His Queen of Clubs

by Rose, Renee

  My head falls back on the pillow and I sag as the relaxation of my orgasm pours through me.

  Vlad drops to his hands and lowers his head, kissing my fluttering belly. It's a soft, lingering kiss and it sets off another mini orgasm. “Soon, Alessia,” he reminds me as I hold my breath, trying to hide it.

  I don’t want to admit he’s right.

  For orgasms like this, I probably will beg.

  Chapter 10

  Vlad

  Alessia sleeps a few hours more. I stay and work in the bedroom for a while, but eventually I head into my office.

  I leave the door unlocked. I have men stationed at every door, inside and outside of the building. She’s not going anywhere. And I don’t want to see her upset again.

  I push back the undercurrent of guilt that I’ve built this entire operation on. It started out as a way to punish the Tacones and line my pockets. But if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit it’s turned into something else.

  I would’ve said no to returning Alessia immediately for six million regardless. I am that big of a bastard. But keeping her here has become far more about my desire to have her in my house—in my bed—than it is about throwing my weight around with the American mafia.

  I sit down at my desk and sort through the mail. There’s a stack of letters from Sabina. I pitch them in the garbage without opening them.

  Conniving bitch.

  I pop open my laptop and start moving money around to shell accounts. Dividing the Tacones’ payment into smaller and smaller pieces until it disappears into the multitude of businesses I have set up.

  Then I remember my promise to Alessia to set up an account for Mika and I work on that. When the boy appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, I call him in.

  “Mika, come here.” I beckon him over. “I want to show you something.” I drag my cursor down a long list of accounts and show the tally of $95,000 at the bottom. “You know what this is?”

  He shakes his head.

  “This is your money.”

  He goes still.

  I gesture toward my bedroom. “Money from the girl. For you.”

  He stiffens and takes a step backward. “I don’t need it,” he says quickly, and I realize he thinks I’m trying to keep him on board. To buy his complicity. And he wants no part of it. “Maybe you should just let her go.”

  A fresh wave of guilt rises, but I ignore it. I’d felt almost cheerful creating the accounts for him, putting the money away to ensure he’s taken care of, no matter what happens to me. I want him to understand this is a good thing. Spawned by Alessia’s compassion. “She insisted,” I tell him. “Because her brother killed Aleksi, your guardian.”

  “Aleksi wasn’t my guardian,” Mika snarls.

  I turn and give him my full attention. The boy’s upset now.

  “No?”

  “He was the asshole who made my mother run away.”

  A sick feeling stirs in my belly. So he blames Aleksi for his mother’s abandonment. He may be right. He may not. His mother might’ve just been a cunt who didn’t care about her son. That’s how it read to me, anyway. But I have a jaded view of mothers. And women in general.

  But Aleksi probably was an asshole, to both Mika and his mother. I never liked the prick.

  “Aleksi was a cock-sucking asshole, you’re right,” I agree mildly. “But Alessia feels responsible for you being left on your own after your cell was taken down. She demanded I use her money to provide for you. So here it is. If anything happens to me, you’re the only person who can access these accounts.”

  He eyes me warily, like he doesn’t quite believe it. “That’s my money?” he asks.

  “Da.”

  “Can I have it now?”

  “No. Not unless you need it. Do you need something, Mika?”

  His shoulders slump. “No.”

  I study him, trying to figure out what’s going on inside that head of his. “I will give you a weekly allowance, so you have your own money to spend,” I tell him and he brightens. “But only if you do a good job with your studies.”

  “What studies?”

  “The studies Alessia is going to start you on.” I’m making it up as I go along, but it strikes me as a brilliant plan. Alessia is a teacher. She already cares about Mika. And she’ll need something to do here—a purpose. I’ll put her in charge of his education, and she’ll settle into her life here.

  They both will.

  Something unfamiliar yet not unpleasant stirs in me at that thought.

  The desire to make it happen—to create the environment where both of them might be content, even happy, sneaks into my agenda.

