by Lana Sky
“I called your name three times,” he tells me on the cusp of a sigh. He stands, his boots thudding against the floor, and the hiss of leather edges his words: like that of a belt being ripped from belt loops.
“Do you understand?”
I can’t see his face, just the boots of someone walking past, but they’re shiny enough to make out my reflection: wide-eyed, dazed, pathetic.
“Do you?”
I nod frantically, clenching my teeth even before the first thwack of something hard strikes my ass. It’s flat. Unyielding. His palm? Whatever it is strikes me again so hard that my teeth clatter together. Again. Harder.
It’s a warmup, I realize the moment the telltale crack of leather hits the air in the wake of the blow. The first sharp hit to my thigh is merely a warning. The next is the real deal. Shit! I barely manage to choke a cry down, but the brief sound acts like a lit match struck against a pool of gasoline.
With the next strike, he goes to town.
Two lashes. Three. Each one sets my body on fire, rocking me down to the goddamn core. Mangled cries slip out before I can even think to bite them back, and I’m punished for every last one.
But, even as my eyes water at the sting, I know it’s not the brutal, ruthless beating he dished out in his suite. He’s careful, almost methodical. None of his blows break the skin. I’m painfully aware of that—too aware. It’s like being given drips of water from a bottle but never the whole thing.
“I do not hear you counting.”
My teeth clatter together as I struggle to catch up. “Ten…f-fifteen—” Thwack! I see white and lose track of the count for a few precious seconds. “Eighteen. Nineteen—”
“Twenty,” Maxim finishes off for me after the final violent crack.
Panting and breathless, I look up through a messy fringe of my hair. I was wrong—the others are watching. The blood-red lighting shields their faces, but the sudden hush beneath the music gives their attention away as I suffer every blow.
My ass is on fire, my knees rubbed raw, my palms so slick that I can barely keep myself upright. In a desperate bid for leverage, my nails scrape against the marble flooring—but nothing can save my soul from a brutal fall. It crashes through the floor. Breathing heavily, Maxim lords over me, still holding the belt. I can see the shadow of it swaying across the marble. Close. Away. Closer.
“Look at me.”
I have to twist around in order to be able to. Our gazes reconnect and my heart stops beating. I know that look: confusion. It twists his cold features with every second that passes. My chest constricts, clinging to what little air I manage to suck in. Some deep-down instinct warns me to look away. Now!
But I can’t. And the eye contact only seems to confuse him even more. Frowning, he clenches the belt tightly, the other hand curled into a fist. His eyes are glowing, his breathing heavy and ruffling the strands of hair that fall across his face.
God, he looks insane: an angel in his very own fucked-up corner of hell.
The muscles in the arm holding the whip jump and something inside me flinches in response. But it feels all wrong. I don’t shy away. My hips arch instead, my sore body preparing itself for another round. The tendrils of pain encase me, flickering white hot. I almost can’t stand it; it’s that fucking intense.
At the same time, though, I’ve never felt this fucking clear in my life. There’s no fog—just him: clarity in its rawest, most twisted form.
And I crave it.
“Turn over,” he grits out, nudging me with his foot when I don’t comply fast enough.
My gaze falls to the floor, my hips rising to meet the next blow he dishes out. And then another.
Tears sting behind my eyes, but for the first time all damn day, my mind is open. I can’t think about anything but him. This. Submission. I surrender to my punishment, and he doesn’t let up until a brutal lash draws a cry from my lips and my hands buckle beneath my own damn weight.
“Come here.”
It takes me too long to contort my throbbing limbs in order to turn around. He already has his belt looped back around his pants when I do. His hands hang at his sides, clenching and unclenching with every second it takes my eyes to drift up to his. They’re swollen in blackness, both pupils dilated and endless.
Something wet dribbles down my lip and my tongue attempts to chase it, licking at the edges of my mouth. His gaze tracks every single motion and his eyes narrow before I even manage to snap my jaw shut. Too late.
