by Nikki Sloane
As I changed, I could hear Daphne making small talk with Vasilije, and a sinking feeling came over me. There wasn’t a mirror in this dressing room, and they were both waiting for me to come out and stand before them. Of course he’d want to inspect his purchases.
I hadn’t fucked him yet, and already I was his whore.
10
The next hour of trying on clothes reduced me to a doll for Daphne to dress up, and I was paraded in front of Vasilije as he scrutinized not just the clothes, but the way they looked on my body. Every time I came out of the dressing room, his gaze grew heavier, weighing me down until it was hard to move.
At one point, he sent Daphne off in search of a dress. “Something she can wear to meet my family,” he said. It sent an icy chill crawling along my skin. The only family he had around to meet was Goran Markovic.
As soon as she was out of earshot, I turned away from the mirror and focused on him. “Why are you doing this?”
His dark eyes tightened on me, although he faked confusion. “Doing what?”
“Buying clothes for me. Saying you’re going to introduce me to your family.”
His smile peeled back and his dimple came out in full effect. “Because my uncle gave me an order this morning to get rid of you, and it’ll piss him off.”
Oh, shit. My mouth went slack, but Vasilije just laughed and waved my terror away, like it was no big deal the head of the Serbian mafia in south Chicago had ordered my death.
“I’m going to have fun fucking you, Oksana.” His tone was low, but turned smug as he kept talking. “And probably a lot of fun fucking with him.”
I turned away to hide my eyes, but it was pointless. Vasilije could see all three angles of my nervous expression in the mirror. I was a pawn in the game he was playing. Easy to move and sacrifice. Goran might be pissed at Vasilije, but who would be the most likely target of his uncle’s anger?
I searched deep inside myself for the revenge that burned and fanned the flames. I wasn’t a pawn. I was a motherfucking queen, the most powerful player on the board. Vasilije would be my pawn. A piece I’d move to get exactly what I wanted.
My nerves drained away. “If you’re so eager to fuck me, why haven’t you?”
He didn’t look like a pawn when he grinned at me through the mirror. He looked like the devil again. “I like watching you squirm.” The matter-of-fact tone dug in. He came off the couch and his hands slithered around my waist, pulling me back against him. Our gazes were locked on each other through the glass. “I’m enjoying taking you apart.”
“You’re not.”
He pushed a lock of my hair out of his way and brushed the tip of his nose against the edge of my ear. “I’m not?”
“You can do whatever you want. It’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything or give you power over me.”
A thrilled smile spread on his lips like fingers sliding across piano keys in a glissando. “Spoken like a true virgin. Sex is all about power. And . . . whatever I want?”
That was what he’d focused on, and his words made my stomach bottom out. I clawed mentally to regain the ground I’d just given up. “It won’t make a difference. I don’t care.”
He snorted. “Bullshit.”
I watched his lips part, and the tip of his tongue peeked out, tracing a line on the curve of my neck. I shivered against his mouth. “I don’t have feelings.”
The body fitted against mine . . . had he just flinched? It was so subtle, I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it. “Right. Those weren’t tears last night when pages got torn in your precious book.”
I’d been overwhelmed physically, that was all. “I was exhausted. It wasn’t an emotional thing, because it couldn’t be. I don’t have emotions.”
There was no question of his pause this time, but he recovered quickly. “Nice try. I don’t believe you for one fucking second. You’re afraid of me.”
“I feel fear,” I amended. “I can get angry. But guilt? Shame? Empathy? No. I don’t see the point.”
“You don’t see the point?” He looked amused. “What about happiness?” He threw the question in my face as a challenge. “What about love?”
“Love is for people with hearts. It’s a weakness I, thankfully, do not have.”
Who would have thought Oksana Kuznetsov could shock the devil? His mouth hung open, and the hands on my hips turned to stone. It was then Daphne reappeared with a fitted, black and white print dress. She lingered at the doorway with a slight smile. She thought she’d caught us in a quiet lovers’ moment.
I strangled back a bitter laugh at the idea of us as lovers.
