by Brynn Ford
Pure and simple attraction.
Nikolai pulls me from my daze as he rises to his feet from the bench in front of me. “Ezra Bell,” his tone is light, unusually jovial, “you are truly incredible.” He turns back to look at me. “Isn’t he incredible, Anya?”
I swallow and clear my throat. “Yes. Yes, he is.”
Ezra stands and he is fury wrapped in grace.
Nikolai claps twice as he walks to meet him on the dance floor. He stands beside Ezra, reaching one arm across his back to hold his shoulders in both hands as he guides him to walk over to where I stand.
I cross my arms over my chest as Nikolai moves him to stand directly in front of me. Ezra looks near hyperventilating with the way his chest heaves, but I can sense it’s not from exhaustion from the dance. It’s anger, it’s defense, it’s the spike of adrenaline that I’ve felt so many times myself when Nikolai comes too close.
“Your new partner is more talented than you,” Nikolai says to me with a smile.
A sinful, horrid smile that stabs me in the heart.
My head tilts and my eyes narrow, but I immediately soften my expression, hoping Nikolai didn’t see it falter.
“I think you will learn his style, Anya.”
I swallow the line of questioning that claws its way up my throat, remembering being slammed into the mirror when I questioned him earlier.
I try to rephrase my questions in a manner of acceptance, but it comes out as utterances and stuttering. “I’m not…I’m not sure I understand…”
It’s cold between us in a flash as Nikolai releases Ezra and takes a step toward me. Instinctively, I step back.
“Hey,” Ezra shouts as Nikolai closes in on me.
“What don’t you understand?” Nikolai asks as he steps in close, looming above me.
“It’s always been ballet,” I state boldly.
He reaches out to snatch me by the throat, yanking me toward him, and I whimper. “And your ballet performances have always failed to please me.”
I can’t look at Nikolai and it’s not because it’s terrifying to watch the evil wash over his face before he hurts me. I’m used to that. It’s because I can see Ezra behind him, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring. His fingers flex and bend into tight fists at his sides and he sways in agitation. I try to command him with my eyes to back down. I shake my head to tell him no, but he can’t see me through the flash of lightning that ignites his outrage.
I quickly make the leap from nonverbal signals to outright shouting as Ezra lunges for Nikolai.
“No!” I scream.
Ezra grabs Nikolai by his shoulders and pulls back hard. Thankfully, Nikolai releases me before Ezra whips him around and tosses him onto the floor. I jump away, moving my back against the wall, pressing against it as Ezra goes after him swinging. Nikolai turns his head just in time to avoid being punched. Ezra’s fist lands hard on the floor beside Nikolai’s head and he roars out a groan of frustration.
Nikolai rolls to the side, but Ezra manages to get on top of him and lands a punch to his gut before strong arms lift him away. Kostya is there, yanking Ezra back, who is still kicking and swinging. Seconds later, Ezra’s body goes rigid, twitching and trembling from the electric shock of Kostya’s stun gun that he’s jammed into his side.
As Ezra falls to the ground, Nikolai rolls and jumps to his feet, walking in quick, long strides across the dance floor, his dress shoes clacking and reverberating off the walls, mixing with the sound of Ezra’s groans.
He gathers a length of rope that we use with the pulley system on the ceiling, twisting one end around his open hand before grasping it tightly within his fist, a devilish sneer spread across his cheeks.
He comes up behind where Ezra has fallen and crouches down to his haunches above his head, leaning over him and placing the rope across his throat. Ezra coughs as Nikolai pulls the ends around behind his neck, twisting them together.
I squeak as I try to clamp down the scream rising through my chest, knowing that no matter what, I can’t let Nikolai know that this affects me.
Nikolai cannot know that my insides are coiling and burning with the fear I feel, knowing that punishment is to come for Ezra.
I’ve never feared like this before, and I don’t even fear for me.
