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My fury returned, now that I no longer thought I was dying.
‘You’re safe now,’ he said. ‘The doctor is coming, but I don’t think you have any broken bones. Just cuts and bruises and a sprained ankle. Would you like something to drink?’
I nodded and he opened a Thermos flask and poured something into a mug then, dropping a straw in it, held it close to my lips. I sipped at it, the sweet, hot tea running down my parched tongue. I lay my head back slowly. Every muscle in my body hurt and I felt bone-deep weary, but my mind was wide awake and alive with questions.
‘What were you doing? You could have died up there.’ There was barely leashed fury in his voice.
‘Why didn’t you post my letters?’ I whispered, and without even being conscious of it, tears started running down my temples.
His eyes narrowed, and I sensed the palpable tension in his body. ‘Were you running away?’
‘No, they will hurt Nikolai if I do.’
Something flashed in his eyes. He became unnaturally motionless. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ I asked, frightened by his reaction.
‘Nothing,’ he said and dropped his gaze so I would not see the expression in it.
‘So why didn’t you post my letters?’ I asked again.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t.’ His voice was strained.
I frowned, genuinely confused. ‘You’re sorry?’
‘You need to rest.’
‘Will I never be allowed to leave this castle?’
‘I can’t let you go, Lena,’ he whispered.
And I became furious. ‘Even the woman who caged me and forced me to submit to her sexual demands did not make me suffer indefinitely.’
I heard the chair being pushed back. I heard the muffled sound of his shoes on the shabby carpet. His breath fanned my neck, heat from his body radiating out. And he whispered in my ear, ‘I have never pretended to be better than her.’
My voice was less than a whisper. ‘Please let me go.’
‘I can’t,’ he muttered, and then his heat moved away. I heard the soft footfalls of his step. I heard his weight land on the chair. I felt empty inside. Was this to be my life? Would I never leave here? Would I remain his toy forever? And what of Nikolai if I couldn’t even write to him?
‘Don’t you understand I can never be happy here…without Nikolai. He is a part of me.’
He uttered a deep-throated growl like an animal that is in terrible pain and wants to ward off anyone approaching, and raised his hand as if he was about to touch my face, then let it fall. The gesture was one of defeat.
‘A year. You may leave in a year.’ The words had been torn from him.
Would Nikolai be able to wait for a whole year? No, he would not. I made a small sound.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘My brother… He is suffering in his nest of thorns. My father is abusing him. My letter will be his only joy. Will you at least let me write to him?’
‘You can write to your brother and give your letters to Misty to post. Tell her to claim the postage costs from petty cash.’
I nodded. Somehow it didn’t seem like a victory.
‘Now rest.’
A year. I closed my eyes and sleep came almost immediately. While I was sleeping I had the impression that a hand came to hold mine. It was familiar and strong and it was full of love. I clung to it, but in the morning there was no sign of it.
Chapter 22
In two days I was fine again. I sat up in bed and my fingers were stiff and blistered but I wrote a long letter to Nikolai and gave it to Misty.
‘I’ll get a receipt for you,’ she said.
‘Oh yes, please,’ I said, relieved that finally there would be proof that my letter had been sent.
That afternoon I had a receipt. The address of the post office had been cut out of the receipt. It seemed that I was not to know where I was.
My ankle was still swollen, but Misty had brought me crutches and I could hobble around the castle. Ceba slept in my room a lot. Guy came to see me sometimes two or three times a day, but there was a new tension between us. Whenever he accidentally touched my skin I felt as if I had been burnt. I quickly moved my hand out of the way, and he seemed angered by my reaction.
On the third day Guy came to me during the night. He opened the door and stood framed in the doorway. He was wearing a dressing gown. Even though I was now wary and mistrustful of him, and unsure of his integrity, my body craved him from across the empty room. He had come because my body had called to him. I felt my mouth dry with empty longing. I watched him prowl into the room. The restless energy made heat trickle into my belly.
