Split

Chapter 19

19

I can’t even remember the last time I felt this content. Whatever business came up between Roman and Anton during their meeting yesterday has taken him away for the night, so I can actually relax without the constant apprehension of facing one of my husband’s mood swings. For once, I’m not looking over my shoulder, trapped in a perpetual state of fight or flight. It’s just me and the dogs, the three of us happily lounging together in the study.

Clara’s also around here somewhere, but since she never approves of me inviting Nox and Vesper inside, she’s been communicating her dissatisfaction by avoiding this room all evening. It’s probably for the best since I doubt she’d approve of me pulling the cushions off the couch, either. I’ve made a little nest for us on the floor in front of the hearth, enjoying the cozy warmth of the fire while flipping through the pages of a poetry book.

I figured I needed a change of pace after Jekyll and Hyde. I was able to draw far too many comparisons between that story and my real life, so I went for something I won’t be able to relate to at all– a book of sappy love poems. It was tucked on a shelf in here amongst the other classic literature, though I can’t imagine why Roman would even include something like this in his collection. He’s the furthest thing from a romantic.

Nox makes for a great pillow, and Vesper even allowed me to toss my legs over his body– after an annoyed grunt, of course. In light of Cherie’s comment yesterday, I unboxed my shiny new phone this morning to search for the meaning of the dogs’ names. They’re both Latin words for night, so I guess I now understand why she found them amusing. Roman has fully committed to the gothic vibe of the manor.

The familiar clack of Clara’s shoes rings out from the hall, prompting me to cast a glance toward the doorway of the study as she steps inside. She pauses at the sight of me snuggled up with the dogs, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. Ever the consummate professional, she quickly schools her expression and clears her throat.

“Is there anything else you need before I leave for the night, Mrs. Volkov?”

“No, thank you, Clara,” I murmur in reply, eager to get rid of her.

She nods curtly, her beady-eyed gaze flickering to my furry pillow and footrest. “Be sure to let the dogs out before you turn in.”

“Of course,” I agree with a brittle smile, even though I fully plan on taking them upstairs with me when I go to bed. “Have a good night.”

She tips her head and turns on a heel to leave, the clipping sound of her Mary Janes fading with her retreat. Good riddance.

A few minutes pass before the realization sinks in that this is the first time I’ve been completely alone in the manor. Rather than that thought triggering a feeling of dread, however, a ripple of excitement runs through me. If I want to explore the areas of the house that have been deemed off-limits, now’s my chance. There’s nobody here to stop me.

Vesper grunts as I ease my legs off his back, sitting up and tossing my book aside. “You guys wanna go on an adventure?” I ask as I push to my feet, pulling my cardigan tighter around my body.

Nox pops up right away, wagging his stubby little tail and looking to me for direction.

“C’mon, let’s go,” I whisper conspiratorially, pivoting around and starting for the hall.

Yeah, I fully realize how ridiculous it is that I’m talking to a dog like he’s a person. The dogs are better company than the humans around here are, though, and there’s nobody to witness me making a fool of myself as I creep through the halls chattering to them. We’re all alone in this big old house, and I’m taking full advantage.

The tippy-tap of the dogs’ toenails against the floor follows me as I creep through the darkened hallways of the manor, pausing at the base of the stairs when I reach the foyer. The black chandelier glitters in the pale moonlight, casting a shadow right over the split in the staircase below it. I’ve climbed these stairs many times, but I’ve always gone to the left. Tonight, I’m going right.

Drawing a deep breath, I reach out to set my hand on the cold stone banister, trailing my palm along it as I begin to ascend. My heart beats harder with every step, my throat tightening with apprehension as I follow the curve to the right. My grandfather used to say if you’re scared of wolves, don’t go in the woods – yet here I am, terrified of the big bad wolf and marching straight for his lair in the east wing.

I linger for a few seconds at the top of the landing, the dogs trotting ahead down the hall as I hold my breath and listen for any sound. Even though I know he’s gone for the night, part of me expects Roman to materialize before my eyes like a specter at any given moment, prepared to dole out punishment for daring to defy him. Maybe part of me even wants it. The thrill of breaking the rules is driven by the fear of getting caught, after all, but I don’t fall into any traps or trigger any hidden alarms as I advance down the hall of the east wing. It’s terribly anticlimactic.

