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He jerks the blanket back, off of me, and I repress a shiver as the cool air hits my skin. “I remember some of last night, you know,” I taunt him in return as he leans over me to unlock the cuffs, as much to try to give myself something to think about other than the thick line of his cock in his boxers as to needle him. He’s wearing nothing else, his broad, tattooed chest, ridged abs, and muscled thighs on display, and through the gap in his boxers I can see a glimpse of hard pink flesh that makes my mouth go dry with need.
He didn’t fuck me yesterday. I still don’t understand why, especially once I was unconscious and asleep. But I’d know if he had. There’s none of the soreness that comes with being fucked hard by his massive cock, no lingering cum on my skin. He let me sleep. Gave me what could only be described as a man like Mikhail’s best attempts at aftercare—and I don’t understand any of it.
“So what?” he growls, undoing the cuffs and reaching for my arm to get me out of bed.
“Why?” I toss my hair back, eyeing him as he leads me to the bathroom for our usual morning routine. “Why did you let me sleep in the bed instead of the crate? Why give me water and feed me? I know for a fact you didn’t find my answers all that satisfactory.”
“I told you the truth.” He pushes me into the bathroom, closing the door behind us and taking up his usual post at the sink. “I don’t intend on killing you. You were on the verge of shock. You needed water and food and sleep, after the limits your body was pushed to. Don’t worry,” he adds, a faint sneer on his face. “We can do it again, if you like. The ropes are still downstairs.”
I repress a shudder, even more so because I know at least a part of it is because I remember more than just the pain and fear. I also remember the dizzying pleasure that made me black out, the way he’d made me come so fucking hard. The way it had felt to be restrained, edged, and teased.
“I don’t understand what you want,” I snap as I walk to the sink, washing my hands as I try not to look too closely at my reflection in the mirror. Somehow, the blonde that he got my hair back to is worse to see than the fake, dull black that I’d dyed it. Gone is the pretty honey blonde color that my hair is naturally, and the expensive balayage that I used to get from a trusted salon. Instead, it’s a vaguely orange-y yellow, bleached to hell, and I know it will take a long time to get it back to its former color. “You torture me, and then you want to fuck me, and then you’re nice to me. I don’t get it. What the fuck are you trying to do?”
“I told you,” he says gruffly, and I notice the way he doesn’t look at me as he speaks. It feels as if something has shifted between us, and I hold onto it, because his obsession with me is still my only hope. I don’t know how long I can survive more episodes of what happened in the basement. Nor do I think he’ll necessarily stop with cutting my clothes, next time.
“Fine.” I dry off my hands, crossing my arms over my breasts as I glare at him. “You want to break me. You’ve said that already. What then? What’s your grand plan for Natalia Obelensky, to make me pay for whatever it is that you think I’ve done?”
He ignores me, grabbing my arm and hustling me out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and to the stairs. I have a faint hope that I might get breakfast, but it tangles in my gut with the fear that we’re going straight back down to the basement, and the confused mix of terror and arousal that comes with that.
I feel as if he’s scrambled my nervous system, shorting out all of my body’s usual responses. “Where are we going?” I ask as he pulls me down the stairs, trying to force the anxious tremor out of my voice. “What do you want from me today? The answers aren’t going to change—”
I break off as we reach the bottom of the stairs, and Mikhail suddenly stops in his tracks. He lets go of my arm, and pushes past me towards the front door, so quickly that he nearly knocks me off balance.
“What the—” I start to snap, and then I see him pick up an envelope on the floor, and my world shudders to a halt.
Instantly, the fear rushes back in, the reminder that I’m in danger both within this house and without, that Mikhail wasn’t the one leaving the creepy letters and the bracelet at my apartment, that I have some other stalker as well, someone else who wants me hurt or dead.
It had been hard to handle before, but it feels even more crushing now, the weight of the fear I’ve been living under slowly breaking me down. I see Mikhail turning towards me, an angry glint in his eye, and I feel myself losing control, anger with him and the stalker and all the fucking circumstances that have gotten me to this place, naked in a strange house with a man who wants things from me that I don’t understand and does things to me that I don’t understand, rushing up until I can’t stop the words coming out of my mouth.
