Chapter 17
17
“ I ’ll be back later, boys,” I coo, bending down give to Nox and Vesper each a parting scratch behind their ears.
They wag their tails happily, gazing up at me with their big pink tongues hanging out. They’re probably waiting for an invitation to come inside since it’s starting to drizzle, but Roman’s home today, which means I’m treading carefully. I’m not in the mood to argue with Mister Volkov , so they’ll have to retreat to the kennels if they want to stay dry.
Beaming one last smile in their direction, I pivot toward the front door of the manor, the chill in the air biting at my legs through my sheer black tights. I almost objected to the figure-hugging sweater dress Clara picked out for me to wear today, but when I saw the suede ankle boots she paired with it, I folded like a house of cards. I’m a sucker for a cute pair of boots.
Upon entering the manor, I find Clara loitering in the foyer, as if she’s been waiting for me to come back inside.
“Lunch in the parlor again today, Mrs. Volkov?” she asks, even though that’s where I always have it.
“Yes, thank you,” I reply, giving her a tight-lipped smile.
I’m finding it more difficult every day to fake niceties with the frigid housemaid. Not only is she complicit in keeping me captive here, but it’s obvious she doesn’t like me very much. She’s firmly on team Roman.
Clara nods politely, turning on a heel to head for the kitchen. “Your things are on your bed,” she adds as she starts to walk away.
My heart skips a beat.
“Wait!” I call, prompting her to stop and swivel back around. “What things?”
“The things from your list,” she replies curtly.
A spark of excitement ignites in my chest, my eyes widening in stunned surprise. When Roman told me the other night that he’d follow up with Clara about my list, I didn’t expect him to actually come through. Part of me didn’t believe him when he said he hadn’t received it.
I let out an embarrassing squeal of delight as I spin around and rush toward the stairs, bounding up them to head for the west wing.
The door to my bedroom is standing ajar when I reach it, shoving inside and eagerly glancing around the interior. Spotting several boxes on my bed, I dart toward them with spring in my step, anxious to get my hands on a little piece of home. The closer I get, though, the more my elation starts to fizzle out– because the things on the bed aren’t the ones from my list.
My lips turn down in a frown as I approach the edge, my stomach sinking like a stone. A brand new phone and laptop are resting atop the plush white duvet, still sealed in their boxes, and the shopping bag beside them contains a black leather Givenchy bag with the price tags still attached. Technically, it’s what I asked for, but I distinctly remember writing the word ‘ my ’ before each item.
I spin back around with an annoyed grunt, leaving the gifts behind and stomping back out into the hall. My angry footsteps echo through the corridor as I make my way to the stairs, descending them and marching through the darkened hallways of the manor toward Roman’s office. I’m still not in the mood to argue with my husband today, but that’s exactly what’s about to happen.
The door to his office is slightly ajar, and I kick a foot out to push it open with the toe of my adorable suede boot, rapping my knuckles against the wooden doorframe to announce my presence.
“What do you want?” Roman sighs, not even bothering to look up from the paperwork on his desk.
“The things on my list, for starters,” I quip, advancing into the room with a purposeful stride.
He slowly lifts his head to meet my gaze as I come to a stop on the opposite side of his desk, his brow furrowing. “Did Clara not bring them up today?” he asks. “I specifically told her…”
“No, I found them,” I huff.
“Then this is certainly a strange expression of gratitude.”
I ball my hands into fists at my sides, my fingernails digging crescents into my palms. “I didn’t want new things,” I grit out, glaring daggers at him. “I wanted mine .”
He blows out an annoyed breath, reclining back in his leather chair and folding his hands over his abs. “What’s the difference?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you had an emotional attachment to your electronics.”
“The bag,” I clarify.
Roman arches a dark brow. “Did you want a different style?”
“No, I want my bag,” I snap. “It was…” I trail off, hesitant to show him any hint of vulnerability. It’s the only way I’ll get what I’m after, though, so I swallow thickly before grumbling, “It was my mom’s.”
