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I have a sudden, strange urge to pick her up in my arms and carry her upstairs, eat her pussy until she screams for me, and then hold her while we both fall asleep. I can see it in my head, almosttasteher on my tongue, and the strength of that entirely inappropriate fantasy is what finally propels me to my feet and makes me drag her to hers, none too gently.
“You can have breakfast without being tied up, once I make it.” I tell her curtly, reaching for my sweatpants. “Although you’ll stay naked. Sit there.” I nod at the chair on the other side of the table from where I’d tied her yesterday. “And if you think about running while I’m cooking, think about last night. It could have been so much worse.”
Natalia nods slowly, without a word. Her lips are full and red and swollen from sucking me, and I have another strange, sudden urge to lean down and kiss them. I want to pull her into my arms, reach between her thighs and feel if she’s wet from swallowing my cum. I’m almost certain that she is.
Instead, I turn away swiftly, striding towards the stove. “Regardless of how sore you are,” I snap, “when I turn around again, your ass better be in that seat.”
I hear the sound of her dragging the chair out, and her soft, pained gasp when she sits down on her bruised, welted ass and thighs. The sound is enough to make my cock lurch and swell a little again, although I’m not sure there’s a single thing on earth that could get me fully hard right now.
Not after how hard she just made me come.
It could always be like that,the tiny voice in my head whispers, taunting me as I get out ingredients for breakfast.If you were gentler with her. Stern, but fair. You could keep her as a pet forever. You could have this kind of pleasure for as long as you want. Send some false proof to the Syndicate, take her somewhere else, and enjoy her. There’s billionaires and mobsters all over the world who need a brutal man. You never have to give her up.
The temptation is almost too strong. I glance over her as the smell of frying eggs fills the air, and it nearly takes my breath away. The way she’s sitting primly in the chair, trying to hover the tiniest bit, her pale skin bearing the marks from her punishment last night, is nearly as beautiful as she is.
She could be perfect, if she wanted this. If she wantedyou, just as you are.
The thought of extinguishing the fire in her, of ending her life, feels more and more unbearable with each hour and day that passes. Even reminding myself of who she is, what she’s been a party to, still doesn’t easily summon the righteous rage I’d felt before.
It’s a good thing that you’re giving her to Viktor to kill, then, when you’re finished with her.
I take two plates of food to the table, pushing one across to her. She looks at me with a hint of suspicion in her eyes as she takes it and the fork I provided her, and I smirk.
“No tricks,” I tell her simply. “As long as you don’t try to stab me with that fork. You have me in a remarkably good mood just now, so don’t waste it.”
She watches me for a beat longer, as if testing whether or not that, in and of itself, is a trap, and then her gaze falls to the plate.
It’s nothing fancy. Bacon, eggs, and toast with jam–an ordinary breakfast, with another glass of water sitting beside the plate, but she’s looking at it as if I’ve offered her the kind of feast she would have been accustomed to in her old life, living at the Obelensky mansion, or out to brunch with her ridiculous ‘friends.’ I can see her hesitating, not wanting to devour it in front of me, and then I see the moment that her control snaps.
She starts to fork the eggs quickly into her mouth, in big bites that might have disgusted me, if I didn’t find it all so amusing. “Slow down,” I caution her as she swallows and coughs, already frantically looking at the next forkful. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
Her immediate reaction is to glare at me, but I see the expression soften almost instantly into confusion. She looks away, back at her plate, but I know she’s as confused as I am as to why, for a brief second, I was legitimately concerned for her.
You’re getting soft. Don’t lose sight of the goal.
I let her eat in silence, finishing my food at a more leisurely pace as Natalia devours every bite on the plate, drains the glass of water, and then sits there with an expression that says she wants to ask for more, but knows the futility of that.
“What now?” she asks softly, a thread of fear running through her voice, and I feel a wave of satisfaction at that, the first hint that I might be breaking her. With the immediacy of my desire and her bodily needs taken care of, the day now stretches out in front of us, and I know she’s wondering what I have in store for her.
“Well–” I pause, letting my gaze flick over her, wanting to purposefully draw it out and make her more nervous, “I suppose that depends on you.”
“On me?” Natalia licks her lips, sitting back in her chair a little, and I feel a sharp burst of lust at the sight of her pretty, small breasts, the way her narrow waist tapers. I’ve never had the pleasure of keeping a woman naked in my home for so long, and I could get used to it far too easily.
“I have more questions for you. If you answer them, our day could be quite pleasant. I might even see fit to find something to soothe those welts on your ass. If you cooperate, you might get two more meals. You might get to come. Who knows?” I shrug. “But if you don’t–well, there’s all kinds of things I can think of to make this day feel very, very long indeed. And you know how hard it makes me, when you scream and cry for me.”
I see her face pale, and my pulse leaps in my throat. “Imagine,” I say softly, holding her gaze from across the table. “My belt on those soft places again, where I whipped you last night, and then you tied face down, my hips slamming into those bruises while I fuck your tight virgin ass as hard as I possibly can.”
She’s trying to keep her composure. I can see the struggle, the way her throat convulses slightly as she swallows. “You can do whatever you like,” she says finally. “But I’ve told you the truth. If you told me why you’re so interested in this Natalia woman, maybe I could offer you better information.”
“I haven’t shown you the basement yet,” I say conversationally, as I stand and take the plates. She flinches away from me, and I can see the heartbeat at the base of her throat, a clear sign of the fear she’s trying so hard to hide. “Maybe it’s time for a tour of that, so you can see exactly what awaits you if you insist on lying to me.”
“There must be something else you’d rather do today.” She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Your arm must be sore, after last night.”
Does nothing terrify her?I could show her the worst that I’m capable of, of course, but it almost feels like cheating. Anyone with a brain would piss themselves at the sight of pliers and surgical tools, plastic sheeting and cuffs waiting for true, Bratva style torture. Natalia is no fool, and she grew up the daughter of Konstantin Obelensky. She knows the possibilities.
What I want is for her to break by other means. By the force of my will, not because I’ve carved her to pieces until there’s nothing left that’s whole anyway.
I want her to admit who she is, what she’s done, and beg for my mercy. I don’t want it to be forced with pain that no human could withstand. It wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.