“Oh go ahead,” I snap, glaring at him. “Ask me if this person leaving me letters is someone else I fucked. Tell me you don’t believe me when I say it isn’t, just like you don’t believe any other fucking thing I tell you, apparently.”
Mikhail’s face hardens, his hand tightening around the letter, but I don’t stop. I can’t seem to, no matter how much I know I should.
“Maybe it was,” I taunt, tilting my chin up to sneer at him down my nose. “Imagine that, that I might have had some lover other than you, someone else paying attention to me. I did before you, and you were just a paying customer, after all. We never talked about exclusivity, and that would have cost yousomuch more. That makes you so angry, doesn’t it? Thinking about some other man telling me to get down on his knees, some other man stuffing my mouth with his thick, fat cock. Someone else tying me up, bending me over, making me scream with pleasure while he fucks mesohard.”
I see him moving towards me, and I can hear myself screaming in my head to stop, to stop baiting him, taunting him, but I can’t. I’m so fucking angry and exhausted and worn out of trying to convince this fucking man to believe what I’m telling him, when I don’t even truly understand why he wants the answers he keeps digging for.
“Maybe I didn’t even make him use a condom,” I taunt, smirking at Mikhail. “Maybe I swallowed his cum every time, or let him come all over my tits.” I reach up, squeezing one for good measure. “All over my perfect, pretty tits, just like you love to do. All over me. Or maybe I even let him come inside me once, because he paid mesomuch, just to fill up my pussy with his cum.”
Mikhail lets out a strangled sound that’s almost a snarl, as he lunges for me. I feel my back hit the side of the staircase, almost hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and Mikhail grabs my arms, hard enough to bruise as he glares down at me with rage-filled eyes, his jaw working as he shakes me, hard.
“You fucking bitch,” he hisses. “I knew it. I knew you were fucking some other man. I could fucking smell it on you, you filthy slut. Spreading your legs for anyone with rubles to pay, is that it? You were so insistent with me that you weren’t an escort, not awhore, but you were, weren’t you? And now you’ve brought him to my door, this fucking—”
I start to laugh. I know it’s as ill-advised as taunting him, as lying to him, but I can’t help it. I laugh and laugh, until I know I’m on the verge of being hysterical, and Mikhail shakes me again, knocking my head against the side of the stairs with the force of it as he curses at me, in loud and growling Russian.
“What the fuck are you laughing at,suka?” he snarls, and I try to contain it, to speak through the still-bubbling laughter on my lips.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I gasp. “So gullible, all because you want to make sure I’m all yours, for whatever fucking reason. There wasn’t anyone else. There hasn’t been since I came back to Moscow. Just you, which was clearly a fucking mistake.”
I jerk my head towards the door. “Whoever is leaving those letters, whoever was stalking me before, it’s not someone I fucked—at least not since I came back to Moscow, anyway. Maybe from before, who knows. But I didn’t know you then, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I clearly made a mistake choosingyou.”
“What the fuck are you babbling about?” Mikhail snaps, his fingers digging in harder. “Fucking—”
“Such a big, bad, scary Bratva man,” I mock, in a sing-song voice that makes his expression twist into something nearly feral with rage, but I’m beyond caring now. “Such a terrifying kidnapper. You can’t even keep someone from finding out where you keep the prey you worked so hard to hunt down. Now someone is trying to get me away from you, and what the fuck are you going to do about it? Clearly, not a goddamn thing. So you might as well give up and hand me over, or kill me and be done with it. You’re not tough enough to play this game, clearly.”
“You fucking—” Everything he says after that is incoherent with rage, and for a terrifying moment I think I’ve made a terrible mistake, that he really will kill me now, because I’ve pushed him too far.
And then he surges against me, his fingers still gripping my arms hard enough to bruise, his body pressing against mine so tightly that I can feel every ridge and muscle in his body, right down to the rock-hard cock pressing against my thigh, and he crushes his mouth against mine.