“I see,” he replies calmly.
“So can you get it for me?” I ask, hating how desperate I sound. “Or I could go…”
“Now isn’t the right time,” he interrupts tersely.
“What do you mean?”
He stares back at me for a long moment, swiping a hand over his chin as if contemplating his response. “Business relations are… tense at the moment,” he mutters.
“Why? Aren’t you allied with my father?” I scowl, folding my arms tightly across my chest. “Wasn’t that the whole point of this sham of a marriage?”
Roman heaves a sigh, waving a hand dismissively. “This world is more nuanced than that, Eliza.”
A fresh wave of anger and indignation rushes to the surface, but when I open my mouth to respond, I startle at the sound of a throat clearing behind me. Whipping my head around, I find Niko standing in the doorway of Roman’s office, his blue-eyed gaze fixed on my husband.
“Hey boss, got a sec?” he asks.
Roman grunts in the affirmative, waving him inside. So I guess our conversation is over.
I should take that as my cue to leave, but I’m far too worked up and stubborn for my own good. I narrow my eyes on Roman, staring him down as I hear Niko enter the room behind me.
“I’m sure you remember my wife,” Roman murmurs, gesturing blandly in my direction.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Volkov,” Niko greets as he steps up alongside me, his smile brightening when I turn to meet his gaze.
I can’t help but smile back. He may be just another burly mobster, but his presence in the manor is like a ray of sunshine. “Nice to see you again, Niko,” I reply softly, an unwitting blush rising to my cheeks.
“How’s it going with Jekyll and Hyde?” he drawls.
My heart trips over its valves. I stare back at him dumbly, my jaw going slack and my brain short-circuiting.
Niko’s brows pinch together as he clocks my reaction. “The book you were reading?”
The pieces finally click together in my mind, a whoosh of air leaving my lungs. Of course he’s asking about the novel, not my psychopath of a husband.
“Oh, right,” I breathe, shaking my head with a girlish giggle. “Sorry, I… I finished it the other day.”
“And?” he prompts, grin widening. “What’d you think of the big twist?”
I shrug, another soft giggle slipping from my lips. “Kinda saw it coming,” I admit. “It was still good, though, you were right.”
“Eliza,” Roman interrupts sharply.
I snap my head in his direction, breath hitching when I meet his glacial glare.
He beckons me with a lift of his chin. “Come here.”
My posture stiffens as I stand frozen in indecision, cautiously assessing my husband’s tight expression.
Do I dare refuse his order and embarrass him in front of his colleague?
The wildcat in me wants to, but the housecat I’m trying to portray myself as would never. So, I beam a brittle, mirthless smile back at him, lifting my chin as I turn on a heel and step around his desk.
His eyes never leave mine as I approach. He swivels his chair in my direction, nodding to his lap. “Sit.”
Though I’m fighting to keep my composure, I feel my cheeks burn with humiliation as I step between his spread knees and lower myself down onto his thigh. This is just another one of his sick powerplays that I’ll force myself to endure. I need to allow him to win the battles if I’m going to win the war.
“Niko, take a seat,” Roman commands, gesturing to a chair across his desk while his other arm comes to dangle loosely around my waist.
My husband’s second-in-command eases down to sit, the leather creaking beneath his weight as he shifts uncomfortably.
“I trust you’re here with good news about the shortage in the recent shipment?” Roman prompts.
Niko flickers me a glance, hesitating for a moment before returning his gaze to Roman and nodding. “Yes, we were able to pin down the source. It turns out our middleman thought he could dip into the profits and it would go unnoticed.”
“Where is he now?” Roman questions, his voice dropping to a dangerously low decibel.
“Took care of him myself,” Niko replies with a proud lift of his chin.
I readjust my position on Roman’s lap, subtly moving around in an effort to make myself a little more comfortable. His fingers close around my hip, grip tightening to hold me in place as he responds to Niko.
