  A tiny smirk appeared. “Always so demanding. I don't need you to understand the inner workings of my business, Celeste.”

  “I don't care about that. I want to know your inner workings.”

  The way he studied me made my skin crawl. “Maybe you already know them. You did call me a demon, after all.”

  My chest strained with my shuddering breath. “You're not a demon. Not to me.”

  “Oh?” The cynical edge sank in its fangs. “What am I then, sweet girl? Your angel, your hero?”

  I didn't blink. “If you keep me from Vitaly, you'll be all that and more.”

  Leonide's smile shattered. What was left was a pale remainder. “It's not happening. I care more about the tradition, the lineage left behind by my father, than I do the wishes of a stupid, lying girl.”

  Bunching up, I turned away. “Was i
t tradition for the girls to hate it like I do?”

  “Most girls saw the value in the marriage. So many unfortunate women would kill to be in your shoes, Celeste.”

  Such chilly laughter. “Then find one of them. Find a girl who wants to take my place.”

  “The women here don't struggle, they appreciate what is offered.” His sigh was long, drawn out. “But you spoiled American girls. If I pick out one who is begging to be married to a rich man, I would win a bet every time that they are gold digging, awful women who are not fit to be good wives.” I didn't sense him until his fingers were in my hair, guiding me gently to look at him. “I don't want gold diggers. American girls are sought after, but entitled women are not.”

  Fists formed in my lap. “So you kidnap unsuspecting girls like me who have no friends or family or homes. How am I better suited to serve these men?”

  “Poor, fragile women appreciate what comes to them. They're easy to tame.”

  “I haven't been so easy.”

  “No,” he agreed. “You haven't. But it's too late for me to take back what I've done. I promised I'd have you ready for Vitaly. What else is there?” He scrutinized me, tried to discern what was in my head. I did the same to him.

  Neither of us looked satisfied.

  “What's in motion isn't easy to stop,” he finally said.

  I didn't hide the imploring shine in my gaze. “Not easy isn't the same as not possible.”

  Letting go of me, he climbed from the bed. “You fight so hard. Do you honestly believe that staying here with me would be better?”

  “Yes.” It was an answer born from instinct.

  Leonide folded his arms across his chest. “Knowing that I would make you do everything that Vitaly would, that he and I are plagued by the same tastes, after all the ways I've abused you... you would still choose me over him?”

  My jaw ached from clenching my molars. “Yes.”

  “Stupid, stupid girl.”

  Truthfully? I didn't think he was wrong.

  Grabbing the leash, he pulled me towards the bathroom. “I need to shower. Come with me.”

  Steam filled the blue ceramic room. Tying my leash to the iron towel hooks, he shut the door and locked us in. Leonide disrobed, standing before me in sculpted majesty. Just the drastic dip that led the eye from his hip bones to below was enough to leave me staggering.

  His impatient squint woke me from my daydream. I knew what he wanted. Quickly, my clothes joined his on the floor.

  We showered together in long stretches of quiet. Sometimes he'd ask me to hand him soap, or a cloth. Mostly, I hung my head and watched water run from my long hair to the drain. The more I considered what was coming—my time with Leonide dwindling—the more I wanted to dive down into those pipes.

  How do I convince him? In my ears, the shower noises echoed. He's obsessed with his family line. So certain that this is not just the only option, but the best option for me.

  He doesn't believe that this forced marriage is wrong.

  Why?

  Wiping droplets from my eyes, I stared at him where he bent under the shower head. His soaked hair was blacker than ever, eyes hidden in what looked like thought. Was he thinking about what I was?

  Our minds are more similar than I realized...

  But has he noticed that as well?

  “Celeste.”

  I stood taller. “Yes?”

  He cracked his lids, watched me over his shoulder. “Do you understand why I do what I do?”

  Has he been reading my mind? It was a silly, paranoid thought. Of course he could have guessed what was forcing the tension between us; we'd been arguing about it merely ten minutes ago. “Because you think it's what's best for the girls—for me.”

  Leonide nodded. “Because it is. Not because I think so, it's simple reality. Why would anyone choose to suffer in the streets, to die alone and unloved?”

  “Because we're free to choose what we want.”

  “No one should be free to choose death,” he snapped. He hung his chin, rivulets of water losing their smooth path in the creases of his frown. “Saving people from themselves. That's what I'm doing.”

  My jaw was tense. “You should let me save myself.”

  His hand lashed out, grabbing my arm, thumb squeezing near my scar. “This is what happens when you save yourself! You end up bleeding out in a field! Is that better than what I've striven to prepare for you?”

  Grinding my molars to keep from crumbling to the pain, I glared into his face. We were both images of pride, of indignant fury. Neither of us wanted to break. “Yes. Choosing to die is better than living the life I don't want. Always.”

  “Is death so glorious?” he asked, eyes wild.

