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I'm indulging in the moment of solitude, finding solace in the rhythmic strokes of my swim when a splash from the opposite side of the pool interrupts my thoughts. Kai's body glides through the water effortlessly as he swims toward where I now stand in the three-foot waters. Once his hand touches the edge, he emerges to the surface. Water drips down his bare torso as I stand here with my sleep tank and shorts clinging to my body.
“Morning,” he says. “I see you've wasted no time taking advantage of your newfound freedom.”
“My door was unlocked, so I figured it would be okay if I went for a swim.”
“Yeah, you've earned that much. You worked hard to show why you deserved to be set free from isolation.” He smirks.
“I didn't fuck you for my freedom, Kai. That was not me offering you my eternal submission on a silver platter,” I retort, feeling my frustration grow. Just as I thought—it's still a game to him. A game he feels he has won.
“So why did you fuck me?” he challenges. “And don't say because I made you. Each time you've had my cock inside you, you've come alive with want and insatiable need. You've begged for me to fuck you harder. You've welcomed my thumb in your ass and my tongue against your bloody cunt.”
“You're so arrogant.”
“I am,” he says bluntly. “But the answer you're trying to forgo is that you like me. I intrigue you. Each time I touch you, it's electric, and I've barely scratched the surface of what I'm capable of inside and outside the bedroom. When you called me baby as I fucked you, I had my answer. Was it a slip of the tongue? I think not.”
I can feel the blood rush to my face as the memory flashes before my eyes. I've been regretting that fucking word all morning.
“You babbled mindlessly while you came so hard for me,” he taunts. “But now I know your secret.”
“What secret? You keep alluding to now having some answer about me.”
He wades through the water to get closer to me. He raises my chin so I'm forced to look him in the eyes, his grip bordering on painful. “At this very moment, your pussy is slick for me... so wet and ready.”
“Get over yourself. That's not an answer,” I reply as my breath hitches.
He pushes my back to the edge of the pool before he dips his hand under the water and quickly moves my shorts aside. I don't even have time to react before his fingers are inside me. I grab onto his biceps as he fingers me briefly before removing his hand. “Just as I thought. Your pussy is drenched for me, and it's not the pool. And I didn't feel a tampon, so I'm guessing your period has finished.”
“I’m not wearing a tampon. I'm barely spotting now. Why are you so obsessed with my period?”
“I'm into blood play, but that's too advanced for your vanilla mind.”
I fucking hate that word. Viktor accused me of being vanilla. “Fuck you. I'm not vanilla simply because I'm not into whatever twisted shit you're into. I fucked you because I needed some dick. It could have been anyone. I'm a slut, remember?”
“On the contrary, you're exactly what I'm into, and you don't even realize it. It's the reason your pussy is so wet for me right now. You're not the slut you wish for me to believe, Vasilisa. Although you have kinks you're unaware of, you're not without discernment. You must possess a certain level of attraction and trust to be vulnerable with your type of kink.”
“My type of kink? What is it that you think I'm into?”
“You're a masochist, milseán. You derive pleasure from humiliation and pain. It's the reason your pussy becomes wet when I degrade you or cause you pain. I'm the man you've chosen to give that side of yourself to.”
“Your psychosis is showing,” I retort. “You are quite delusional. I'll show you just how wrong you are. Please just leave me the fuck alone. We can still get married, but you can fuck and play mind games with someone else. I will masturbate before I willingly fuck you again.”
I jump out of the pool and leave him standing there. “I see we're back at square one with your disrespect and ...”
I don't hear the rest of what he says. I stomp back to my room, not caring that I'm dripping water from my clothes throughout the house. He'll probably go back to locking me inside my room, but who cares. I start the shower and peel off the cold, wet clothes. I let the hot water run down my body as I work to calm my anger. I don't know if I'm angrier at him or myself. I hate feeling so out of control. It's one thing for him to have the power to dominate me. I can rationalize that as out of my hands. But I control my mind and how I allow him to make me feel. When did I allow him inside my head? I'm not some masochist, and the only way to prove that is to stay as far as I can from him, even if that means returning to isolation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kai
Although I sent for Vasilisa's belongings from her father’s home a while back, I’ve been keeping them locked away in one of the other guest bedrooms. She originally packed up her things in preparation for being picked up the morning after her night out at the club, but due to her lack of self-preservation, that timeline got moved up. Until now, she's only been allowed the few sleepwear and lounge clothes I bought to put in her room. I allowed her to have toiletries to shower, feminine products, and basic linen for her bed. I feel that I have been more than generous, given how I initially felt about her. Although that resentment still lingers, the severity of it is starting to wane a bit. I thought she was finally ready to submit after fucking calling me Daddy in my playroom. But after being faced with her truth in the pool, she reverted to her self-sabotaging and disrespectful ways. It’s her fucking security blanket. She doesn’t believe she’s a masochist, so I’ll have to prove it. Tonight should be more than eye-opening. She wants to keep telling me to be with someone else … well, tonight, she will get her wish. I’ve already asked Samuel earlier to tell her of my plans to take her to dinner tonight. Our first night out should be fun.
I rummage through her suitcase of things to find something for her to wear tonight. I can't help the laugh that escapes me. Someone has a sense of humor.Perfect. I'm sure these hideous garments are not part of her wardrobe. Every thing I pick up looks vintage or something you'd find at a consignment store—not her style at all. My guess is she wanted to embarrass me should she and I go out. She was never prepared to give this a fair go. Well, the joke’s on her because I spot the perfect dress for tonight's occasion. It’s nearly time.
I pull out the ugliest-looking fuchsia-pink prom dress. Its satin material is dated and looks like something from the seventies. She's making this almost too easy. I have my housemaid Andrea bring the dress to her room. She has thirty minutes to get ready and be escorted to join me in the limo at eight sharp.
Three minutes to the hour, a smile spreads across my face. The guest accompanying us takes a sip of champagne while we wait in the limo. The door opens, and I can hardly contain my laughter. A pissed-off Vasilisa stands in the open door of the car with her arms folded across her chest. Actually seeing her in the dress is better than I thought. There is no way she's actually worn this dress before.
The vibrant, eye-searing color assaults the senses, commanding attention in the most obnoxious way possible. The fabric itself is a cacophony of shiny satin and scratchy lace, a combination that should never have been allowed to exist on the same garment. The top half of the dress clings to her body like a second skin, accentuating every curve with sadistic glee. The bodice is a nightmare of frills and ruffles, as if someone had a surplus of fabric and no sense of taste. Each layer adds unnecessary bulk, and the embellishments are scattered haphazardly across the bodice. Rhinestones, sequins, and beads of all sizes and colors clash violently against the fuchsia backdrop, creating a visual assault.