Ezra’s hands fly to his neck, clawing at the rope with wide eyes as Nikolai tugs, heaving him backward, dragging him across the dance floor and toward the door.
I freeze, watching Ezra kick, listening to his strangled screams as he fights to get free. They disappear through the doorway and my heart kickstarts a new rhythm with the need to chase after him.
Not to chase after Nikolai.
To chase after Ezra.
I follow them out of the studio, watching as Nikolai wrenches Ezra by the rope around his throat in starts and stops, one long drag after the other. He does this all the way down the hall to the grand staircase.
I think that’s when he’ll stop, but he doesn’t.
Nikolai steps backward onto the first step, then the second, and lifts on the coiled rope.
Ezra’s eyes dart desperately around the room, but he knows he’s helpless. He’s already overexerted himself with the dance, given how little he’s eaten over the past week, and that he’s only just been removed from his room for the first time.
Nikolai makes it to the fifth step before he realizes he doesn’t care to exert the effort it takes to drag him all the way up. He lets up on the rope enough to allow some slack.
“Roll over and crawl,” he commands Ezra.
Ezra rolls to his side, flipping onto his hands and knees and crawls up the steps slowly, panting and breathless. Nikolai still holds the rope around his neck but pulls it from the side as if he was taking his dog for a walk on a leash. Ezra’s chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath.
My eyes burn hot as I follow behind Kostya, who follows behind Ezra with his stun gun out and ready.
It feels like it takes hours to ascend, watching the pain and struggle that Ezra faces in this maddening journey.
I don’t know why it bothers me so.
Nikolai has treated all my partners this way. He’s treated me this way for even longer. I’ve endured untold pain and punishment at his hand for years.
And still, this bothers me in a whole new way.
He forces Ezra to crawl all the way back to his room like this as he hisses and jeers at him. When we’ve all crossed the threshold into the bedroom, Nikolai clamps the metal cuff to Ezra’s ankle once again, solidly securing him.
As Ezra sits on the floor, leaning his back against the bedside, huffing and puffing and fighting to catch his breath, Nikolai lets loose.
Chapter 7
Anya
Nikolai whips the back of his hand and it lands with a solid thwack to Ezra’s cheek. “You clearly don’t know your place yet, mal’chik. Is this Anya’s fault? Has she not done well enough to train you in your submission?”
Truthfully, I hadn’t done anything to train him to submit to me. I had hoped leaving him locked up and alone, deprived of light and company and sustenance would be enough to gain his submission. It had worked well enough with the other boys.
Though I had been crueler to them, I suppose.
I didn’t want to be as cruel to Ezra.
Mal’chik.
He’s the boy.
Just the boy.
“No, no, no,” Ezra holds up a palm to Nikolai. “She trained me,” he lies. “She trained me well, it’s not—”
Nikolai’s body freezes in contempt. “Are you lying for her? For her?”
“I’m not, it’s not her—” Ezra stammers
“Anya,” Nikolai points to a spot on the floor beside where he stands, hovering over Ezra, “come.”
I lengthen my neck and lift my chin, putting on an air of con
fidence that I don’t feel an ounce of internally. I move to stand where he wants me.
A line slowly creeps along Nikolai’s face as his lips stretch at one corner, tilting at the side to form a smirk that makes tingles crawl like spiders along my soul. I shudder from head to toe because I know the look. It’s a look that only the Devil himself could make.
“Kostya, you may go,” Nikolai commands and Kostya leaves us, shutting the door behind.
Oh, no.
No, no, no, no, no.
“Moya rabynya, look what you’ve done.” Nikolai stands beside me and slides his hand up my spine until he catches the back of my neck, gripping me firmly.
“I’ve done only what is expected of me, khozyain. I promise you.”
I dare a glance down at Ezra and immediately wish I hadn’t. The look he gives me with fearful, wide eyes chisels away at the ice around my heart.
Nikolai is boiling in his hateful violence and its evaporating into rage-fueled lust. He is deviant in his desires, and I can see it happening now in the way it hazes over his features.
