Page 36 of If I Were Yours

Tears trickle down my temples when he finally shoves it in place, and my body shudders with each staggered breath.

Grigory releases my gaze as he grabs something long beside him. A magic wand, I realize when it starts buzzing—a very insisting buzz that will surely overstimulate my overly sensitive clit. He shuts it off, thank God, before pressing it to my clit. But I know it’s only a matter of moments before he’ll turn it on.

I shake my head, but it’s a feeble motion. Because I know it won’t change a thing. So I do the one thing I can to balance in the brutality of his dominance.

I reach out to him.

His name is a bunch of nonsensical syllables as I try to speak around the gag, but he understands anyway.

His eyes meet mine, calm and soothing. “I’ve got you,devochka,” he promises, and it’s all I need to hear.

I nod my silent acceptance and push out a long, shuddery breath.

And then the vibrations start.

Bolts of sensation shoot through my body, violent and urgent.

“Aaah.” My eyes roll back in my head as I buck beneath the onslaught of sensations.

The vibrations roll through my core, into my filled pussy, shooting into my nerves like an electric circuit about to give out from overload. I writhe against the restraints, trying to get away. But neither the ropes nor Grigory gives in.

His eyes darken as he presses the wand harder against my sensitive nub, and then he drags the dildo out and shoves it back in.

It’s too much, the pleasure, the pain, his intrusive gaze.

I squeeze my eyes shut, needing to protect myself from the man who rips my defenses to shreds and reaches straight into the very depth of my soul where I can barely see myself.

Sobs rise in my throat as my body shudders with the need to explode and lose myself in the pleasure threatening to rip me apart. But I can’t let myself go there. I just can’t.

“Look at me.” This time, it’s a demand.

My eyes fly open, and I stare straight into a dark eyes that demand everything I have to give. I can’t refuse. I can’t hold back when caught in those dark pits. So I give in.

I scream as my body convulses with the most violent orgasm of my life. It’s torturous and freeing at the same time, consuming my entire being and sending everything I have into the open. It keeps going and going, seizing my body in shuddery spasms and tearing out screams, moans, and raw, primal sounds unlike anything I’ve heard come out of me before.

When the sensations finally die down, it’s like a flick of a switch. My eyes fall shut, and I sink into floaty darkness where there’s no sound or movement. Only peaceful calm.

— CHAPTER 12 —

CLARA

The next few days go by too quickly. Suddenly, it’s Sunday. The last day of our two weeks together.

I cook us a late breakfast, which we eat in silence. During our time together here, our meals have become comfortable and conversational. Grigory is not the talkative type, but we usually carry some kind of conversation for at least part of the meal. I enjoy the quiet parts too, but today the silence is strained.

After eating, Grigory brings me back to bed, where he strips us both and gathers me to him under the comforter. The silence remains, but his touch says it all. He holds me so tight my lungs struggle to breathe, his hand gripping my arm so hard my muscles throb.

It reminds me of the night in his car when he drove me back to Markus after we’d been to dinner. The night when he pushed me away even though he clearly wanted to hold on. I still remember his words like it was yesterday.You and me, Clara. I don’t think I can do it.

I have to keep reminding myself that we’re not in the same place. Grigory wants to be with me.

I try to expel the words with new hopeful ones.As long as Markus wants to share me with you, I’m not letting you go for a single moment.But even as I repeat the words he told me a few days ago over and over in my head, the old ones linger, spreading fear into the far corners of my mind. It only gets worse when Grigory gets up and starts packing, removing every trace that he was ever here—every hopeful sign that he’ll return.

He takes everything except for the sheet music on the piano. Chopin’s Ballade No. 4. It’s been there for two weeks, but I’ve never heard him play it. He must have been practicing it when I’ve been away.

“You’ve forgotten your sheet music,” I say when the scratchy sound of his suitcase zipper fills the air with a sense of finality.

He doesn’t answer but grabs my sheepskin and places it before the piano. “Come.”

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