“Come. Here.” I’ve never heard this tone from him. Guttural. Gritted. Primal. “Now.”
He waits until I stagger to my feet and then grabs my arm, dragging me after him down the hall behind the bar that leads to those closed doors. He picks one somewhere in the middle and shoves me inside it. Then he slams the door behind us.
It’s too dark to see anything clearly. My hands fly out in front of me, my fingers grasping for something solid. Before I can take note of my surroundings, my back strikes a hard surface. Then I smell him. Feel him. His body forces its way between my legs, grinding his erection into my pelvis. I taste him as something warm nudges my lips, coaxing them apart. Something wet. His tongue? His teeth, biting down brutally hard as he shoves me back farther. The cold surface behind me is a shock against my searing skin and my brain doesn’t know how to process it. So it short-circuits, and I can only stare as Maxim wrenches my dress up to my waist and tears the fly of his pants open. I see the head of his cock, rigid and straining. Then I take him: every fucking inch, slammed inside me. No mercy. No restraint.
No control.
I can’t even think. I just arch my hips to let him in instead, feeling my body struggle to register his length. His first thrust alone triggers a million little explosions: raw, bitter friction. He’s never felt like this…
My eyes roll back in my head once I process just how deep he is. Fathomlessly. He dominates every fucking inch of me. Everywhere. There is no separating the sensation from reality the way I could with anyone else.
He is everything—squeezing out even the air to make room, drowning me in his scent. It’s too raw. Animals fuck like this: mindlessly. Hard fingers dig into my ass, holding me in place for every punishing thrust. His teeth rake my neck, sink into it before a guttural growl revs up in his throat and I’m flooded with his release.
He should pull out now—but he doesn’t. He lingers inside me, reaching down with his thumb to stroke my clit, setting off sparks. Fireworks. A goddamn explosion. I’m already on another fucking planet when his thumb drags over my open wounds, using fresh blood to add even more wet friction.
Holy shit. My toes curl. My feet lose contact with the floor, which forces him to support my weight as I lose my fucking sense of gravity. It’s only when I finally come back to Earth that I register what kind of room we’re actually in: not a bedroom, but an office, just a few feet from a polished wood desk that gleams in the light drifting in from the crack beneath the door.
Is this room his? When I finally look at Maxim, I can’t tell. His expression is closed, his eyes flashing. All at once, he withdraws from me, wrenching up his pants and turns for the door.
“Come.”
My cheeks are red when we finally reach the main room and Maxim returns to his seat at the table. Knowing eyes track our every movement. I can’t stop my gaze from straying over to the stage, where a naked couple is currently going at it in plain view. The man fucking the hell out of a busty blonde is a pale imitation of what I now understand no-holds-barred sex to be.
“Kotyonok,” Maxim snaps.
I know without him even having to say another word to kneel beside him, lowering my eyes to the floor.
He doesn’t acknowledge me again, not even as my inner thighs ache and something warm trickles down my left leg. It isn’t until nearly an hour later that I realize why. It’s a dangerous thought, but it trickles into my brain anyway as a new man joins our table.
Every other encounter we had contained some element of c
ontrol. Every one but what happened in that office.
“It’s a rare night when you want to talk business,” a man says, his voice thick with amusement.
The back of my neck prickles at the sound of that accent. It’s familiar. I lift my head as much as I dare and make out the dark hair of the British man from last time. I don’t see the pretty blonde around anywhere, not that I’m stupid enough to scan the entire room to be sure.
Beside me, I sense Maxim stiffen. All at once, his hand is in my hair, grasping, feeling. This time feels different than the brutal tugs I’m used to. Like the absentminded way someone might pet a cat that has crawled onto their lap. He pets me.
“I need your help,” Maxim says, his voice cold. “It will require one of your more specialized talents—”
“Done,” the man replies without an ounce of hesitation. “Tell me who, where I can find them, and what you need to know.”