I try the knob of each door I pass along the hall, finding a couple of guest rooms, a lounge, and another small library. My husband clearly has a thing for books. I’m nearing the end of the corridor when I turn the knob on a door and finally discover a large suite that actually looks lived in, a wave of titillation spearing through me as I step inside and survey the interior.

This must be where he sleeps. The room is easily double the size of my own, well-appointed with dark wood furniture and a large four-poster bed draped in black linens. It’s unmade, the black silk sheets rumpled and hanging off the side. Clara definitely wouldn’t approve.

There’s a large desk across the room by the windows, the surface of which is jam-packed with monitors and computer accessories. The sight of it is a little bit jarring, considering it holds more technology than I’ve seen in the rest of the manor combined. Too bad I’m not some prolific hacker who can use it to my advantage.

My pulse picks up speed as I wander closer to the desk, gaze hooking on a brass key resting atop the shiny lacquered surface. One that looks a whole lot like the key Roman used to lock the tower door. I snatch it up and slip it into the pocket of my cardigan, then reach for the top drawer of the desk, pulling it open and peering inside to snoop.

The first thing I see is a shiny black handgun. I pause to consider whether I should take it, but then something else catches my eye– a photograph resting just beneath the barrel of the firearm. Reaching into the drawer, I carefully shift the gun aside, lifting the picture to get a better look.

My blood turns to ice in my veins the moment my brain registers what I’m looking at. It’s a woman– blonde, petite, and around my age. A woman who looks startlingly like me .

My breath catches, pulse taking off at a gallop as I shove the photo into my pocket and spin back around, rushing for the door.

I need to get out of here.

Everyone refuses to talk about the former Mrs. Volkov, but she clearly met some untimely demise.

This must be her.

She looks like me.

Am I next?

I’m two steps from the threshold when Roman suddenly appears in the doorway, his towering form casting a long shadow and blocking my retreat. I stop in my tracks at the sight of him, mouth popping open in shock.

“What are you doing in here, Eliza?” he demands, his voice a low, eerie monotone.

My heart trips over its valves, lungs seizing. “I-I thought you were out for the night,” I sputter, slinking back a step.

He swipes a hand over his chin, his intense green-eyed gaze slowly raking over me from head to toe. “Change of plans,” he murmurs. “Didn’t Clara tell you?”

Fucking Clara . As if I didn’t already despise that bitch.

“N-no,” I reply feebly, my hands trembling as I wring them in front of me.

There’s a handgun in the top drawer of the desk. If I can just get ahold of it…

“You know you’re forbidden from entering this wing of the manor,” Roman sighs, shaking his head in disapproval as he advances a step closer.

I match it with a step of my own backwards, preserving the distance between us while remaining acutely aware of just how far I am from the desk.

Maybe I can make a run for it. I’ll just have to hope the gun’s loaded…

“Since you broke the rules, I’m afraid I’ll have to punish you,” he drawls, eyes sparkling in twisted delight as he dips his chin. “On your knees, pet.”

My breath hitches, a fresh surge of adrenaline spearing through me. I have two options– take my chances with the gun or take my chances with his punishment. Both are equally as dangerous, yet only one excites me.

Holding my husband’s gaze, I slowly lower myself to the floor in surrender like the obedient, docile wife he thinks I am, praying that my compliance will spare me the worst of his wrath. The corner of his mouth lifts in satisfaction when my knees hit the hardwood, as if he wasn’t expecting me to obey so easily. As if he hasn’t been trying to condition this exact behavior. He thinks he’s in control, but I’ve learned that there’s power here on my knees.

Roman closes the remaining distance between us in two long strides, reaching out to rest a large hand atop my head. “Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking my hair back gently.

I release a breathy exhale as his praise washes over me like a drug, my internal scales tipping from fear to arousal on a dime. It’s amazing how quickly the tides can shift nowadays, as if my body has become attuned to his signals. I don’t need to be afraid of him when he’s looking at me like he is right now. That’s lust for my body in his eyes, not for my blood.

It’s exhausting to put on an act for my husband every day, but this is the only time I don’t have to play pretend with him. I like it when he uses me as his own personal fuck-toy. When I’m lost to the sensations of pain or pleasure, my mind goes gloriously blank and I forget that I’m trapped here; forget that I married a monster. There’s a freedom in letting go that I’ve come to crave.

He nods to his belt and I reach for it, unfastening the buckle and popping the button on his slacks. It’s evident how hard he is from the bulge straining against the fabric, but I still draw a short gasp when I reach inside and my palm meets the velvet of his skin, his breath hitching as I wrap my fingers around his steel and pull him out. He’s hot and heavy in my hand as I stroke him, licking my lips and gazing up into his eyes demurely.