Vasilije separated from me and returned to his spot on the couch, his tone authoritarian as she handed me the hanger. “Oksana needs some things to go under that dress.”
Daphne didn’t bat an eye at his request for lingerie. “Absolutely. Would you like to help me select those pieces?”
“No, you know what you’re doing. I want something white, though.” His gaze slid from her to me, and it heated me to my core even when I didn’t want it to. “Virginal, but sexy.”
He was testing me.
He expected my face to turn bright red. He watched for me to display some sign of embarrassment, but I wouldn’t. Yes, I was curious about sex and ready to experience it, but being a virgin wasn’t a stigma. I broke his gaze and turned to her, delivering my comment flatly. “Like something for a wedding night.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vasilije straighten, and I bit down on my cheek this time to stop my victorious smile. He didn’t care for my analogy.
Daphne’s perfect saleswoman persona cracked and an odd look flickered through her, then was gone. She nodded slowly. “I’ll be right back.”
I changed, letting the silky lining on the inside of the dress glide over my skin, and I zipped up. I stepped into the pair of black heels that once I’d determined were the right size, Vasilije had added to the list of things we’d purchase. The dress clung to my body, and even without a mirror, I knew I’d like the way it looked on.
Vasilije’s eyes grew darker and hungrier as I stepped out of the room. His expression was raw and sexual, and every nerve ending in my body sounded an alarm. This is what you want, I reminded myself. I forced myself to keep my chin up as I strode to the mirror.
It was a simple thing, but cut just so. The black and white pattern gave me a figure. Somehow, I had curves in this dress, which fit like a glove. It ended just above my knees, which was the only disappointment. I wished it could block his view of how they were trembling.
Vasilije rose from his seat, and his expression screamed of desire and lust.
“Daphne’s good,” I whispered.
It got to be too much and I couldn’t hold his intense gaze in the mirror. I stared at my feet, clad in the black pumps, as he approached. He swept my hair over my shoulder, and then grasped the back of the dress. I sucked in a breath.
He zipped me the rest of the way up.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped before the zipper reached the top. This man made me feel vulnerable and undressed, yet I wasn’t sure how much I actually disliked that. His cold fingers did the catch at the top of the zipper. His accidental touch licked against my skin, and I jumped as if he’d burned me.
“I’m going to keep touching you,” he threatened on a whisper, “until you get used to it.”
What if that never happened? Was he sentencing me to a lifetime of his hands on my body? The thought was scalding, melting me from the inside.
Daphne appeared with several bras and panties attached to hangers, but she pulled to a stop as she saw me. “I’d swear that dress was made for you.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s perfect.”
The selection of lingerie was deposited in my fitting room, but as I moved to the door, his hand on my shoulder stopped me. “I’ll come in and help you with that zipper.”
His low words were meant only for me, and the air shifted, swirling around us. It charged the spa
ce with tension. Daphne exited the fitting room and looked surprised to find him standing beside me, right outside the doorway.
“Could you start ringing us up?” His voice was warm and persuasive. “There’s nineteen hundred dollars’ worth of clothes here, so it’ll take a while.” He gave her a pointed look. “I was thinking at least twenty minutes.”
Her eyes widened and she glanced around, nervous. But Vasilije’s carefully worded statement made it impossible for her to refuse him. She obviously worked on commission, and it was probably more than she’d ever made off a single client. She wanted to give her customer anything, even if that meant fucking around in a dressing room.
“Of course.” She choked as if realizing how strange it sounded only as she was saying it, “Take all the time you need.”
The fitting room was spacious until he stepped in behind me and shut the door, closing us in together. There was the sound of Daphne collecting the clothes, and her footsteps faded away. I splayed my hands on the skirt of my dress and watched him with cautious eyes. What was he planning? Would he take my virginity right here in a Faire Avenue fitting room?
No. He was cruel, but this wasn’t his style. And why would he buy me virginal lingerie if I wasn’t going to be a virgin anymore?