Maxim sighs. “Anatoli is returning to the States—”
“Your grandfather,” the man cuts in, his tone knowing.
Somehow, I manage to bite my tongue rather than gasp out loud. Anatoli is his grandfather. Going off everything he’s already told me about him, I doubt this return has the makings of a happy family reunion. As if to prove it, Maxim’s nails graze my scalp. Hell no.
“I think you’ll understand that it is imperative that I find out who is behind the attacks on my distribution before then,” Maxim continues without acknowledging anything else about Anatoli. “Lucius will tell you which man to target. He’s a mutual enemy, so you might be able to get something out of this exchange.”
The other man laughs. “Always the multitasker.”
He leaves, and not long after, Maxim stands as well, beckoning me after him. He doesn’t say a single word as I follow him out to the car, and the drive to his suite is just as silent. The moment the car comes to a stop, though, his hand lands on my thigh, every finger clenching tight, his nails piercing my flesh.
“You.” He grits the word out on a ragged exhale. It’s laced with an emotion that makes my hair stand up: confusion. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and deceive me, kotyonok? Would you?”
My heart rams itself against my rib cage. This time, I don’t even know what I could have done wrong. So I shake my head and say nothing while my racing heartbeat counts the seconds. One. Two. One Hundred.
Finally, Maxim sighs. “Come here.” He barely allows me enough time to unbuckle my seat belt before he hooks his hand around my wrist and drags me over the center console and onto his lap. The steering wheel digs into my lower back, and I have to slump against him to keep my head from smacking on the roof of the car. Hot breath trickles between my breasts as his hands grab my waist, anchoring me to him. “Look at me.”
When I do, his eyes are cold. Thoughtful. Calculating.
“I never ask where Lucius finds the women,” he says softly. One of his hands drifts up my back…higher… Thick fingers settle over my shoulders and inch toward my neck. “I only know what little he tells me about them or whatever I care to find out on my own. But you—” Pain jolts up and down my spine as his hand encircles my throat from behind, tightening. Squeezing. “You will tell me everything.”
Somehow, I manage to keep breathing. Air wheezes in and out of my lungs, propelling my heaving chest closer and closer to his chin. He could open his mouth and bite me if he wanted to.
“Like what?” I choke out when the seconds have passed without him saying anything.
His free hand reaches for the lever that operates the height of the chair, letting it fall back a few inches and sending me sprawling against him. “Everything,” he tells me. “How did Lucius find you?”
The question is laced with suspicion, and my instincts go haywire. My thighs twitch against his lap, desperate to follow the only command my brain seems capable of issuing: Run. “He asked my”—my tongue shoots out to moisten my dry lips—“my pimp B-Benny and he said he had a job.”
It feels so fucking strange to refer to Maxim like that now: a job. Was this ever really that simple? Deep down, a part of me knows the answer: not since the first moment he ordered me down to my knees.
“And that is all?” His fingers loosen their grip on my throat and creep up into my hair, seizing chunks, pulling tight.
“Y-yes.”
“Why sell your body for sex?”
I flinch. “I need the money.”
It sounds so pathetic when said out loud. I’ve told him this before.
But his mouth twitches into that dangerous frown; this time, he doesn’t believe it.
“And your clients?” he demands next. “Were any of them recurring?”
In the blur of faces, a few stand out. “Yes,” I admit.
The fingers in my hair tighten, causing my eyes to water from the sharp, pinching pain. “How many?”
“I…”
He tugs once and my scalp erupts into flames.
“Three or four.”
“And none of them mentioned me? Koslov?”
I shake my head as much as I can despite his grip. Every tiny inch earns me a brief bite of pain. “N-no—”
“And you…” He tilts his head to observe me, his eyes glowing in the shadows of the car’s interior. “You have been a submissive before.”