  “Not death.” I wrinkled my nose. “The choice.”

  Releasing me, Leonide stepped out of the shower. I rubbed my arm gingerly, turning the water off when it was clear he wasn't going to. He didn't speak again, just threw on a towel and stepped from the room.

  Drying myself off slowly, I walked onto the cool tiles. The mirrors were fogged, hiding my face. That was fine; I wanted to see him, not me. Wrapped in a towel, I walked out as far as the leash would let me. The tension kept me from going two steps beyond the doorway. I couldn't reach the bed.

  In that time, Leonide had managed to slip on tan slacks and a pale blue shirt. He didn't look at me. “I have some business to go take care of.”

  “For how long?” I tugged the leash pointedly.

  Bending into his closet, he pulled out a large suitcase. “It might be a few days.”

  “A few days?”

  “A few days,” he said crisply. Finally he turned to me, strolling my way on patient legs. “Is that alright with you? Do I have your permission, Celeste?” My eyes fell to the floor, his words took me back up. “Look at me and listen. I'm leaving, but you're staying here. I'm not exactly happy with you right now, understand?”

  I mouthed a soft, “yes, sir.”

  He eased his scowl, conflicted in—what? Whether to hurt me or console me? I couldn't tell. Pulling away, he gathered up his suitcase. “A few days. You'll spend them in there, maybe it will teach you to appreciate the comforts you have. I'll make sure someone brings you food.”

  “Leonide,” I said, his name feeling odd in my mouth. He tensed up, his spine a steel rod. It was a struggle to talk, but I needed—just needed—to tell him. “Please be safe.”

  Smoothing his features to hide all emotion, he left me without saying goodbye.

  - Chapter Thirteen -

  Leonide

  How had this happened to me?

  My mind was working over every scenario, every little fragment of difference between the girls I'd trained and married off...

  And Celeste Barstow.

  She was an illogical miracle; a girl who brought so many feelings out of me.

  Fuck.

  I hated her with a passion.

  What was I supposed to do with a girl who drove me mad, all while offering me sensations that struck me like breathing for the first time. She'd made me discover things I didn't want to know about myself.

  I wanted to taste her, touch her, see her pale blue eyes spread as wide as possible.

  Wanted to make her break under my clawing hands.

  What the hell was I going to do?

  Four days.

  Four days was all I had between now and when Vitaly was supposed to arrive.

  Since I'd been young, my brain had started to see everything as calculations. Numbers were what made plans. The best laid plans were what made the world.

  But now I don't have a single fucking plan.

  Celeste had been a wrench in the perfection my father had created. I needed time to think. With all the hours between here and Las Vegas, I have time in spades.

  Too bad my skull was splitting with thoughts of her. How her skin felt, the soft, genuine cries of pleasure she always blushed over so much. She was a toxin in my blood.

  I wanted more of it.


  My flight to the states was smooth. Perhaps I drank a bit too much, but could I really be blamed? I still had my wits, my money to make the trip flow. I'd traveled enough times under the guise of buying equipment for my mining company, with the cover of not wanting to pay the international transport fees. The men who assisted me in the flight plan, the landing zones, were happy to take my bribes and ignore any other activity.

  It was a good cover, as far as covers went.

  If they thought they were skimming the top of petty crime fees, the men would never bother to investigate further.

  None of them would think to check the large suitcase I flew with. It was always a rush, wondering if one of the men might sell me out, if I'd have to explain my cargo to the police.

  If they would open the special suitcase—designed so they could breathe—and find the sleeping girl inside.

  And they haven't yet, I thought, feeling the jet tremble as it landed. Never catching my father, never suspecting me. Why would this time be the end of all that luck?

  The rental car was waiting for me. I peeled extra wads of cash from my wallet for the pilot and his companion. “Hang around. I might return before midnight.” It was only after eight. Even with my jet lag, I was confident I could slip away with my prize.

  I'd done this so many times before.

  I always found someone.

  At the Bellagio, I checked into my room, had the bellhop roll my luggage. “What's in the big case?” he asked, rocking on his heels in the elevator. He was a skinny thing, eyes wide with delight when I slipped him a fat tip.

  “Suits.” I winked, allowed him to guide the trolley and unload my items by my bed. “I like to dress up. The ladies appreciate it.”

  “I'll bet,” he laughed. “I'll let you get ready to wow them.” Bidding me a cheerful farewell, he vanished. Alone, I did just that; freshened up for my charade.

  There was a precision to my actions. Washed hair, groomed beard, a hint of cologne on my neck. Adjusting my amethyst tie and slate colored suit, I studied myself in the mirror of the elevator to the casino. It's routine. Just do what you've done every single time.

  The girls I looked for were specific. I needed them to have no loose ends. Once I found one, the rest was simple. Mine them for information, check for family, friends. After they were passed out, I dug through their belongings. Some women owned cars. I had to be careful looking for that.