“Good. See to it that he didn’t manage to bring anyone else in on his scheme. Clean house if you have to.”
It’s amazing how these men can discuss murder as if it’s nothing more than a business transaction. I tune them out as they continue droning on, and though Roman’s directive to sit still is clear, I can’t help but wriggle again in a bid to escape the discomfort of something digging into the back of my thigh. My breath stalls when I realize what it is, jarring me back to reality.
He’s hard.
My mind trips over itself at the impossibility, because when I regarded him before coming over to sit on his lap, I was positive Dr. Jekyll was looking back at me. He’s not the side of Roman who’s always after a pound of my flesh. To the contrary, he’s always seemed impervious to my feminine wiles– or at least I thought he was.
My head spins, a jumble of scattered thoughts ricocheting through my brain. This could be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. The calmer side of Roman’s personality is decidedly more reasonable, so if I can appeal to him, maybe I can finally get the leverage I’ve been seeking.
I shift my weight again, purposefully rubbing myself on his erection as I lean back against his chest. His muscles tense beneath me, cock thickening against my backside as he fights to retain his composure in front of Niko. It’s obvious I’m making him uncomfortable, and I can’t help but derive a sick sense of satisfaction at that realization. It’s about time he experienced just a fraction of the discomfort I’ve endured at his hands.
Like when he had me on my knees in front of Clara.
He could do the same thing right now, in front of Niko… but rather than that thought inciting a wave of dread, I’m completely taken aback at the rush of titillation that spears through me as I envision Niko’s piercing blue eyes fixed on me while I pleasure my husband, intensely watching my every move, wishing he could take his place…
Heat licks up my spine and I subtly rock over Roman’s lap, rubbing back and forth over the stiff ridge of his shaft. I’m playing a dangerous game by teasing him this way, but I’m suddenly unconcerned about the consequences, so long as this ends with me writhing in the throes of climax.
His games usually do, so why shouldn’t mine ?
Roman grips my hip tighter in warning, abruptly clearing his throat and cutting Niko off mid-sentence. “We can go over the rest of the details later,” he says gruffly. “Follow up with Sorrentino, see if he’ll fly out here for a meeting.”
“Will do, boss,” Niko replies with a dutiful nod, picking up on my husband’s dismissive tone and pushing up from his chair. “Anything else?”
“Close the door behind you,” Roman grumbles.
Niko nods again, those stunning baby blues darting my way one last time before he turns around and swiftly exits the office.
Well damn. There goes that fantasy.
As soon as the door snicks closed behind his second, Roman grabs me by the chin roughly, turning my face to his. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarls.
I bat my lashes at him, playing innocent. “What do you mean? You’re the one who called me over to sit on your lap, I was just…”
“Are you that desperate for my attention?” he snaps, green eyes narrowing menacingly. “Or were you trying to get Niko’s?”
My heart stutters in my chest, fear wrapping its icy claws around my throat. Is my crush on Niko that obvious? From the way Roman’s looking at me, the answer is yes, and this just took a treacherous turn. If I don’t manage to quickly steer this train back on the track, I have a feeling Mr. Hyde will be coming out to play.
I turn at the waist, looping my arms around Roman’s neck and gazing into his emerald eyes with all the fraudulent adoration I can muster. “Can’t a wife desire her husband?” I purr.
He stares back at me disbelievingly, fingers flexing their grip around my hip. “Show me.”
“What?” I question, blinking at him.
“If you’re so eager to please me, then take your clothes off, wife,” he bites out, eyes darkening. “I want to see what I paid for.”
Hatred boils like acid in my veins, but I’m far too adept at faking smiles. It’s how I’ve survived all miserable twenty-two years of my existence, and it’s how I’ll make it out of this farce of a marriage alive.
I’m about to put on the performance of a lifetime.
Darting him my sultriest smile, I rise from his lap, taking a step backwards and toeing off my ankle boots. He swivels his chair to face me, eyes turning molten as he watches me drag my sweater dress up over my hips. I pull it off over my head, balling up the soft fabric in my hands before dropping it on his desk.
