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The loud sound of a slap bounced off the walls as a stinging hand landed on her backside. She spun around with a yelp.
Konstantin gazed down at her. “You don’t order me around, little bird.”
Her face burned. So did her ass. He’d done it. He’d actually spanked her.
Without warning, he grabbed a handful of her hair and gently pulled her head back so she couldn’t hide her face. Pain pricked her scalp, not unbearable, but enough to send a message. Her stomach dropped and her knees felt like they’d buckle any second.
“Do you understand me, Varushka?” he said softly. He didn’t need to raise his voice. He had her full attention. “It’s not your place to boss me around.”
Her limbs went numb and her privates started to throb again. Like in the club, and then the car afterward. She whimpered.
Please, no. Please not now.
Maybe if she said what he wanted to hear, he’d let go. They could go to church. She would be right with God.
“Yes, Sir.”
His gaze bore into hers, as if he were trying to see through her. Or maybe he was trying to read her mind. Would he know that this made her panties wet, just as the club had?
“What do you say?” he asked.
Words flipped through her mind and she tried to sort out which might be the right ones. Taking a guess, she answered, “I’m sorry, Sir?”
“For?”
“For . . .” —she swallowed hard— “for bossing you, Sir.”
He released her hair, then stroked his fingers down her cheek. “Good girl.”
She stood numbly for a moment, unable to make her feet move. All she could do was breathe—in, out—trying to get her wits back. For some reason, she simultaneously felt like crying, touching herself, and smiling. What in the world was going on with her?
A moment later, he pulled her up against his body and wrapped his arms around her. His heart thudded under her cheek and she felt hers slow to match his beat. He’d slapped her ass, then held her hair and made her say embarrassing things. And now he hugged her, as if he cared about her. Was this what marrying Konstantin would be like? Punishment, then cuddling? That wasn’t so bad.
No. It was better than that. It made her feel warm and tingly and wanted and protected. She smiled against his chest.
Pulling her face up with a finger under her chin, he looked down at her. “You’re a good girl, malish. You just have to remember your manners.”
She was starting to like the way he said malish—as if it were a word just for her. When she nodded, he leaned down and kissed her—a chaste kiss that left her wanting more. She sighed when he backed away, but considering where they were going, it was just as well.
The car ride was silent and she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Her mind was still reeling. Emotions swept through her so fast, she couldn’t settle on one. Anxiety he was leaving in a few days. Fluttery and hot from what had happened in the foyer. And guilt from thinking of such things just before church.
Church—where she was supposed to confess the sins of the last few days. Church, where she was supposed to walk in feeling shameful and out feeling new again. Would she receive forgiveness today? Would the confession and prayers be enough to resist him next time she felt that stir inside her?
Walking through the monstrous doors of the church felt like coming home. The smell, the sounds, the stained glass and candles and wooden pews . . . It resembled her church in Russia enough that a deep part of her relaxed for the first time since she’d flown here. It felt as if she could breathe freely again. Unable to hold back a small smile, she followed Konstantin to a row.
Bright paintings adorned the walls, broken only by a few gold accents. It was a well-appointed church, but the décor was more demure than the church she’d gone to since she was born. It was pretty here, but not as ostentatious as what she was used to. Americans seemed to have subtler tastes.
She lowered herself to a kneel and gazed up at the crucifix. Silently, she prayed.
Konstantin remained sitting. She didn’t bother to look back at him, afraid she’d end up scolding him and get herself in more trouble. His relationship with God and religion was his own business anyway. She should have known better than to meddle.
After she prayed for everyone at home, and thanked God for His blessings, she looked for the confessional. In the back right of the room, she spotted the familiar wooden shape.
“I’m going to confession,” she whispered to Konstantin.
He nodded.
Inside the confessional, she sat on the wooden bench and waited to be acknowledged. She could hear the priest’s breathing on the other side.