  * * *

  Alessia

  I wake up before dawn. I wasn’t really sleeping—just snoozing. The restless, dream-filled sleep where you drift in and out of sleep and have trouble distinguishing when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake.

  Like I’m lying in the bed, with Vlad massaging my head, and then we’re in the kitchen making breakfast again. Only this time, he lifts me to the counter and holds my pelvis down while he licks me until I scream. And then we’re in the bedroom with my brothers on the video screen, but he won’t let me see. And I kick him, but it doesn’t do any good because I’m barefooted. And he thinks it’s amusing and then he pulls me over his lap like a child and spanks me for it.

  And I get excited by the spanking and hump his lap, but he won’t get me off because I refuse to beg.

  I wake up horny and hangry. The omelette feels like days ago. I climb out of bed, legs shaky. Apparently orgasming and dreaming about Vlad burned a lot of calories. I would shower first, but I don’t think I’ll make it without eating something. I really need to keep some food by the bedside table for emergencies.

  I pull on a pair of jeans I find in the dresser and stumble out in the direction of the kitchen. At least I think it’s the right direction. It’s hard to say—it was night and everything was dark.

  I round a bend and run into Vlad and Mika coming down the hall toward me.

  “Alessia?” Vlad walks swiftly to my side. “You’re hungry, huh? Did you check your blood sugar?”

  I shake my head, and the hallway swoops around me. “Hungry,” I croak.

  In a flash, Vlad swoops me up into his arms and carries me to the kitchen. “Get some juice from the refrigerator,” he commands Mika, who stayed close.

  A few moments later, a glass of juice is pressed to my lips and I drink, gratefully.

  “Go get med kit from the bedroom,” Vlad says, then switches to Russian, speaking quickly—like it was too much to explain the location of the kit in English.

  Mika takes off at a run and returns just as fast. Vlad props me on a barstool and tests my blood and gives me a dose of insulin. He peers into my eyes, his brows pinched tight.

  “Too much sleeping and not enough eating,” I say weakly. My schedule’s off with the jetlag. It screwed up my blood sugar. Or maybe I forget to take a shot. I’m not sure. Avoiding situations like this is why my family wants me on a full-time insulin pump, an idea I detest. I’ve worked hard to never have an incident, so I’m pissed at myself. But then, I’ve never been kidnapped and brought to a foreign country against my will.

  “I fucked up,” Vlad says angrily, rubbing his forehead. “Should’ve been checking more often.”

  Of course it’s not his responsibility, it’s mine, but I go with it, anyway. “You can make it up to me by setting me free.”

  Vlad tests leaving me unsupported on the barstool, and when I don’t fall off, he shouts something in Russian and walks to the refrigerator. Zoya bustles in, looking at no one as she whips out a frying pan and fires up the stove. Vlad hands her a metal bowl he’s taken out of the fridge.

  Butter sizzles and then the sweet smell of pancakes fills the kitchen.

  My favorite breakfast, but one I almost never indulge in. I muster a smile. “I really shouldn’t have pancakes.”

  “These are special, high-protein panc
akes. Good for diabetics.”

  “Really? Wow. Thank you. I’m so happy.”

  He nods but still wears the frown between his brows.

  “Relax. I’m feeling better. I’m not going to die yet.”

  Not this year, anyway.

  I hope.

  A few minutes later, a plate of pancakes and bacon slides in front of me and I nearly weep with pleasure. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. How do you say thank you in Russian?”

  “Spasibo.”

  I shouldn’t love the deep rumble of Vlad’s voice so much.

  “Spasibo,” I repeat, looking at Zoya.

  She turns her head in my direction and inclines it, but doesn’t quite meet my eye. She’s not the most personable of servants, but clearly beggars can’t be choosers. I’m going to have to make friends with her as quickly as possible if I want to get off this continent.

  Mika and Vlad their own plates of pancakes and bacon and the three of us shovel food in our mouths in silence for a moment.

