by Nicole Fox
Annika nods and rushes Larissa away. I’m glad. I don’t want Larissa to see this.
The Tiger pushes me against the railing until the handrail bites into my spine, and I wince.
“This could be nice for you if you’d just give in,” he says. “I’m a generous lover.”
I could almost laugh. Nothing about the Tiger strikes me as generous, least of all his ability to love. Instead, I slam my fists into his chest.
It’s like hitting a brick wall.
He grabs both of my hands, bundling them in one of his, and then begins to fumble with the drawstring of my pants. I try to wiggle my hips away from him, but there is nowhere to go. I’m pinned.
He spreads his legs around mine, pinning me in with his knees, and I want to scream. Instead, I see my last shot at rebellion. Even if it won’t deter him, I know it will feel damn good.
I press off from the ground as hard as I can and arc my knee directly between his legs.
Solid contact.
The Tiger’s eyes go wide, and he drops his hold on me, preferring, instead, to press a palm to his junk.
“You bitch,” he groans, bending forward.
I try to sneak past him, but he recovers quickly and slams a hand into my stomach, pushing me back against the rail.
His knees are still pinched together in pain, but his face is going red, and I know that I’ve made a mistake. Whatever he had planned for me, I just made it ten times worse.
“You don’t deserve my cock,” he spits, looking down at me with flared nostrils. “You need to be punished.”
I’m tempted to beg him—for my life, for safety, for mercy.
But I can’t bring myself to do it.
I was not raised to be a woman who would get on her knees, to beg or otherwise. I won’t let him see me weak and broken. I lift my chin and glare up at him. “Then do it.”
Suddenly, the Tiger grabs my shoulders and begins pushing me backward, and I realize almost too late that he’s trying to push me over the side.
There is a deck below us, so I wouldn’t land in the water, but it would hurt. The fall might even kill me if I hit something on my way down.
“Hey!”
The shout comes from behind the Tiger, and he doesn’t loosen his hold on me, but he turns. As he does, I can see over his shoulder to a figure standing behind him.
Dmitry.
He looks at me for only a second, but his face is a cold mask, and he quickly turns back to the Tiger.
“What is going on?”
“Mind your business,” the Tiger barks. “I’ll take care of her.”
“Do you mean throw her overboard?”
The Tiger stares down at me, but he rolls his eyes, annoyed with Dmitry. “Why does it matter to you?”
If only he knew.
“It doesn’t,” Dmitry says with a shrug. “But it might matter to Devon. I’m sure he told you she’s an important slave.”
“How do you know anything about her?” the Tiger asks, gripping the front of my shirt and turning around to face Dmitry.
“We talked. The other night,” Dmitry says. “Between fucking. I don’t think you want to hurt her.”
“Oh,” the Tiger says, laughing to himself. “I really, really do.”
Dmitry takes a step forward, but the Tiger must trust him now because he doesn’t back away or move to block me. He lets Dmitry approach.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret,” Dmitry says. “Why don’t you let me take her off your hands?”
The Tiger frowns. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that you can’t hurt her, and I’m guessing you aren’t in any condition to have any fun with her,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of the Tiger’s crotch. “So, let me.”
The Tiger shifts uncomfortably at the mention of his injury and then snorts. “You just want another fuck.”
“So what if I do?” Dmitry asks cruelly. “It won’t make a difference to her. She won’t enjoy it.”
I’m thinking there is no way this is going to work. No way the Tiger will fall for Dmitry’s plan. But the next thing I know, he’s grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and dragging me across the deck.
“Here,” the Tiger says, throwing me in Dmitry’s direction. Dmitry nearly catches me but lets me fall at the last second, smiling as though he’s amused. The Tiger smiles too, proud of himself. “Don’t be gentle. This one needs to be broken in.”
Dmitry bends down and grabs my arm, yanking me roughly to my feet. “I won’t.”
“Stay close by. I need to go make sure the other women went back to the container, but I’ll be back later to collect her when you’re finished.” With that, the Tiger gives me a final sneer before turning and stalking away.
Dmitry grabs me just above the elbow and pulls me back into a corner between a wall and a stack of lifeboats.
“Fight,” he says, voice low.
“What?”
“Fight me,” he repeats. “Make it sound like this is a struggle. I’m supposed to be punishing you.”
“But he’s gone,” I start to say.
Dmitry shakes his head. “He could be nearby. We aren’t alone, so make it believable.”
“What are you going to—”
His mouth is over mine, silencing my question before I can even ask it. I’m not complaining. I sink into his kiss, my hands curling over his shoulder and up his neck. Kissing him feels like taking a deep breath.
He pulls away sharply. “Fight back.”
He jerks one of my shoulders and then pushes me back against the wall, the bang echoing across the deck.
I push against his chest, but Dmitry snorts. “That was weak.”
“I’m sorry I don’t know how to resist my husband.”
He hushes me and glances around. “Pretend I’m not your husband then.”
I raise a brow. “Like role-playing?”
Dmitry steps forward, shoving his knee between my legs and forcing me back against the wall. “Don’t act like we haven’t done it before.”
