Chapter 12
EMBER
And that’s how I ended up agreeing to go on a trip with a badass, tattooed Bratva boy—erm, man .
I asked for epic? Turns out we’re heading to New York next weekend.
I can still hear Shawn’s question.
Are you her security?
Yes. Yes, he is, and I fucking love it.
Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’ve spent too much time dwelling on fantasy and fiction.
Or maybe every time I’m anywhere near him, every cell in my body comes to life.
“Wait.” I’m lying on my bed, my knees propped up, my latest book calling to me, but I’ve got Rodion on the phone, and I have questions for him. Easing into this fake relationship thing is working out better than I thought.
“So you want me to go to this… gala, whatever that is. I’ll need a fancy dress? And shoes and makeup…” My mind whirs with the details.
“Maybe give me a little credit. I already know all your sizes and sent them to the stylists, along with that style board you pinned.”
I shake my head. Of course he did.
He’s sliding into my fantasies the way he slid into my DMs, like a book boyfriend come to life, and I… am not really sure how I feel about this.
We’ve talked every single night since that run-in with Shawn and my self-defense lessons. I’ve had photo shoots, and he’s been busy with “work.”
I haven’t asked him what that work entails, and he hasn’t offered details. Maybe it’s better that way.
I swallow hard. “Who will be there? Will this be like… you know… swimming in shark-infested waters, or…”
“It will be exactly that.” He says something under his breath in Russian that sounds very much like a curse. “Which is why we need to make sure we’re on the same page about you doing what the fuck you’re told.”
Right, right, we’ve been, uh… working on that.
I shiver.
The more I talk with him, the more we get to know each other, and the more I really do believe he’s legit.
“Your followers are getting impatient, you know.” I twirl my hair around my finger. They’re so eager for an update from him they’ve been messaging me nonstop. “Are you going to post anything else?”
“I do have that video I could post…”
My cheeks heat as I remember being strewn over his lap, that massive palm of his across my ass. “Don’t you dare!”
I’m unprepared for how his low, dark chuckle does delicious things to me.
“No one would know it was you.”
“ I would!”
“Listen, let them talk. You’re the only one whose attention I wanted.”
I swallow hard. “And now you have it?”
I hear him sigh on the other end of the line. “I do, but not in the way I want.”
“I told you,” I say in a whisper. “I’m not ready to go to your place yet.”
Maybe I’m scared of what will happen if I do. But this weekend, we’re heading to New York, and we’ll share a room…
“I respect that.” Three little words that somehow ease my worry. I wish more men got it.
“I’ve got a job to do,” he says cryptically. “Check in before you go to bed?”
“Yes, sir,” I say teasingly, just to hear the approving growl on the other end of the phone.
I can tell how hard he’s working at holding himself back from absolutely smothering me. It’s hard for me to know what part of the book boyfriend fantasy would actually be nice in real life.
So far, I’ve got a checklist.
Pinned up against the wall and kissed?
Five stars. Way better than anything my mind’s conjured up.
Trapped against the wall, so close his breath warms your neck. His voice drops to that low, commanding tone, his hands hovering just shy of your hips, letting you decide if he can touch?
Get me a fire extinguisher.
The inescapable stare, his eyes on you everywhere. Realizing he’s memorizing every detail about your day, down to where you get your coffee?
Uhm…
Letting himself into your home to leave a “thoughtful gift?”
Red flag!
My phone buzzes with a message. For a second, I fear that it’s Shawn. I want to block him, but I’m afraid if I do, I might miss something crucial, and I need to be vigilant. Thankfully, it’s just my book bestie.
Bookbabe
Hey, girl. Where’ve you been? Have you been in touch with Bratvaboy?
Um yes
Bookbabe
Shut UP
Hahaha
Yes, we call him Bratva boy behind his back, and no, I haven’t told anyone he’s actually real, and I’ve seen him without the mask on. And no, I have absolutely not let him find out.
I strip down to my workout bra and panties and reach for a pair of PJs. I toss them onto my dresser as my fingers fly over the keys of my phone.
Bookbabe
WHAT’S HE LIKE?
What’s he like? God. How do I answer that? Hot and magnetic, dominant and bossy as fuck. Funny, somehow sweet… Intense.
Literally? Like a book boyfriend come to life.
In all the ways, sister. All the ways.
I feel kind of shy talking about him.
Bookbabe
OMGGGG but is he like legit Bratva? He can’t be, right?
My cheeks flush. I stare at the cozy jammies on my bed and think about it.
I’m not sure
It’s a lie.
Deep down inside, I know he is. I obviously can’t tell her, but I know now there’s no other possibility.
I toss my phone down when a prickle of awareness skates down my spine.
For some reason, I feel like… I’m not alone anymore.
“Hello?”