Roman leans back, bringing a fist to his mouth as he takes in the sight of me in my sheer black tights and lacy bra and panty set, gaze raking over my form appreciatively. Dr. Jekyll does prefer me in black, after all.
His stare is so intense that a shiver tracks up my spine as I slowly roll my tights down my hips, then remove my bra and panties, baring myself completely to him. He eats me up with his gaze as I step toward him, my breasts spilling forward as I lean in and slide my hands onto his thick shoulders. “Is this what you wanted?” I whisper huskily.
He doesn’t respond like he normally does. Every time I’ve played the seductress, he’s thrown me against the nearest surface and had his way with me. This time, he’s so much more restrained. His gaze is no less heated than it usually is when I’m naked, but it’s decidedly calmer. Eerily calm .
“Turn around and bend over the desk,” he murmurs, the low, gravelly tone of his voice rattling down to my bones.
Fear and desire wage a war inside me as I move to comply with his directive, pressing my hips against the edge of his desk and bending forward over it. The wood is chilly beneath my palms as I lower myself down, stifling a whimper when my hard nipples scrape the frigid surface.
I brace myself for the press of his cock against my bare center, but it doesn’t come. I don’t hear him unfasten his pants or even rise out of his chair. The anticipation becomes too much, until I’m wiggling my ass in invitation, tempting the devil.
He doesn’t rise to the bait.
The quiet persists.
“Are we doing this, or should I put my clothes back on?” I huff, whipping my head around to cut him a glare over my shoulder.
I shriek as his palm claps down on my ass, a sharp shot of pain firing through me.
“Is that any way to talk to your husband?” Roman growls, pushing to his feet.
“Is that any way to talk to your wife ?” I spit.
He lands another harsh slap on my ass in the exact same place as the first, so intense that a moan escapes my lips, unbidden. My mind goes blissfully quiet, overwhelmed by the rush of sensation.
“Do you like that?” he hums, his hand lingering on the cheek of my ass to rub out the sting. A surge of heat rushes to my core as his palm caresses my tingling skin, a rapturous wave of euphoria crashing through me as the pain ebbs.
From the tone of his voice, I can tell he wants me to like it.
But also… I think I actually do.
I turn to peer back at him over my shoulder, our gazes colliding. Damn , I’ve never seen him look at me like he is right now, as if he’s dangling on the precipice of his darkest fantasies coming to life. It shouldn’t excite me as much as it does.
Clenching my thighs against the ache throbbing between them, I sink my teeth into my lower lip, giving him a single nod. I can’t bring myself to say it, but some part of me likes the harsh slap of his palm against my ass. It’s not a cruel strike of anger; it’s a controlled and precise deliverance of pain that inexplicably heightens my arousal. And I want more .
A sinister grin stretches across his face as he lifts his palm, winding up to deliver a harsh smack to my opposite side. I yelp, body jolting at the strike of pain. I barely have time to recover before he slaps my ass again, alternating cheeks while a cacophony of whimpers and moans leave my lips. When he delivers a slap right between my legs, my elbows buckle and I drop down onto the desk, skin clapping against the slick wood and my panted breaths fogging up the lacquered surface.
Roman growls low in his throat as he kneads the flesh of my butt cheeks, my body going boneless in surrender. “I guess he was right about you after all,” he muses. “You are obedient.”
A fresh surge of anger ripples through me at the mention of my father, but it’s quickly quelled by more intense waves of pain and pleasure as Roman resumes spanking me on my thighs, ass, and pussy until I’m reduced to a needy, writhing mess atop his desk.
“Please!” I wail, bucking my hips, the coil in my belly wound tight.
His hands stop rubbing my stinging skin, body going still. “Please what ?”
I need to come so badly that I can’t even form words, barely able to catch my breath.
“Please stop?” he questions.
“No!” I cry out.
“Then what do you want, wife?”
