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I don’t know what to say. And it doesn’t matter. Because I can’t say anything. His grip around my throat doesn’t allow more than a whimper as I disappear into the dangerous storm of his control. Yet again, I find myself helpless to balance in this dynamic. I can’t stand the idea of remaining in this limbo, nor ending it either. All I can do is stare at the man who holds the strings to my most primal, instinctive submissive desires and hope he won’t break me.
***
Grigory’s words from the day he picked me up at the university and his reaction when I asked about kissing keep swirling in my mind over Christmas. I can’t stop wondering what it would be like to belong to him—what it would entail.
Even when I fly to Berlin to stay with Markus a few days after Christmas, I can’t let the thought go. Rather, it keeps expanding and expanding, taking up all the space in my head until it’s all I can think about.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Markus asks. “You seem distant.”
“I don’t know.” I stare into the distance with a frown edged between my brows.
“Has something happened between Grigory and you?”
I repeat my answer. “I don’t know.” Because I truly don’t. On some level, it seems that everything has happened. Yet nothing in particular has happened.
We’re still stuck in the same stagnant place where we’re deeply intimate, connected on this instinctive level that makes me feel like I need him more than the air I breathe. Yet there’s this distance between us, like we’re standing on opposite sides of a cleft we won’t ever be able to cross.
We’re both ready to take the next step, but we can’t. Because I’m not his. I belong to Markus, and as long as I do, I don’t think Grigory will ever be able to fully take possession of me like he needs—likeIneed.
I realize I must have been staring off into the distance for several minutes when Markus takes my hand. “Sweetie, talk to me.”
I focus my eyes on him. The man I love and the man who opened up this wonderful world of dominance and submission to me. The first man I could connect with through music.
But despite how much he means to me, everything seems to reach a little deeper with Grigory.
I can’t bring myself to tell him how I truly feel. It would hurt too much to let the words out into the open. So I make myself deny them—both to him and myself—and force a smile. “I’m just stressed. With the audition coming up and all.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s far from the whole truth, and I feel like shit for hiding my feelings from Markus. But I simply can’t face the truth myself. So I shut the thoughts down and forget about Grigory’s words throughout the next few days. It’s not an easy task, but with Markus’s help and New Year’s Eve preparations to distract me, I somehow succeed.
— CHAPTER 22 —
CLARA
“When will people start arriving?” I ask Markus as I tether theHappy New Yearbanner to the curtain rod and jump down from the sofa.
“At eight,” he says, taking in his redecorated living room. “I must say you’ve gone all in.”
I join him in the middle of the room to peruse the glittery silver and sparkling black that have taken over the space. Balloons, banners, and garlands. You name it. I’ve gotten it all.
“You like it?” I ask, beaming up at him.
“Yeah,” his hand travels down my waist, over the glittery silver dress that hugs my curves tightly. “But I must say I like this even more.”
Slipping an arm around his neck, I coax him down for a kiss, and his hand travels lower to squeeze my ass.
With my mouth spread in a huge grin, I say against his lips, “You need to keep it in your pants, or the roast will burn.”
Markus drags a hand through his hair. “God, woman. You’re playing with fire, you know?”
I saunter off, throwing him a playful smile over my shoulder. “I know.” Plus, I also know he wouldn’t let me burn the roast, so my ass is safe for now.
I’ve been cooking all day to prepare a fancy three-course meal, which we eat in the also festively decorated kitchen. Markus fawns over the food and eats two portions of dessert with the excuse that he needs to prepare for a long night of drinking.
Huffing a laugh, I start loading the dishwasher. “I’m afraid it’s too late to start working on your alcohol tolerance. You’ll be rattling around on the floor before the clock strikes twelve. Two portions won’t save you.”
Markus comes up behind me and shoves a hand under my dress, kneading my butt so hard I yelp. “Keep talking like that and you won’t be able to sit on your sweet ass when the clock strikes twelve.”
He rears his hand back and slams it onto my ass, and just as I prepare for the next blow, the doorbell chimes.