I head into the hallway and stare, my heart racing. Rodion said he had a job to do…
I hear the door click open just before the lights shut off.
My pulse quickens. Oh god.
Please be Rodion, please be Rodion…
“Hello?” My voice is hoarse and barely audible. I quickly go over what he’s taught me about self-defense, but why can’t I remember it now? “Rodion?”
I stifle a scream when a hand comes over my mouth, and strong arms hold me. My pulse hammers for a split second before I recognize the scent of his body wash and the feel of his hand on my mouth.
“Quiet, little queen. Fuck. I didn’t anticipate you’d be half-naked when I found you.”
And now my pulse races for an entirely different reason.
“You scared me,” I whisper as something soft and silky falls over my eyes.
My mind races with possibilities. We’ve talked about my videos, what gets me excited, and what he plans on doing, but…
His voice brushes against my ear, low and rough, igniting a spark that races down my spine. "Being a little scared, temporarily, is part of the whole appeal, isn’t it? If you're going to fantasize about being blindfolded and kidnapped, Ember, you'd better be ready for the real thing."
My breath catches. I can’t see him, but I can feel him—his presence looming, dominant, and inescapable. Silk ties firmly at the back of my head, leaving me blind but hyperaware of every sound, every shift in the air.
"Rodion," I whisper, my voice trembling with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, I hear the faint rustle of fabric and the click of the door locking behind him. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, circling me like a predator sizing up his prey. My pulse pounds, a drumbeat of anticipation thrumming in my ears.
"You talk a lot about wanting someone who takes control," he murmurs, his voice moving closer. I feel his fingers trace the edge of my workout bra, a light, teasing touch that makes me shiver. "But talk is cheap, little queen. Let’s see how much you really like it."
My mouth goes dry as his hands slide to my wrists, his grip firm but not harsh. He pulls my arms behind my back, and I hear a soft snap—what the hell? His laugh is low, dark, and wicked as he secures my wrists together.
"You make it too easy," he says, the heat of his breath brushing against my ear. "I thought you'd put up more of a fight."
"You didn't give me a chance," I manage to say, though my voice betrays me with its breathlessness. Heat floods me, and I mentally add taken by surprise and blindfolded to the super-hot list.
"You wouldn’t win," he murmurs, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel. His hands trace a deliberate path down my sides, igniting a searing trail that makes my breath hitch. When his fingers settle firmly on my hips, he pulls me back, and I collide with the unyielding heat of his chest.
My thoughts dissolve, splintering into nothing but the aching anticipation of where his touch will land next.
“Now,” he whispers, his voice laced with command, “you’re going to stand here and take everything I give you.”
Oh my god, what is he going to give me?
I can’t help the soft whimper that escapes my throat. He hears it, of course. He leans in, his lips brushing against my neck, and I swear I feel his smirk against my skin.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I’m undone.
He’s right.
I love good girl .
Yes.
I stifle a giggle when I remember some fan art stickers an author sent me—black and white with handcuffed wrists, the words Good Girls Love Dark Romance across the bottom.
“Something funny, little queen?”
I shake my head and go to talk when he slides something across my lips and ties it securely.
“Go ahead, baby. Scream. Let me hear you.”
I let out a little scream, but it’s tentative and muffled.
“Do better.” His palm slams across my ass, and I let out a louder scream on instinct.
“Better.”
My heart races.
I’m leaning into this, yes, but… but do I trust him completely?
What happens if this isn’t just a game to him?
I—
His hands roam, exploring every curve, every inch of me that he’s claimed in his mind long before this moment. The contrast between his rough palms and the smooth fabric of my bra and panties is intoxicating. Every touch is a reminder that I’m not in control—that I’ve willingly given it to him.
And I don’t want it back.
“You’re trembling,” he says, his voice almost amused as his hands slide to the hem of my leggings. “Is that fear, Ember? Or something else? I watched that video you posted last night.”
My cheeks flame. Of course he did.
Honestly? I posted it, hoping he would.
A convenient setup, really…
“You whined about not having a real-life book boyfriend come and kidnap you.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have been that obvious.
My heart rate spikes.
Kidnap me?
When I hesitate, he explores my body with the palms of his hands, pausing at the curve of my hips. “My god, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear before taking my earlobe between his teeth. “ Kakaya ty krasivaya, budto sochtili angely .”
I want to know what it means .
His hands release the gag. I gasp in a breath.
“Tell me you don’t want this as much as I do. Tell me exactly what you want. What you fantasize about. Tell me, or I’ll fill in the gaps on my own, and I don’t know if you want me to do that.”
“First, tell me what you just said,” I breathe out.
“You’re so beautiful, it’s as if angels created you.”
My mouth is dry. “This is… this is a good start,” I manage to eke out.