Alarm prickles through my skin. “N-no.” Bad idea, a part of me whispers as the words leave my throat. Challenging him feels like straddling a lit stick of dynamite. One wrong move and kaboom!
As if to prove it, his free hand moves to my hip, every finger clenching tight, daring me to flinch. “No.” He seems to taste the word, digesting whether or not it’s a lie. “Never?”
I shake my head a little easier this time. “Never.”
He scoffs, shifting beneath me so that our bodies are more in line. He doesn’t have to crane his neck back to meet my gaze anymore—I’m swallowed up by the dark, gaping irises. “Are you sure, kotyonok?” His tone sinks into my veins like the foundation of a trap; one wrong move will spring it.
Over my body or my soul? Who knows. That’s the risk of playing roulette.
“You’ve never been trained?”
I see his hand move from the corner of my eye, and a sharp tug on my hair draws my head back, baring my throat to him fully.
“You’ve never been taught how to turn your pain into pleasure?”
My heart sputters as his teeth graze my neck, preceded by a warm burst of air. One lick. Another brief taste. My skin is still damp when he finally draws back.
“You’ve never had a man whip you senseless, only to turn around and look at him in a way that begs to be fucked?” The words end in a growl, bitten off and coarse.
I don’t expect the first bite—not even the second. It’s a primal assault. He sinks his teeth deep into my collar, biting down hard when I whine. I see stars. A fucking million of them. My only conscious thought is to scream as searing heat floods my veins, spreading.
Suddenly, Maxim draws back with a guttural hiss. “Even this gets you off.” His gaze is aimed between my thighs; they’re clenched.
Still numb with shock, I can’t even defend myself. I can’t muster up an excuse. I can’t deny it. I just breathe, and he watches me, trailing his gaze over my heaving chest.
After what feels like an eternity, he wrenches the door on his side open and jerks his hips to buck me off. “Get out.”
My trembling legs can barely support my weight as I scramble off him—not that he bothers to wait for me to catch up. I’m forced to follow him all the way up to his suite, where he slams the door, making me answer one question without ever having to mention it out loud.
Do you still want to do this?
My fingers shake as they form a fist. I can make out my reflection in the door’s polished surface, but I don’t recognize the girl gaping back at me. She’s a shell of her former self, too desperate to give a damn as to how she might look.
For money. It’s only about the money.
&nb
sp; In the end, I only have to knock once before the door is opened from within.
Then I step inside.
Chapter 17
Muttered voices draw me out of a pathetic excuse for sleep. The moment I peel my eyes open, pain returns with the grace of a one-two punch, flooding my veins like blood.
I’m alone; that’s the first thing I’m sure of. I’m also bound—something I notice second. Going off the tension in my arms, they’re stretched above my head, my wrists linked together and fastened to the center of the headboard. I flex my hip and remember that my ankles are splayed, tethered to opposite bedposts.
It’s a grim bit of déjà vu. He left me like this all night, trapped in the perfect position to feel his aftermath. Inside me. On me. My inner thighs are sticky with his release. His sweat still bastes my skin, and the right side of the bed—below my calf to be exact—feels warm.
Like he watched me afterward, lingering beside me until dawn.
All things considered, this encounter was tame compared to the rest. He only tied me up.
But I don’t have to wait long for him to return for round two. From beyond my room, the hushed voices trail off, closed by a single statement that sounds as if it were growled into a cell phone. “Give me time.”
The gruff accent sends panic surging beneath my skin. Shit. Just like that, I’m fully alive, electrified into awareness. My muscles tense as I lift my head from the pillow and my heart pounds out a frantic soundtrack against my rib cage. Through the shadows painting the room, I watch the door just in time to see the knob turn. Slowly.
When the door finally opens, a monster is revealed lurking on the other side. His body feeds off the shadows as he stands beyond the doorway, surveying the damage of me he left behind. There’s plenty to take in. I’m sore. I’m bleeding.