“You’ve made this man want to protect you. And he’s only been here a week. How did you do this, Anya?” He laughs. “I know it’s not your charm and gentle smile.”
You made me charmless and joyless.
I don’t respond as he presses his nose into my hair, dragging it upward along my cheek as he inhales me.
“You’re foolish if you think making him fall for you will do you a service. He can’t win with me. No one can. You know that better than anyone,” he whispers against my cheek, his voice low and husky.
“I do know that,” I assure him. “I’m not foolish.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps you’ve found a more effective and entertaining way to get him to obey you.”
Entertaining?
“I don’t mind his concern for you,” he goes on. “It will make him more obedient, a more trustworthy partner, and it will make you a stronger dancer. Because of that, I will finally have the most talented slave.”
Nikolai shifts to stand behind me, one large hand flattening against my belly. “I’m going to reward you for this, Anya. And I’m going to do it here so he understands that you are mine.”
I press my eyes shut and breathe deeply. “I don’t require a reward for doing my work.”
“Don’t be so humble. Besides, the reward isn’t entirely for you. It’s for him. To show him who you belong to. Now, tell him who you are.”
“I am slave to the Mikhailov family. I am your belonging.”
His hand slips upward and captures my breast, digging in with his fingers over my black leotard, making me whimper. Ezra jolts and manages to get to his knees but stops abruptly when Nikolai slaps my breast in response.
I flinch and lean back, away from his hand, but I can’t move because he’s right behind me, holding me in place. He grabs my nipple through the fabric and pinches me violently. My face scrunches against the ache and I hold back the groan that threatens to escape.
“Stop, mal’chik,” I tell Ezra with as much level insistence as I can muster. “You will obey, you will not interfere. He is my master and he may do as he pleases with me.”
I don’t want Ezra to see this, I don’t want to dampen his urge to fight, but I do want him to obey for my sake. I know better than to think that what Nikolai is about to do is a reward.
It’s manipulation.
It’s abuse.
I have to endure it and I will, but Ezra must obey and stay still. All he has to do is watch my torture, feign his submission to my will, and all will be well.
“Good,” Nikolai encourages my mastery over Ezra and runs his free hand down the side of my hair, petting me, stroking down my side, down my belly, lower and lower. “Move the fabric aside for me.”
The air shakes its way out of my lungs as I reach between my legs, catching the strip of fabric of my leotard that covers my sex and tugging it to the side beneath my wraparound skirt.
He widens his stance behind me to sink down as he dips his fingers between my legs. He curls around my back, a hot breath of filthy lust rushing out against my neck as he buries his face in the crook.
“Don’t—” Ezra begins.
“Shut up, mal’chik. Be quiet and be still,” I tell him.
My voice is sharp, but my eyes are soft as I silently plead with him not to say another word, not to move unless asked to, to obey without question or hesitation.
Because it will only hurt me more if he doesn’t.
“You’re going to come for me, rabynya,” Nikolai demands and there’s no air left in the room. “I’m not going to stop until you do, so make it happen if you don’t want to be left raw and aching.”
“Da, khozyain.”
I don’t dare steal a glance at Ezra now. It’s not the first time my master has violated me in the presence of a partner. But it’s the first time I’ve felt so ashamed by it.
He toys with me, his fingers doing a dance along my entrance to find me dry as the desert. I close my eyes and try to remember the time in the bathroom, the time I came to Nikolai willingly, when he gave me pleasure without pain. I always cling to that memory when he wants me wet and ready for him. But it’s not working, and I don’t know why. My forehead pinches, straining against the new kind of shame I feel standing here like this in a way I’ve never felt before.
I can’t fail now.
I can’t fail at this.
I force myself to recall the way Nikolai kissed me in that memory, the way he held my face with need and devoured me with passion and humility. I tried to remember the way I felt after being lonely and finally connecting with him in a way that wasn’t pain or torture, just pure pleasure.