I feel my pulse quicken, blood rushing into my face and warming my cheeks. “Pretending to be strangers is different than pretending you’re an attacker.”
He grabs my hand and jerks it above my head, adding my other before I can even think to fight him. “Who’s pretending?” Dmitry leans forward and bites my neck hard.
“Ow,” I say, trying to pull a hand free to slap him, but he holds tight.
He has the audacity to smile at me. “That’s better. Get angry. Make it real.”
He catches my mouth again, but this time I bite his lower lip. He yelps, but I feel him smile against my mouth, and I can’t believe it, but I don’t hate this.
His tongue swirls against mine, laying claim to my mouth, taking and conquering. It’s different than the gentler side of him I usually get, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending he’s someone else.
It’s easy when his hold around my wrists hurts, when he kisses me with crushing force.
I arch my back like I want to get away, but he grinds his hips against mine, pushing me back down. I can feel his excitement through his jeans, and I can feel my own inside my panties.
This shouldn’t be thrilling. It should be terrifying, yet with Dmitry’s body pressed against mine, it’s impossible to be truly terrified. Even though I have my doubts, I can’t help but feel hope when we’re together.
Maybe we’ll get out of here after all.
Dmitry pulls away from me suddenly and grabs my face, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my cheeks. His top lip pulls back in a snarl. “So, you think you can fight back and get away with it? You think you won’t be punished? I’m going to make you wish you jumped.”
I blink, confused, and then I hear the voices. Male voices. Amused voices.
“Why doesn’t the Tiger let me punish the cargo for him?” one of the voices asks.
Dmitry blinks three times, almost like a secret code. Blink blink blink. I love
you.
He grabs my face harder and kisses me again. I jerk my face away, gasping like my body wasn’t made for his, like I don’t want him.
Then, he turns me around, sandwiching my body between the wall and his body. He keeps my hands pinned above my head, but his other hand slips down into my pants and around to my front, his finger slipping into me without hesitation.
My body is ready for him.
Anyone listening in might not hear him, but he moans in my ear, excited by my body’s response to him.
He presses two fingers into me, and I widen my legs to give him better access while I struggle to pull my arms from his iron grip.
There are no more voices, and I don’t see anyone watching us, but Dmitry is right. We can’t lower our guard while we’re in the open. We can’t risk giving away our secret.
“Get off me!” I yell while circling my hips, massaging myself against the bulge I can feel at my back.
“Never,” Dmitry purrs in my ear.
His fingers curl inside of me, and I gasp. He is going to need to be worse at this if I’m supposed to pretend it doesn’t feel incredible.
My thighs start to shake, which is always a tell-tale sign of my climax, and Dmitry knows this. So, when he massages his thumb over my center, pushing me closer to the edge, I think he’s taking me there.
“Does that feel good?” he whispers.
I moan and nod my head, losing track of the charade, forgetting my role in this performance.
Suddenly, his hand is gone.
He is gone.
There is no warmth on my back, no hand between my legs, and his voice isn’t at my ear.
I spin around, and he’s glaring at me. His handsome face is twisted in annoyance. Eyes narrowed, lips flattened.
He blinks three times.
I love you.
“I thought so,” he says. “And we can’t have that.”
I huff in frustration and try to push past him, but he grabs my arm and twirls me around. I hit the edge of one of the lifeboats, and Dmitry moves behind me, bending me over the ledge, pressing on my back to keep me from standing tall.
“What are you—”
His hand lands across my ass in a loud crack, and I yelp.
“You’re spanking me?” I shout. I try to kick him, but he moves out of the way and spanks me again.
The pain is bright, blooming across my backside, but in the aftermath, it tingles. Dmitry runs his hand across the sensitive skin, and every sensation is heightened. Then, he spanks me again.
I grunt, absorbing the pain, and am rewarded with another caress.
“This is so fucking hot,” Dmitry growls. His voice is harsh, but I sense the words are genuine.
I arch my back and shake my hips, inviting him to enjoy himself. Dmitry accepts.
He grabs the waistband of my pants and pulls them down around my thighs, taking my panties with them. When his hand smacks across me again, the pain is more acute, but the caress afterward is as well.
Dmitry smooths his palm over the sensitive skin, letting his hand dip between my legs, his fingers brushing against the very edge of my opening.
He is teasing me, taunting me with what I want, and no matter how much I arch my back and present myself to him, he refuses to budge.
I growl, and he chuckles spitefully. “The Tiger was right. You’re a spitfire.”
I look around and don’t see anyone watching us. Even if they were, their view would be limited by the wall and the stacks of life vests and boats. So, I take a risk.
I reach behind me and grab at the obvious bulge in Dmitry’s pants.
He freezes when I touch him and doesn’t seem to wake up until I’ve unzipped his pants, my hand slipping inside.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
I answer by gripping his length.
Dmitry must like the answer because he quickly slides his pants down and out of the way, allowing me more mobility. I use it to slide my hand down his length and back up again.
The next smack he delivers doesn’t seem to hurt as badly as the others, but I yell anyway.