“Good.” He hooks his thumbs into my leggings, dragging them down just enough to leave me exposed to his touch. His fingers brush against the bare skin of my hip, and I arch involuntarily, desperate for more. Blindfolded, my other senses are heightened.
“Patience,” he chides, his grip tightening before his palm cups my ass. “I’ll give you what you want when I’m ready. Not before.”
I bite my lip to stifle the groan that rises in my throat. The combination of his dominance and the anticipation is maddening. I’ve never felt this out of control, this raw, this… alive.
He spins me suddenly, pressing me back against the wall. My bound hands press into the cool surface, the blindfold still firmly in place. His hands frame my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip.
"Say it," he demands, his voice dark and full of promise. “Tell me what you want.”
I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. His grip on my jaw tightens just slightly, his lips a breath away from mine.
"Say it, Ember," he repeats on a growl.
“I want you to… do things to me.” My cheeks flame at his low, dark chuckle. It feels like the most dangerous truth I’ve ever spoken.
“Not good enough. You post every day about your book fantasies? Own this, woman.”
Oh my god I love that. My cheeks flush as I say it in a rush of words. “I want you to ruin me.”
His smirk deepens, his grip tightening but not cruel. “Better,” he whispers, his voice a dark promise. “But that’s not enough. Tell me how.”
I shiver under his intensity, my cheeks flaming. “I want you to take control.” I hold his gaze. “Make me forget everything but… you.”
"Good girl," he says again, his voice low and satisfied. Then his mouth crashes into mine, and I’m lost in the storm of him—his dominance, his obsession, his raw, unrelenting need, before the gag slides into place too soon.
I’m gasping, panting; my body’s on fire.
This isn’t just a fantasy anymore. It’s real.
And I’ve never wanted anything more.
His mouth to my ear, he whispers, “Spread your legs for me.” His harsh tone leaves no room for argument.
I hesitate for a split second, and his hand grips my thigh, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp. "Now," he snaps, and my knees part instinctively, heat pooling low in my stomach as his control washes over me.
"That’s better," he mutters, his voice laced with satisfaction. His hand moves higher, his touch slow and deliberate, teasing, as if he knows how badly I want more. "But don’t think for a second I’ll make this easy for you, Ember. You want me? You’re going to earn it."
I’m already trembling, his words sinking into my skin like fire. I moan against the gag.
"Quiet," he bites out, cutting me off. Even blindfolded, I can feel his dark eyes on me, daring me to disobey. "You’re not in charge here. I am. And I decide when you get what you want."
His hands slide to the inside of my thighs, his fingers brushing higher and higher until I’m biting my lip to keep from begging. He leans in, his breath hot against my skin.
"You’ve been running that smart mouth of yours for weeks," he murmurs darkly. "Posting your little fantasies. Talking about men like me. But now that I’m here, you don’t have a fucking clue what to do, do you?"
I shudder, his words cutting through me like a blade. It’s true.
“You want my mouth, don’t you?” His voice is low and rough. “Nod if you want my mouth on you.”
I nod, stifling a moan, thankful for the blindfold so I don’t have to look into his eyes. I’ve never had a man do that before, and I—am not really sure if it’s going to be as nice as I’ve imagined.
They sure do like it in the books…
I swallow hard, my pride warring with my desire. But he doesn’t give me a choice. His grip tightens, his thumbs pressing into my thighs, spreading me wider.
He laughs, dark and almost cruel, and I’m here for it.
And then his mouth is on me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not teasing. It’s raw, consuming, and merciless. His tongue moves with precision, claiming me the way his words have—completely and without apology. My head falls back against the wall, a muffled cry tearing from my throat as he devours me.
I can’t see him but can only imagine his mouth moving like he’s starving, like I’m the only thing that can satisfy him. It makes my entire body clench with need.
"You’re mine," he snarls, his teeth scraping against my sensitive skin, sending jolts of electricity through me. “Give me that pussy. Spread your legs and lean on me.”
When I do what he says, he grants me a reward. “Good girl," he says, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "Now keep your fucking hands where they are and take it."
I try to move, to shift under the overwhelming sensation, but his hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me in place. "Don’t fucking move," he snaps, his tone a brutal warning.
Every stroke of his tongue, every flick and press, pushes me closer to the edge. He knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to undo me. My breaths come in shallow gasps, my body tightening as the pressure builds to a breaking point.
"You don’t come until I say," he growls, pulling back just enough to make me sob in frustration. "You’ll come when I tell you to and not a fucking second before."
I whimper, my hands clenching into fists as I fight to hold back.
I’m trembling, teetering on the edge, and when he finally snarls, "Now," the word hits me like a command I can’t ignore.
I don’t know how to come on command. I don’t know how?—
“ Come ,” he orders with a sharp slap to my hip, and something releases in me.