With a rough hand, I was turned away from him and the zipper was drawn down to the base of my spine. We moved like a trained team, working toward a mutual goal. I slipped out of the dress and handed it to him to hang up, then went to the hangers of white mesh and lace. When I focused on the task of picking the right size, it allowed me to pretend this was fine.
I kept my back to him as I undid my cotton bra and put on the one that revealed more than it concealed. The cups were cut low, and carefully placed lace over the see-through mesh just covered my nipples.
“I don’t need to try on the underwear,” I said, when he pulled a pair from the hanger clips. “I’m sure it fits.”
“Great.” He seemed unable to look away from my breasts packaged in the flimsy, sexy bra, but his hand darted inside his interior suitcoat pocket. A small knife was retrieved, the blade flipped out, and he cut the price tags free. As soon as the knife was put away, the underwear was shoved at me. “Put it on.”
I turned away from him once more, and was grateful there wasn’t a mirror. The simple gray cotton underwear I had on was tugged down and kicked off. I stepped into the white lace, being careful of the heels I was still wearing, and pulled the fabric up onto my hips.
Like the bra, the bikini panties only had lace where it hid the naughtiest part, teasing elsewhere with the nearly translucent mesh. I shuffled on my feet, turning to face him.
“Puši kurac,” he uttered under his breath.
I had no idea what his Serbian meant, but the delivery sounded appreciative, and his eyes hooded. He advanced on me, his cold fingers sliding onto the bands of fabric at my hips, and he walked us backward until my back collided with the corner of the dressing room in a hollow thud.
Blood rushed in my ears and my nipples tightened. I was cold, that was all. They weren’t tingling, or aching for attention against the cups of the bra. Because they couldn’t be. I certainly didn’t crave this boy’s icy touch, or his angry, punishing kiss on my lips.
But when he gave me both, relief stormed through me, and invited crushing need to come along and play. Vasilije’s kiss forced my lips open and he pushed his tongue inside my mouth, claiming ownership. Like my mouth was his fucking mouth and he’d stay as long as he goddamn pleased.
His fingers trailed over the lace on the bra. His fingernails raked over my distended nipple, and I shuddered with a sensation that was too close to pleasure to label as anything else. Unfamiliar lust pooled in my body, flowing to the center of my legs.
His touch was gone, as were his lips. He worked to undo his belt and his pants, and hurried to get his dick out. My pulse thundered along as he stroked his fist down his rapidly hardening length.
“Lick your hands,” he said.
Watching him move on himself was hypnotizing, and I blinked through my haze. “What?”
“Or spit on them, I don’t care.” His expression was intense. “Get them wet and jerk me off.”
His hands came off his dick, and he placed them on the wall on either side, trapping me in the corner as he pushed his hips forward. His underwear was pushed down so it cut across his thighs, and his hard, long cock jutted out.
His tone was sinister. “This is what you wanted when we were in the Porsche.”
His dark eyes pinned mine in a challenge. I held his gaze as I opened my mouth and dragged one palm slowly down the length of my tongue. His eyes and nostrils flared when I gripped him with the wet hand, and repeated the same action with my other, slicking my palm over my tongue.
He was hard steel and soft skin. I barely had my other hand wrapped around him before he began to rock against my grip. He pumped and pushed the thick head of his cock through my clenched fists, and I watched with fascination as the pleasure rolled through him.
Vasilije had me literally cornered, but his hands weren’t on me. His eyes drifted shut and his face twisted with enjoyment, so the only place we were connected was where I was touching him. Had he done it on purpose? I had hardly any clothes on, but with his pants down and his dick in my hands, he was more vulnerable than I was.
My hands began to dry, so I pulled one off and repeated the lick, rewetting my palm. He groaned in satisfaction and his eyes snapped open. He hinted at a smile as he watched me do the other. He more than approved.
I had no idea what I was doing, but wanted to. The better I was, the more likely he’d be to keep me around. So instead of holding still and letting him fuck my hands, I began to move on him. I stroked my hands together, sliding from tip to base and back again. Faster. Harder. I listened to how his breathing picked up and watched the muscles flex over his jawline as I worked him.