“Open up,” Roman commands, his fingers tightening in my hair to tug me closer. “Stick out your tongue.”

I instantly comply, tasting the saltiness of his precum as the tip of his cock presses against it. Licking it away, I swirl my tongue over his broad head, still pumping him in my fist while awaiting my next directive.

“Suck.”

Closing my lips around his tip, I hollow out my cheeks, sucking hard as I glide down his shaft to take more of him in my mouth. He groans in pleasure, pinpricks of pain breaking out over my scalp as the hand in my hair tightens. Then he drives his hips forward, forcing me to let go and swallow him deeper, my hands landing on his thighs to brace myself for the onslaught as he starts roughly fucking my throat.

I choke around his girth, fighting for air as tears spring to my eyes and spit dribbles down my chin. My distress only seems to heighten his arousal, those piercing green eyes turning molten as his tip punches at the back of my throat with every brutal thrust. He shoves his cock in deeper until my lips are kissing the base, keeping me there with his tight hold on my hair while I gag around him. My lungs seize with the need for oxygen, hands clawing at this thighs, black spots dotting my vision.

For a second, I wonder if I was wrong and this is how it ends. Then he suddenly yanks me off, releasing his grip on my hair and sending me collapsing to the ground, gasping for breath.

“Strip and get on the bed,” Roman growls in a low, sinister tone.

My chest heaves as I lift my head to meet his gaze, glaring up at him defiantly. There’s no mercy in his soulless eyes; no trace of sympathy or compassion after nearly suffocating me. All I see is the burning heat of his desire as I wipe the saliva from my chin and slowly ease up to my feet, undressing for him.

I’m careful in removing my cardigan so the things I stole from his desk don’t slip from the pocket, taking off the rest of my clothes quickly and dropping them to the floor. Roman lazily strokes himself as he watches me strip down, but when I turn to start for the bed, he steps in closer, setting a firm hand on my shoulder. “Crawl,” he demands, the look in his eyes daring me to refuse.

My breath catches, mouth popping open in silent protest. Just when I think my husband can’t possibly debase me any further, he proves me wrong. His hand presses down on my shoulder and my cheeks burn with humiliation as I allow him to guide me to my knees, tipping forward to plant my palms against the cold floor. I fix my gaze on the bed across the room and swallow thickly, forcing myself to move.

The hardwood feels like ice beneath my skin as I crawl forward on my hands and knees, feeling the weight of Roman’s stare on my naked body the whole way. My core tightens when I hear the rustle of him undressing, heat licking up my spine at the sound of him prowling up behind me when I reach the edge of the bed.

“Such an obedient little slut,” he remarks, stooping down to lift me off the floor. He tosses me onto the mattress like a ragdoll and I land on my back in the tangle of soft black silk, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest when I take in the sight of my husband’s nude form looming over me.

I’ve bared myself to him countless times, but until now, I’ve never actually seen him naked. The sight of Roman’s deliciously sculpted body steals the air from my lungs, his powerful muscles rippling beneath his olive skin as he climbs onto the bed and shoves my legs apart, dropping down between them and sinking his teeth into the flesh of my inner thigh.

I cry out, back arching off the bed as pain ricochets through me, but then his thumb lands on my clit and the sensation twists to pleasure, my mind slipping to that fuzzy place between reality and oblivion. I claw at the sheets, panting and writhing as Roman bites his way up my inner thighs, rubbing tortuous circles around my clit and pinching it between his fingers. The stubble on his jaw rasps against my skin as he draws closer to the apex, his warm breath washing over my mound.

My body coils in anticipation, and when I feel the warmth of Roman’s tongue against my clit, I nearly detonate. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, my thighs trembling as he suctions his lips over the sensitive bud and flicks it with his tongue.

“Holy shit,” I gasp, bucking my hips against his face as he ravishes me with his lips and tongue and teeth. If this is punishment, I’ll keep right on misbehaving.

He anchors me to the bed with one hand against my belly, bringing the other between my legs and spearing a finger into me as he sucks and nips my clit. The coil inside me winds tighter, my breaths coming out in short pants as he drives me closer and closer to the edge of bliss…

Then he stops .

Roman abruptly pulls away, rocking back on his heels and gazing down at me with a cruel smirk on his glistening lips.