I fall apart, my body shattering under his relentless touch. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, driving me through wave after wave until I’m wrecked, my legs shaking, my voice hoarse against the gag.
My body slumps against the wall, trembling, but all I can think is that I’ve never wanted him more. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I fight to collect myself. My legs are shaking, my throat raw from muffled cries, and still, all I can think about is him. How he pushes me to the edge and catches me every time. How I never knew surrender could feel this intoxicating, this safe.
His hands are on me again, firm yet careful, steadying me like he knows I can’t stand on my own, as he removes the blindfold and gag. The gentleness of his touch is a stark contrast to the wreckage he’s left behind, but it makes my chest tighten. When I glance up at him, his eyes are dark and unreadable, but his jaw is tight, his control ironclad.
“Why?” I manage, my voice a shaky rasp. “What do you want out of this? Out of me?”
His hands pause, and for a moment, I think he’s going to answer. But then he mutters, “Not tonight,” low and final, before untying my wrists and scooping me into his arms.
He carries me into the bathroom like I’m precious, not a trembling mess. The cool tile against my back when he sets me down feels grounding, but I can’t take my eyes off him as he moves with quiet determination. He grabs a washcloth, wets it under the faucet, squeezes the water out, and kneels in front of me.
My chest tightens again when he smooths the cloth over my sweaty neck, his movements deliberate and tender. The warm cloth brushes over my skin, and I feel the tension in my muscles start to unravel with every pass. He doesn’t rush. If anything, he takes his time, as though this moment matters just as much as the ones that came before it.
“If we were at my place,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, his voice rough and almost wistful, “we’d both fit in the tub. I wouldn’t have to do this like this.”
I can’t stop the small laugh that escapes me. “You really hate this place, don’t you?”
His eyes flick up to meet mine, and the intensity in them steals the air from my lungs. “It’s like having a diamond locked in a tin box,” he says quietly, his fingers brushing over my arm as he wrings the cloth. “You don’t belong here. It’s not enough for you. Not nearly enough.”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat almost too much to bear. He doesn’t linger on the weight of his words. Instead, he finishes cleaning me up with careful precision.
When he’s done, he lifts me effortlessly, his strength making it seem like I weigh nothing. I wrap my arms around him instinctively, and the way he holds me makes my chest ache with something I don’t want to name. He carries me to the bed and sets me down gently before disappearing into my closet.
When he returns, he’s holding a set of pajamas I don’t even recognize—soft, oversized, and nothing like my usual worn T-shirts. He dresses me in them, his hands careful but sure as he pulls the fabric over my skin. The intimacy of it hits me so hard that I don’t realize I’m crying until his thumb brushes my cheek, catching the tear.
I expect him to leave. I hope he doesn’t. But instead, he sits on the edge of the bed and grabs one of the books from my nightstand. He flips it open, his expression softening into amusement as he skims the first page.
He starts reading aloud, his deep voice with a hint of an accent wrapping around the words in a way that makes my cheeks flush.
“You’re mine. Your orgasms belong to me. Your pussy belongs to me. Your body is mine to do with as I will. If I want to shave you, I will. If I want to spank your pussy red, I will. If I want to cuff you to my bed to wait for me, I will.”
“This is what you read?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Don’t judge me,” I mutter, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.
“Judge you? Never, now that I know how to reap the benefits.”
When he reads, his tone is teasing, dipping low on the dirtiest lines, but there’s something warm and almost indulgent about the way he stays. He’s still there when my eyes drift closed, my body sinking into the bed as exhaustion takes over.
When I wake, the bed is empty, the covers pulled neatly around me. The air feels colder without him, and the quiet ache in my chest surprises me.
I don’t like it.
Reaching for my phone, I find it plugged in on the nightstand. I close my eyes against a rush of emotion, when I see a new message waiting for me. It’s a video. My breath catches as I open it.
The screen fills with darkness at first, and for a moment, I think it’s just audio—the faint sound of his breathing, steady and deliberate. Then the image sharpens. A blindfold rests in his hand, the silky fabric slipping between his fingers in slow, deliberate movements.
His face emerges next, masked, shadowed, and devastatingly calm. His eyes burn into the camera, filled with that lethal energy that always leaves me trembling. His voice is low and dangerous, a private caress meant only for me.
“Careful what you wish for, little queen,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening around the blindfold before the screen cuts to black.
My breath catches, the silence that follows almost deafening. My heart pounds in my chest, my body warm with the memory of his touch and the promise of more. The video leaves me shaking, craving him in ways I don’t fully understand.
Because it’s not just the words or the way he looks at me like I’m his—it’s the certainty in his voice that thrills and terrifies me.
I don’t know if there’s any going back from this.