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I turn back to my work and focus, scowling at the screen. I won’t allow myself to fall for her. I won’t.
We break for lunch, and I like having her here with me. I like that she sits on my lap and lets me feed her. I don’t allow her to wear clothes, and I can’t get my fill of her. But as darkness settles, the long day at work wearing on me, I want to be done with this. I turn to her and marvel at her beautiful, naked form strewn over the chair. She has her beautiful legs draped over the side, her arms stretched over her head.
“You’re a naughty little girl distracting me from my work,” I scold her.
She blinks and sits up, yawning like a little kitten and shrugs.
“Perhaps I need to be punished,” she says. Taunting.
And I want to punish her. I want to strike her naked body until tears dampen her cheeks and she begs me to stop.
“Come here, malyshka.”
She rises like the little girl I call her, a slowness to her movements betraying her trepidation, but the fullness in her breasts and taut nipples tell me more.
Calina likes this. Hell, Calina craves this, this dance of dominance and submission, of power and control, discipline and pleasure. Already, I’ve trained her body to react to my demands and punishments with a Pavlovian response. I command and she obeys. Her obedience reaps pleasure at my hands, but not until she’s paid the price.
When she reaches me, I shake my head, like a disapproving teacher.
“Naughty little thing,” I tell her, flicking one of her hardened little nipples. “Does the thought of punishment excite you?” Cupping her backside, I draw her closer and inspect her naked body, prepared to lay her over my desk and stripe her thoroughly, when my phone rings. At first I ignore it, but when I see it’s Maksym, I curse. I hold a finger up to my lips to tell her to be silent while I take the call.
“What is it?” I snap.
“I’m sorry to call this late, Demyan,” Maksym says. “We need to talk about Amaranov. Give us a few minutes?”
I nod and hang up the phone. I could dress her and take her.
Or I could tempt her to do what I know she wants to. Leave my phone behind, find out what I need to know.
“Behave while I’m gone,” I tell her, getting dressed. A part of me hopes that she will.Chapter 14“I need to go meet with my men briefly,” he says with a frown. “We need to discuss a few things, but I’ll be back.” Standing, he takes me by the hand and pulls me to him. And then he does something he shouldn’t, something dangerous and deadly and oh, how I wish he wouldn’t do this. Cupping my jaw with his large, warm hand, he bends down and gives me a lingering kiss that makes my toes curl. Tender and sweet, speaking promises to me he shouldn’t.
Lies.
That I mean something to him. That he won’t hurt me. That he actually cares about me.
No, my mind warns, don’t fall for this. It isn’t real. He doesn’t care.
But my body has been weakened by the ministrations of the days leading to this and I can’t help my response. My hands go to his face, framing his beauty and strength between my grasp. I mentally beg for some authenticity in this. For him not to hurt me.
I know he feels this, that he isn’t immune to the seductive power of ardor and passion when his forehead meets mine.
“Calina,” he groans.
“Sir?”
But that’s all he says. Pulling me to him with his hand at my lower back, he kisses me again, until I moan into his mouth and soften against him like sand beneath the tide, pushed and pulled and dragged back under again. He leaves me breathless and panting and a little stunned as I watch him walk to the door.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says. “When I return I want you bent over my desk, grabbing the edge, your ass on full display so the image of your body is what greets me when I return.”
And then he’s gone and I’m alone, locked in this room. I turn toward his desk and freeze.
He left his phone.
I frown at it, then look back at the door.
Why didn’t he take his phone? Hell, he handed it to me earlier, and told me to occupy myself.
Is he growing lax in his role as captor? Or… is he baiting me?
Demyan is no fool. He hasn’t forgotten that I tried to make a call. But what he doesn’t know is I can block any tracking on this phone with a simple swipe of the buttons.
I run to the desk and grab the phone so quickly, it falls out of my hands, clattering to the floor. Oh, God. If I broke it, he’ll know I touched it without permission, and I don’t want to see what type of punishment that earns me. I’m shaking so badly as I pick it up and almost sob with relief when I see it’s unharmed. I need to make this call and now before he returns. He said he’d only be a few minutes.