“What the hell?” I choke, punching my fists against the mattress and pushing up on my elbows. “Why’d you stop?”

“This is a punishment, remember?” he muses.

My mouth falls open in shocked indignation, blood rushing to my ears.

Is he fucking with me right now?

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he crawls up my body, his hips resting in the cradle of my thighs and the velvet of his cock pressing against my center. Reaching between us, he notches the tip at my opening, stealing my breath as he shoves inside.

My hands fly up to grip his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin as he starts fucking me ruthlessly. His washboard abs bunch and flex with every hard punch of his hips, shadows clinging to the sharp angles of his roguishly handsome face. I hate how attracted I am to this man, and I hate that I can’t look away as he pounds me into the mattress, driving me right back to the brink of ruin.

The moment my climax is within reach, Roman snatches it away again, pulling out and flipping me over onto my belly. I cry out in frustration as his hands grip my hips, lifting me to my knees.

“Please,” I choke as I fist the satin sheets, the torture of his edging reducing me to begging.

Roman’s palm lands on my ass with a hard smack, my eyes rolling back as the shot of pain sends a fresh flood of heat surging through me. I wiggle my ass in invitation for him to spank me again, but he just lines up and thrusts into me from behind, groaning in satisfaction as my inner walls clench around him.

His fingers sink into the flesh of my ass cheeks as he drags out halfway and shoves back in to the hilt, my eyes rolling back in my head as his tip hits a spot inside that has me seeing stars. A wanton moan falls from my lips as he ruts into me hard and fast, turning into a strangled yelp when I feel his thumb press against my rear hole.

“Shh, relax, pet,” he coaxes, slowing his thrusts as his digit presses harder in demand.

I release a shaky exhale, my muscles slackening to let him in. With his cock still buried deep in my pussy, he slips the tip of his thumb past the tight ring of muscle, pushing it in my ass to the knuckle as I choke on a gasp. It’s a completely foreign feeling, but it’s actually… good . Different, but good .

“I can’t wait to fuck this tight little ass of yours,” Roman rasps, picking up the pace of his thrusts as he pumps his thumb in and out of my back hole.

I whimper low in my throat, unsure whether it’s in protest or anticipation while I’m lost to the overwhelming rush of sensation coursing through my body. I’m wound up tighter than a bowstring, desperate for release, every savage thrust driving me to the verge of ecstasy.

As if he knows I’m about to unravel, Roman abruptly pulls out with a gravelly moan, pumping himself in a fist and painting my ass with hot ropes of cum. A string of incoherent curses leaves my lips as my core clenches on air, aching at the sudden loss of him inside me.

He smears his release into my skin with his thumbs, leaning over to sink his teeth into my ass cheek.

“Ow!” I shriek, jerking away from him and rolling over to sit up.

Roman flops back on the bed, bringing his arms up behind his head and reclining against the pillows with a sated smirk. “Go on,” he drawls, tipping his head toward the door. “Back to your wing.”

My jaw goes slack. “But…”

“But what , you didn’t get to come?” he scoffs, lifting a brow. “I did say this was a punishment, didn’t I?”

I blink at him disbelievingly, my lower lip trembling in fury. I’m so tightly wound that every muscle in my body is tense, my heart beating a riot in my chest.

“Maybe next time, you’ll think twice about defying me,” he adds smugly.

I suddenly understand why female black widow spiders eat the male after mating, because right now, I want nothing more than to rip my husband’s head off his shoulders and bathe in his blood. My chest heaves as I glare daggers at Roman, fingers itching to wrap around his throat and squeeze the life out of him.

It takes everything in me to swallow my vehemence and climb off the bed. I strut across the room and gather my clothes from the floor, balling them up in my arms and marching for the door without so much as a backward glance.

I half expect the dogs to be waiting for me when I emerge from Roman’s room, but they’re nowhere to be found when I step out into the hall and scurry back toward my own wing of the manor. If I wasn’t naked and suffering from being edged within an inch of my life, I might go looking for them, but there’s a more pressing need I have to tend to.

I return to my room and go right for the shower, cranking it on and jumping underneath the spray before it even has a chance to get warm. The freezing water sluices over my skin, punching the air from my lungs as I drop a hand between my legs and frantically rub my clit, needing to come more than I need oxygen. Visions of my husband dance through my mind as I work to grant myself the release I so desperately need, shame setting in when the image of his naked body makes me unravel.

Because I hate him.

And I hate myself for not fully believing that I do anymore.