  “When do I get my Rosetta Stone?”

  Vlad’s lips tip up slightly. As always, he appears slightly amused by my demands, rather than pissed. I guess I’m lucky I have a captor who seems taken with me. This situation could be a hundred times worse. A thousand, probably.

  “You get it when you get it.”

  “I need Spotify, too. Or Apple music. Something to listen to.” Now I’m just testing him. Really want I need is access to the internet.

  Of course, he knows what I’m up to.

  “Nice try. You give me a playlist, I’ll download.”

  “Did my brothers send the money?”

  “Da.”

  “I want to go shopping. Aren’t you supposed to be keeping me in the manner I’m accustomed to?”

  Again, a hint of a smile on his face. “When you earn an outing, you’ll get one.”

  Arousal heats between my legs when I consider how I might earn such a thing.

  I’m guessing sex would get me a long way with Vlad.

  Too bad I’m not willing to give it to him.

  Although after last night, I’m not sure how much longer my resistance will take before it crumbles.

  “When do my studies start?” Mika asks.

  I snag a piece of bacon from Vlad’s plate and pop it in my mouth. “What studies?”

  “I thought you could tutor him,” Vlad says, dropping the rest of his bacon onto my empty plate.

  “What about school?” I ask.

  “No school,” Mika growls in a perfect imitation of Vlad.

  I roll my eyes. “Why not? Don’t you want to be around kids your own age?”

  He shakes his head emphatically. “I want you to teach me.”

  “Will you?” Vlad forks a stack of pancakes.

  My mind is already running ahead with what it would take to get him going—assessments in each subject, etc. “It would have to be in English, of course. He would need someone else to teach Russian reading and writing.”

  “I don’t need Russian.”

  “I won’t be able to assess that,” I tell Vlad.

  “I will assess and get other tutor if he needs it,” Vlad offers.

  Mika brightens.

  “I will need access to download a curriculum.”

  “I’ll get what you need,” Vlad promises.

  “Today?” I ask.

  “Are we starting today?” Mika actually seems excited about the prospect. It occurs to me that he’s had far too little adult interaction or supervision. He’s ready to soak anything up, even tutoring in school subjects.

  “Yes,” I say, even though I don’t know what I’m doing yet. The kid needs structure. I’m going to give it to him, starting today.

  I look at the clock on the wall. “We will meet from 9 to 12 every day, Monday through Friday. You get weekends off to play.”

  Mika snorts at the word play.

  “You’ll have to learn to play. I know you had to grow up faster than you should’ve, but somewhere in there, there’s still a kid who wants to play.” I ruffle his hair and he ducks out of my reach. “Now go take a shower and comb your hair. I’ll meet you…” I hesitate.

  “You can study at dining room table.” Vlad waves his hand toward the adjoining dining room with the long, beautiful cherry wood table.

  “I’ll meet you there at nine,” I tell Mika firmly in my best school teacher voice.

  He slides off his stool, leaving the plate on the table.

  “Ah ah,” I chide sharply. “Take that plate to the dishwasher and tell Zoya spasibo.”

  He obeys and Zoya seems pleased, glancing over at me with a bob of her head.

  Vlad’s phone rings. “Excuse me, zaika, I have business to attend to. If you need anything, Zoya will help you.”

  “Right, because I speak Russian so well,” I snark at his back as he walks out of the room speaking in terse Russian to his phone.

  * * *

  Vlad

  I answer to Victor all morning—taking his calls, dealing with his money, joining conference calls, but all I’m thinking about is the way Alessia looked orgasming last night.

  The taste of her pussy.

  The feel of her supple skin beneath my hands.

  I want to spread those thighs wide again and make her scream. I want her in trouble with me—ass bared and spanked, hands tied.

  I want her breathless and hot and ready.

  But I’m not going to push. Time is on my side. Alessia’s my prisoner, here for two years, maybe more. I know she’s turned on by me. Her body responds. So it’s just winning her mind now. Her heart. Bending her will.

