Page 25 of Vicious Betrayal

Ihear his voice from directly behind me, and I spin around so fast I hit the doorframe with my shoulder, adrenaline flooding me so hard the room actually tilts for a second. He's standing in the hallway in the dark in his boxer briefs, arms folded.

He must have woken up and realized I was gone. He's been standing there for some unknown amount of time, watching me stand in his doorway, staring at the inside of his private room, and I feel my cheeks flush. I have no idea what to say.

He looks at me, then past me at the room, and then back at me.

"Oksana," he says quietly, with that same stern tone. I feel heat flush through me.

"I was—" I start, and then stop. There's nothing true I can say to finish that sentence.

He doesn't move. He just watches me. Then I step backward, into the room. He goes very still in a different way. "Don't."

"I just want to look," I say. It's not a lie. I'm horribly curious. I turn slowly, taking in the bench up close, the dark, leather-padded surface, the soft-looking leather cuffs that are also padded on the inside. The standing frame is taller than I realized from the doorway. Everything looks like it's made of quality materials—nothing cheap or improvised. The bed is neatly made, and it looks soft. I take it all in, imagining how it could all be used, and I feel fresh arousal gathering between my thighs.

"Oksana." His voice has an edge now. Not anger, but something close to it. "Come out of there."

I give him an innocent look. "Why?"

"Because I'm asking you to."

I turn back to face him. He's still in the doorway, arms at his sides, jaw set. He looks like a man holding himself very carefully in place.

He wants to follow me in here. He wants me in here. The thought is so exciting that I can hardly hold it in.

"What's in the cupboard?" I ask.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

I give him a teasing pout. "I'm curious."

"I can see that," he says drily. "That doesn't mean you should be in this room."

"Come in and tell me why not," I say, with an intentionally provocative tone. I know I've crossed a line, but this is a room that tells me he'd want to punish me for it. And deep down, I like the idea of it.

Maybe I like the idea of being punished for things he doesn't know, too. I deserve whatever he might mete out, for what I'm going to do to him. If I make myself his little toy, maybe that will absolve some of my guilt.

You know that's ridiculous. And you're just doing it because you want to. Because this is new and exciting and he's hot and you want him to fuck you every way he can think of.

Normally I'd ask myself what's wrong with that, but right now, I know exactly why it's wrong.

"Or… I could just keep looking around." I smirk at him, walking over to the cupboard. I put my hand on it, and he says my name with a clear warning.

"Oksana. Don't open that."

I close my hand around the knob, and he moves quickly into the room, his hand closing around my wrist before I can pull it open. His eyes are narrowed, and when I glance down briefly, I can see him straining against the front of his boxer briefs.

He wants this so badly.

"Does it hurt with how much you want to fuck me in here?" I purr, and his grip on my wrist tightens.

"Careful," he warns. "I've enjoyed your smart mouth so far, a chumann, but now you're crossing a line. This door was locked. Didn't your father teach you manners?"

"Maybe you should teach me some."

A muscle in his jaw leaps. "You don't know what this is."

"I have some idea," I say carefully. I'm aware that if I say the wrong thing, he'll close down completely and take me out of here. He might even refuse to see me again if I piss him off too much, and then I'm back at square one. But if I can convince him to share this with me…

That's the kind of trust I'm supposed to achieve. And I want to, for reasons that have nothing to do with the FBI's desires, and everything to do with mine.