He slaps me again and again, alternating hands, and I stroke him to the rhythm.
“No, no, no. Stop.” Dmitry can decipher my meaning. Yes, yes, yes. More.
His breathing grows erratic, and just when I can feel him tensing up, I lower my hand.
He gasps, confused, and then growls when he realizes what I’ve done.
Dmitry’s weight falls over me, pressing my chest into the lip of the boat. His breath is hot on the back of my neck. “You’re bad.”
“Then punish me.”
He stands up, grips my hips, and is inside of me in an instant. There is no gentle easing or stretching, just our bodies fitted perfectly together. I moan and grab the ledge of the boat for stability.
Dmitry slams into me, pausing to deliver another smack occasionally, and I’m just focused on not crying out. Anyone nearby would definitely know I was not in any pain if they heard me.
This is bliss.
We are both already so close that it isn’t long before I feel him tense behind me, and I give in to the tether that has been pulling me closer to the ledge. I fall, groaning as my body grabs on to him as if it knows he’s going to have to leave, as if it wants to keep him close forever.
Dmitry lays his cheek against my back as the last waves of pleasure move through him, and my pleasure is already shifting into dread.
Despite the fact that we’re in the open, Dmitry presses a kiss to my spine and then pulls my pants up. I let him, desperate for any kind of closeness, for any brush of contact between us.
Too soon, however, he hands me over to the Tiger, and I’m taken away from him and back to the shipping container.
11
Dmitry
It takes me hours to fall asleep after my encounter with Courtney and the Tiger, so when my alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m., I hit the snooze.
Breakfast is always the same, anyway. Some variation of oatmeal and pastries cooked from prepackaged mixes. Nothing Jake and the other cooks can’t handle for a bit while I try to feel less dead.
When I do finally make it down to the kitchen, the normal hum of conversation has been replaced by silence. Everyone is going quietly about their work, and no one looks up or pays any attention to me.
“Morning.” I nod to Jake, and he raises his brows at me accusingly. I hold up my hands. “Sorry I’m late. I slept like shit. Plus, you don’t need my help making this slop.”
“Andrew—” Jake starts.
“The chef sleeps in every morning, so why shouldn’t we all get a turn?”
Jake’s mouth presses into a tight line, and he turns back to his cutting board, chopping walnuts for garnish.
I’m confused about his reaction until I hear a throat clear behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know the chef is standing directly behind me. Still, I do.
His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his white shirt straining over the belly beneath.
“Good morning, Chef.”
“Outside.” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the kitchen door. I follow him out and into the hallway.
I don’t want to apologize. Everything I said was true. However, I need this job. I need a reason to be on this ship, to be near my family. If he fires me, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I can’t pretend to be another crew member on the ship, so my only option would be to hide in the cargo hold like a rat or try to launch an escape before they reach the next port and kick me off.
But I’m not ready. I still don’t know where Olivia is being kept, and aside from putting my family in a tiny lifeboat and hoping we make it to shore before a storm hits or a ship runs us over in the darkness, I don’t have any way to escape. I could call the Bratva for help, but I don’t know where the ship is located or how they would get to us even if I could tell them.
I’m screwed.
“I’m sorry about that,” I start, shaking my head. “It
was unprofessional, and—”
“I want you out of my kitchen,” the chef interrupts. “You aren’t sorry, and I don’t want you near me.”
“I’ll go in there and help. I’ll be quiet and follow orders. You don’t need to—”
The chef lifts his flabby chin and looks down his nose at me. “You said yourself the staff can handle meals without you. So, leave. That is an order.”
I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to gouge his eyeballs out. “Are you firing me because I’m shit in the kitchen or because I beat your ass the other night?”
If possible, his ruddy cheeks flare an even brighter red. His arms tighten over his chest. “You don’t respect me, and I don’t want anyone working in my kitchen who might be a threat to me or others.”
I snort. “Fuck off. You’re firing me because I could have killed you. Remember, you agreed to the fight.”
“I don’t need to be reminded of anything,” he barks. “You’re the one who needs to be reminded of your place.”
Oh, if only he knew my place. If only he knew how easy it would be for me to wipe him from the face of the world with no consequence.
The chef moves forward until he’s only inches away. His entire face and neck are red now, tempting me like a shiny red button begging to be pressed. I think my fist would do the job nicely.
“So, I’m fired?” I ask, sucking on my lower lip.
The chef surprises me when he shakes his head. “I just want you the fuck out of my kitchen. I can’t fire you because I didn’t hire you, but keep testing me, and I’ll appeal to upper management.”
He couldn’t fire me even if he wanted to, which I’m sure he does. I want to laugh in his face, though I suspect that wouldn’t do much to earn me any favor with him. “What do you want me to do?”
“If you can keep that smart mouth of yours closed long enough, you can join the other servers in the captain’s quarters.”
Suddenly, I’m no longer amused.
I haven’t seen Devon yet, but based on descriptions I’ve heard from the other sailors, he’s on the ship. And if he’s on the ship, certainly he’ll be served with the captain.
Even with my beard, he’ll recognize me. I can’t go in there.