  And I have her right where I want her.

  In my home.

  My bed.

  I’ll learn what she likes, give it to her. Eventually, she’ll let me in. She’s already so unguarded. So undefended. She’s kind and compassionate; she gives herself easily. Such a perfect creature, inside and out.

  She almost makes me reevaluate how I view women.

  Almost.

  I finally beg off the phone with Victor in the afternoon and leave my office to find her. Make sure she’s eaten lunch and see how it went with Mika.

  I hear a screech from her at the front door and go running.

  Blyat, no.

  The door stands open and one of my soldiers is wrestling her back from it. I stride swiftly over. Alessia’s cheeks are flushed with ire, eyes flashing. She stomps on my soldier’s foot, elbows his ribs.

  “Get your fucking hands off her,” I shout in Russian with the menace of a thousand deaths. Another soldier hangs back, ready to jump in, but too afraid of me to make the wrong move.

  He freezes and releases her slowly. “You said to keep her from—” She tries to dart past him, outside, but he blocks her way with his body.

  “Yes, keep her inside. I didn’t say you could fucking touch her. This is my bride. You don’t ever fucking dishonor my bride, you understand me? She will be treated with the utmost respect. If I give you an order to limit her actions, you’d better fucking figure out how to accomplish it and still treat her like a fucking queen. Am I perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, Vladimir.” He and the other soldier both answer quickly, ducking their heads.

  “Alessia, come.” I beckon with my finger. I’m not going to manhandle her after she’s just been assaulted.

  She glares at me. “I want to go for a walk.” She’s dressed in a pair of jeans I had Zoya buy for her and a tight women’s t-shirt. The kind that fits around the breasts and makes them look edible. She has a pair of sneakers on her feet.

  “If you want to go for a walk, ask me. I will take you out.”

  Her jaw thrusts forward. “What if I want to walk alone?”

  “Nyet.” I shake my head. “Not allowed. If you leave this house, it’s with me. Your choice.”

  She crosses her arms and purses her lips, clearly torn between wanting to go out and not wanting to yield to my rule. “I’m not begging.”

&
nbsp; I hide a smile. “I didn’t say you had to beg. Just ask. Come, you want to go now? I’ll take you out.” I walk past my soldiers, who step aside for me, and extend my hand.

  She eyes it. “I’m not holding your hand, either.”

  A laugh bursts out of me, startling my men. Startling me.

  She crosses the threshold unharmed this time, a reluctant smile playing on her lips. We fall into step beside each other, and I lead her toward the path into the trees.

  “I like you, Alessia,” I admit.

  “I know,” she says, which makes me chuckle again. “Not enough to let me go, though?”

  I don’t answer because the truth is the opposite. I like her too much to let her go. But telling her that won’t help my case any.

  And I will let her go. I know that. I think she probably knows that, too. Otherwise, I think she’d be freaking out quite a bit more than she is.

  I take her on a hike to the lake, because I figure if she was dying for fresh air, a short walk wasn’t going to cut it. It’s a forty minute walk, and I’m surprised to find her short of breath and stopping to rest fairly often.

  “Is this the diabetes?” I didn’t know it caused shortness of breath and fatigue. “Do you need a snack?” I curse inwardly for not having food on me. “Let’s turn back.”

  “No, I’m all right,” she pants, hands on hips like she’s exhausted. “It’s beautiful out here. I’m having a good time.”

  “Does exercise affect your blood sugar?”

  “I’m fine. Really. Let’s keep going.”

  I’m torn between wanting to please her and worrying over her health. I concede, walking slower and taking breaks. When we arrive at the lake, the delight on her face makes me decide it was worth it.

  “Vladimir! This is beautiful! I didn’t know you had a lake. Wow.”

  “You like water?”

  “Who doesn’t? This is incredible. I can’t believe you didn’t build your house closer.”

  I want to reach for her pretty face, stroke it, but there’s distance between us now that she’s no longer tied up. No longer eating from my hand.