Still, nothing.
“Get wet for me,” he hisses against my ear and I hear the hint of frustration building.
The memory dissipates as panic rises up to erase it, hitting me hard over my heart. I put my hand there to feel it beating wildly with anxiety. My fingers brush Nikolai’s still on my breast and when this happens, he mistakes it for wanting. His erection presses against my lower back and he hisses before forcing his fingers past the opening.
I whimper at the harshness of his calloused fingers forcing their way inside me dry, and I buck backward against him.
“Come on, Anya,” he kisses along my neck, “get wet for me. Show this boy how you respond to me, show this boy what it takes a man to do.”
My eyes flutter open in frustration as I try to rationalize my way through my sudden lack of response. I want this to be over, but it won’t end until I come. I don’t want to look, I try not to look at Ezra, but I know he’s looking at me. I can feel his eyes on me, though I had hoped he would look away. I had hoped he would be too horrified or disgusted to look at me.
But I feel his stare.
My gaze slips and his eyes catch mine and I’m locked in beyond choice or reason. There’s fear behind the green—and hatred, and shock, and even something more.
I think it’s need.
I’m sure it’s need when his bottom lip falls open and his breath catches.
“Oh,” I breathe out.
I’ve found my desire in Ezra’s green gaze.
Nikolai pulls his fingers back at my reaction, swirling around my clit, completely unaware that I’m watching Ezra watching me. As Ezra shifts uncomfortably, something stirs inside me, swirling with the touch of confident fingers, and somehow manages to turn me on.
I allow a small smile to touch the corners of my lips, so slight I imagine it’s hardly perceptible as Nikolai draws arousal from me.
No, it’s not Nikolai who draws it from me.
It’s Ezra.
But it can’t be Ezra.
He’s my slave and my partner and nothing more.
I know nothing about this cocky, sarcastic, reckless boy
who holds me in his stare.
But if that’s true, then why does my body swell as he leans forward while he watches me?
Nikolai toys with me with his expert hands, circling around and around, and actually makes me feel…good.
The scene and the circumstance is lewd, my devilish master with his arms wrapped around me from behind, tugging down on the top of my leotard to expose my breast. He touches me until I’m sinking at the core, folding around his fingers as my body desperately urges me to seek release—whether I want it or not.
Inconceivably, I want it.
Nikolai leans me forward, bending me down to the bed beside Ezra’s head and I put my hands down on the comforter to hold myself up. He holds my hip in one hand while the other continues its assault.
It’s the same contradiction of feelings I always have with him. I want his fingers inside me, but I don’t. I want to let go, for just that moment to feel like I don’t have to be in complete control, but I don’t. I want the pleasure, but I don’t.
My arm blocks my face, breaking my eye contact with Ezra, but it doesn’t feel broken, not entirely. I can still feel his stare burning into my skin, threatening to melt my icy core.
Nikolai hooks his fingers inside me, stroking against the spot that’s sure to make me lose control. I’m overcome by the urge to fall into Ezra’s lap, to unbutton his jeans, expose him, impale myself on him, and rock until I come undone.
Why Ezra?
Why is he in my mind?
The fantasy of him beneath me, still, quiet, letting me use him to get myself off swirls in my belly, clenching through my core, threatening to send me leaping off the edge. I’m panting and writhing against Nikolai’s hand, feeling shameful, yet somehow powerful that he doesn’t know I’m thinking of the boy beside me and not him.
Pleasure swells and I’m ready for it in a way I didn’t even know was possible.
I want it.
I need it.
I’m just about to crest as I hear Ezra exhale beside me.
I whimper out a sound in my heated need.
But I don’t peak.
Nikolai rips his fingers out, lets me go, slaps my ass, and sends me wobbling forward. I bend at the knees, falling to kneel beside Ezra on the floor as I whip my head to look at Nikolai over my shoulder.