Once I’d crossed the border out of my comfort zone, I was in a lawless, wild place. I could do whatever I wanted. Totally free of judgement, rules, or consequences.
Vasilije’s left hand came swiftly off the wall and he hooked a finger on my bra strap, tugging it down my shoulder until my breast was free. He captured my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and clamped down. It grew hot and achy. The pinch was biting, and sharp pain shot up from his twisting grip, so intense it stole my breath.
“That hurts,” I hissed, and tried to get away, but he had me wedged in the corner.
“Get used to the pain, baby. It’s going to hurt when I fuck you.”
I let go of him and slapped my palms against the walls, wanting to push off, but he didn’t relent. The pain was acute. I was about to cry out when his grip abruptly shifted, releasing my nipple so he could cup my breast.
The sudden absence of pain was . . . interesting. The lingering sting on my skin was almost enjoyable. I sucked in air through my clenched teeth and stared back at Vasilije’s bottomless eyes. I’d been watching his response when my hands were on him, and now he did the same to me.
“Pull the front of your panties down,” he ordered. “Show me your pussy.”
I leaned against the wall for support, hooked my fingers in the front of my brand new forty dollar panties, and stretched the elastic down. Although, they were his, weren’t they?
“Oh, Oksana,” he groaned. “So fucking wet. Your pussy’s weeping for me.” His right hand squealed as he slid it down the wall, and then he shoved it right between my legs. He ran his fingers through my arousal, and my knees went weak. I couldn’t help the quiet moan he pulled from me.
His touch was shocking.
It felt good. It burned in all sorts of wrong and amazing ways. Another moan bubbled up and was about to break free when he withdrew and pumped his fist, wet from my desire, on his dick.
“Stay like that,” he said in a rush.
His grip on my breast tightened, and his thumb brushed over my traumatized nipple, bringing on a fresh wave of sensation. I was a
deviant, braced against the wall in heels and expensive lingerie, one side of my bra off and holding my panties down while he jerked off furiously.
The tempo of his breathing changed abruptly, and he leaned in so the tip of his dick brushed against my clit. I gasped at the jolt of pleasure, but it was covered by his louder rasps for breath. His fist sliding along him was erratic and desperate, and suddenly he was coming. Warm, thick liquid struck me, spurt after spurt as his shoulders shook violently. His cum coated my slit and dripped onto the crotch of my panties.
I trembled so hard, I was vibrating against the walls.
Both of our gazes were pointed down, watching as his fist slowed to a stop, and the last jet of cum was squeezed out onto the fabric meant to cover the most intimate part of me. It was dirty. So erotic, I stared in disbelief at what he’d done. What we’d done.
Shouldn’t I have felt something like revulsion? Disgust that he was degrading me?
I didn’t. I only felt dizzy and out of breath. There was a throbbing in my body, clambering for a release of tension.
Vasilije straightened, and his cold hands clasped on mine, pulling them away from the waist of my panties. They snapped into place and clung to where he’d painted me. I gasped, but he threaded his fingers through mine and pinned the backs of my hands to the walls.
He gazed at me with pure arrogance lighting his eyes. He surveyed me like land he’d just conquered, and he claimed my mouth as his reward. His kiss was just like him. Aggressive. Dominating.
He pulled back so he was only a breath away, and his eyes were unfocused before he blinked the haze away. Had kissing me been the cause? His expression turned sly. “Get dressed, but those cum-filled panties stay where they are.”
A new shudder rocked my body, laced with unexpected satisfaction. I had the terrible feeling he was right. Sex was all about power, and if it wasn’t already, soon it’d all be his.
11
Vasilije
I ordered Oksana to stand still while I cut the tag off the back of the bra, and then watched her get dressed in the shitty clothes she’d been wearing when I’d picked her up from the house. She moved gingerly, and I liked it. I loved the idea of her pussy sticky with my cum, reminding her every time she moved who she belonged to.