My cheeks burn, shame coating every word as I answer, “Please fuck me.”
Once again, he doesn’t immediately spring into action like I expect him to. He seems to almost contemplate it for a moment, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he says, “You’re pretty when you beg.”
My pulse races at the clink of his belt, body trembling with anticipation and desperate for relief. I’m like Roman’s personal wind-up doll– he’s been toying with me so much that one more crank of his wrist is all it’ll take to set me off.
He shifts closer, a shudder running through me as the velvety head of his cock glides through my slick folds. Notching the tip at my opening, he shoves into me from behind and I instantly detonate, screaming in ecstasy while gushing all over his dick.
“ Fuck ,” he grits out, fingertips digging bruises into my hips as my inner walls spasm around him. He fucks me with shallow thrusts as I ride out the waves of bliss, but the moment I come back down and sag against his desk, he ups his pace, pressing a palm to the small of my back and rutting into me hard and fast.
Like always, it feels far better than it should, pressure building inside me again at an alarming rate. He always hits a sweet spot when he fucks me from behind that makes me see stars. I may hate my husband with a passion, but I’m definitely on friendly terms with his big dick. It’s the only thing that makes this arrangement of ours somewhat bearable.
Roman reaches down and buries his fingers in my hair, gathering the wild strands up in his fist and using it to yank me upright. His other arm bands around my belly, pulling my back flush against his chest as he continues pulsing his hips, burying himself impossibly deeper inside me as the edge of his desk digs bruises into my upper thighs.
“Do you like when your husband fucks you, Eliza?” he growls in my ear, nipping the lobe.
“Yes!” I cry out shamelessly.
His hand snakes down my belly, his skilled fingers deftly locating my clit. “Then come for me again, wife. Show me how much you love it.”
Fuck, I do love it. It’s impossible not to when it feels this good, and I hate myself for enjoying every second. His fingers tighten in my hair, pinpricks of pain breaking out over my scalp as his cock slams into me, fingers rubbing my clit expertly.
Fireworks explode behind my eyelids as I shatter, coming so hard that I damn near black out from the intensity. Roman roars in my ear as he snaps his hips forward hard, burying himself to the hilt and following me right over the edge of oblivion. Then he falls back into his desk chair, taking me with him, both of us sweaty and breathless.
His arms maintain a possessive grip around my body as I lay back against his chest, panting for air. He’s still seated inside me, his cum trickling down my inner thigh from where our bodies are joined. Good thing Dr. Hargrove placed that birth control implant– the last thing I want is to carry Roman’s evil spawn. That morbid thought has never even crossed my mind before since he’s never come inside me. He always pulls out, painting me with his cum like a mark of ownership. I suppose he’s now marked me on the inside, too, and something about that feels far too intimate for our travesty of a marriage.
Roman’s thumb sweeps in lazy strokes over my belly as we slowly catch our breath, traveling up my ribcage and tracing over the ridges of my bones. “Have you been eating?” he rasps.
I jolt upright, immediately offended. “What?” I choke, his dick slipping out as I twist around to face him. “Of course I have.”
“Then why is Clara telling me otherwise?” he questions, arching a brow.
“She needs to mind her own business,” I snap.
“She needs to mind whoever pays her,” he replies, staring me down.
I glare back at him, shoving off his lap and snatching my clothes from the desk. I hastily start putting them back on, cringing when I have to pull my panties up my sticky thighs. I need to shower him off my skin immediately, but I have a sick feeling that no amount of washing will ever truly get me clean again.
Roman just sits back and silently watches as I get dressed, not even bothering to tuck his deflated dick back into his slacks. He got what he wanted, after all. It’s his world, and I’m just living in it as a pawn on his chessboard when I should be the motherfucking queen .
He’ll realize what I really am the moment I escape him.
Shoving my feet back into my boots, I storm for the door, not even sparing Roman a glance as I yank it open stomp out of his office. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I willingly spread my legs for him again.
Too bad winter’s on its way and hell is my new home address.