The breath rushed past my lips. Damn it to hell, I wanted this man. I wanted him so bad I felt as if my insides were melting.
I looked at him with wide wanting eyes.
Gently, he traced the outline of my mouth. My lips parted as he pulled the blankets away and his eyes shot down to where my nightgown had ridden up my thighs. Tenderly, he pushed it higher up and gazed down at the triangle of lace stretched between my hip bones. He pulled my panties down my thighs, and very gently over my swollen ankle. Then he climbed into my bed and opened my legs.
‘God damn it, Lena, you gave me such a fucking scare,’ he muttered hoarsely and dipping his head put his mouth on my clit and sucked the way a man dying of thirst would at a sweet fountain. His fingers drove into me and pumped so fast my body writhed and thrashed like a caught fish. I utterly forgot everything but him. I grasped his hair and curled my legs forward, pulling his face toward my flesh. I wrapped my thighs tightly around his head, and ground my open sex against his mouth, suffocating and smothering him. Waves of sensations poured through me. I moaned and shuddered through my orgasm.
He rolled my slack body to one side and lay down behind me. Arms encircled my waist.
‘I want you to take this cock so deep it feels as if it is coming out of your mouth,’ he said and curled my legs toward my chest so his erection nestled against my wetness. Then he impaled me.
‘Oh,’ I gasped.
Before I could get my breath back he punched deeper. And the stray thought in my empty head—he was home. Finally.
‘Did you miss my cock?’
‘Yes.’ I squeezed the hard shaft inside me.
‘Good, because I fucking missed your cunt.’
He pumped gently, in time to a slow, sultry rhythm. I could feel his heart beat, and the subtle waves of heat coming from his pores released a secret dream I had always had. His fingers moved between my legs and began to play within my wet folds.
I felt the cold, smooth mask against my temple and his lashes brush my cheek. Along the boundaries of my body every line and follicle of hair embedded in his skin whispered their truth to me and made my heart ache with longing. The gentle rasp of his breathing teased my ears. ‘Now do you believe me?’ they seemed to say.
The shadows in my mind came alive and I was overcome by the absolute conviction that I did truly belong to him. He had not just bought my body but my heart and my soul. I was his. I was always meant to be his. From the very day I was born. It sounded like a fable to my rational mind. But it was the truth. My truth.
*****
December came and everybody began to talk about Christmas. They seemed so excited. I listened with wonder. It sounded like a very special time. Christmas in Russia was celebrated on the seventh of January and we did not consider it as important as the New Year or Easter celebrations. My mother had told me that in Moscow they put up fir trees and decorated them with tinsel and lights.
I listened quietly to their plans. Their traditions seemed so different. Mrs. Littlebell was baking fruitcakes and storing them in airtight containers. Ren was talking about putting up a Christmas tree. Misty was getting decorations in for it.
‘Will we have a Christmas tree here?’ I asked.
‘Well, Guy doesn’t celebrate Christmas, but we always have a smal
l one here in the breakfast room. We put all our presents underneath the tree, and we exchange them on Christmas morning. Then Mrs. Littlebell makes us all a very special Christmas dinner with a huge turkey that we never manage to finish.’
I frowned. ‘Do we all exchange presents?’
Misty bit her lip. ‘Yes, but we know you have no money so you don’t have to give us anything.’
I flushed bright red with shame.
*****
At dinner that night I cornered Guy.
‘Everybody will be exchanging presents on Christmas day, but I have no money to buy anybody anything.’
‘Christmas?’ he said slowly, his eyes suddenly blank and bleak. An expression of pain crossed his eyes.
I stared at him, surprised by the sudden raw anguish. ‘Don’t you celebrate Christmas?’
‘No,’ he said and then more softly, ‘Not anymore.’
‘Why?’
He ignored my question. ‘So you want to exchange presents with the staff?’
‘Yes.’
