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He pauses as if he wants to say something, but thinks better of it, nods, and leaves.
I click my monitors shut and head to my minibar to pour myself a glass of cognac on ice. By the time I settle back into my chair, the door opens not so gently as a furious Lia barges inside and slams it shut behind her.
Taking my time, I drink her in. She removed the coat and is wearing a light pink dress that flattens against the curve of her breasts and waist before falling to her knees. Her cheeks are red, her lips pursed, accentuating the cut from when she bit them to the point of drawing blood.
That will change.
Sooner or later, that habit will disappear.
Sooner or later, she’ll be completely mine. Literally. Figuratively. In every sense of the word.
I click on the remote, causing the curtains to fall closed, shielding us from the outside world.
“What the hell do you want?” she snaps.
“And that’s five, Lenochka.” I motion at her to move closer. “Now, come here.”
19
Winter
My temper is about to snap and break all hell loose.
I’m so tempted to get out of his office—to hell with his punishments every night. The sick bastard always finds a reason to spank me or whip me, anyway, so it’s not like tonight will be any different.
He’s making it his mission to not allow me to sit comfortably and to feel every lash of his punishment whenever I move. I constantly sense his presence with me, even when we don’t see each other. It’s a persistent reminder of my shameful orgasms and how my body responds to the pain as stimulation instead of discomfort.
The worst part is that I look forward to nighttime now. I look forward to all the things he’ll do to me in the confinements of the bedroom’s walls. Sometimes, I lie in still in the morning and feel like a slut for taking another woman’s role and orgasming on the bed she slept in for years. I feel like an imposter and a horrible human being.
But come nightfall, all those thoughts vanish, except for the feel of his skin on mine. The scent of his cologne. The sheer power of his presence.
I tell myself to hate it, to loathe it, to rebel against it, but what’s the point? I may muffle my orgasms and turn away from him, but he’s a constant that’s impossible to get rid of. He might have confiscated me from the streets, but he didn’t force me to enjoy his ministrations. That was all on me. I chose to enjoy his brutality, his touch, and even crave it after a single taste.
Now that we’re in his office, it feels different from the bedroom. There are no voices telling me it’s wrong or that this place belonged to his wife.
Ever since the day I waited for him on the sofa outside, I’ve actively avoided this place, so this is the first time I’ve come in here. Like him, his office exudes an intense masculine vibe. The lounge area has a black high-back leather sofa and chairs. Even the glass on the coffee table is black. His dark brown wooden desk is topped by three monitors and he sits in a large chair that’s dwarfed by his muscular frame. I’m surprised to find floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with endless books on either side of him.
They’re probably for show.
He beckons me with a finger. “Come here.”
My eyes widen when he lifts a glass to his mouth and the pieces of ice make a swirling sound, clinking tantalizingly.
Holy shit. Alcohol.
That liar Ogla told me there was none in the house. Adrian is obviously drinking some right now.
I’ve been trying my damnedest to not make mistakes so that I’ll be rewarded and can ask for alcohol. However, my mouth usually gets me in trouble, because I can’t stand Adrian’s tyranny, so I end up being punished every night.
Or maybe you want to be punished every night.
I shove that idea in the black box at the back of my mind.
All this time, I’ve been holding on to the hope that I’ll be able to get at least a little drunk.
Now, things have changed. Adrian has alcohol in this place. If I had known, I would’ve barged into his office before.
A plan immediately forms in my head as I slowly approach him. His calm façade doesn’t fool me, because that’s merely a layer of camouflage to hide his observant nature. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve caught him watching me, whether through his office window or while I’m sleeping.
