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It takes me a minute to get back on track and remember all the complications. “But what about my studies here? I don’t have the time to practice that much.”
“You’re going to put them on hold until the audition. I’d say you quit them altogether, but Markus insists we see how this goes before we make any rash decisions.”
My brows lift in disbelief. “Thisis a rash decision. I can’t just quit my studies for an entire semester.”
“You’re smart enough to catch up on your own. You can do the exams in the summer if you end up continuing your studies here.”
Here.The word spirals me into a new line of questioning. “Why not apply to the conservatory here? It’s a twenty-minute bus ride away.”
“Markus lives in Berlin and I’ve just bought an apartment there, so it’ll be easier for all of us. You can get your own place or live with Markus—that’s up to the two of you to decide.”
Markus and I haven’t even talked about moving in together. And this thing with Grigory is still so new that it seems a bit too much to think that far ahead.
My head reels. In a matter of minutes, Grigory has thrust my life onto a completely different track. It’s not just a change of direction in terms of goals and studies. If all goes according to his plan, my entire life will upend.
I turn back to the stack of books, needing a reprieve from Grigory’s intent gaze. Upon further inspection, I find that there are a couple of German novels and a paperback with Mozart Sonatas.
“You need to pass a German language test,” Grigory explains. “And we need to add some Mozart to your repertoire.”
I snap my head back to him as realization strikes. “Is this why you forced Bach upon me a couple of weeks ago?”
Grigory looks annoyingly self-satisfied when he confirms with a nod.
“Why didn’t you say something”—I lift the brochure and drop it back onto the table—“about this?”
“Markus wanted to give this new”—Grigory waves a hand in front of him—“reading routine a chance before we decided. But I knew it wouldn’t work.”
I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended—agitated or happy. The conservatory is my dream, and I can hardly believe Grigory—Grigory fucking Volkov—thinks I have a shot. But I’m also really goddamn annoyed about the way he springs it on me like it’s already decided. Well, apparently it is, since the two men clearly have discussed it. But what about my opinion?
I turn back to him. “Seriously, I don’t think I’m up for this. Maybe in a year or two, but not in four months. It’s too much work and risk for something I probably won’t even succeed at.”
“Clara”—Grigory’s features harden—“you’re doing this. It is not some impulsive decision. I’ve been considering it since you played that Rachmaninoff prelude for me. I’ve been going over it with the headmaster at the conservatory—he’s a good friend of mine—and he agrees you have a good shot. Like I’ve told you before, they’re not just about technique in Berlin.”
I let out a frustrated breath and avert my eyes when I find no sign of compromise in his features. Picking up my phone, I see it’s only half past nine, yet I’m already exhausted.
“Can we discuss this tomorrow?” I say.
“There’s nothing to discuss. But I will answer whatever questions you have and try to ease your concerns. Since you’re not attending the lecture tomorrow, we’ll have plenty of time.”
I grind my teeth and stare at the tabletop. Now he has the gall to forbid me from attending the lecture tomorrow. He could at least have given me some time to adjust before setting this new plan into motion. But oh no, he just throws me straight in without warning.
Grigory rises to his feet and takes my hand to help me up, but I tug myself free, feeling recklessly defiant. He doesn’t reprimand me but doesn’t let me stew either. With a resolute motion, he leans down and scoops me into his arms, carrying me to bed.
When he dumps me on the mattress, I try to roll away, but he just grabs me and pulls me back. My struggles prove useless as he starts undressing me. His hands are strong and sure, effortlessly moving me however needed to get my clothes off. It’s both maddening and so damn arousing.There’s no telling whether my moans are protests or lust—probably both.
I’m not sure his intentions were to fuck me when he started out, but my struggling seems to turn him on. Feral growls escape his throat, and when he forces me up to sit against him and rips off my T-shirt, his cock is hard against my back.
“Little subs don’t get to decide for themselves,” he says in a dangerously low tone, then shoves me forward and smacks my ass. “Get on all fours.”
“Grigory, I’m not in the mood,” I say, rolling onto my side and grabbing for the comforter.
With a rough motion, he shoves the comforter aside and grabs me. His fingers dig into my hips as he hauls me onto all fours and climbs up behind me.
I keep struggling, begging him to stop, but when he shoves his cock against my opening, I’m so slick he slides right in.
“You may protest all you want,” he growls as he pounds into me. “But at the end of the day, it doesn’t change a thing. You’re a submissive, and you will obey.”
I want to protest, but as his words make their way through my brain, I feel the truth of them—the deep, fundamental truth that resonates at my very core. I go slack in his grip, giving in to his violent possession. He fills me to the brim, mentally and physically, as he keeps fucking me with punishing force. Each thrust reverberates painfully through my abdomen, yet somehow, it drives my need higher.
