Chapter 11
Vivian
Very few things in life shocked me any longer. How could they after working in a hospital setting in the middle of one of the largest cities in the country if not the world?
The various horrors would forever be ingrained in my mind. So much so that after the first few shifts in the emergency room, I’d lost ten pounds and hadn’t slept other than a few hours in two weeks.
But like almost all conditions humans are forced to endure in their lives, I became numb to the violence, the reprehensible acts one human performed on another. Including children.
Including animals.
I’d sensed how controlling my captor was after the first thirty minutes spent with him in a beautiful lounge, but this was… entirely different.
Kirill spanking me had been unexpected enough I was jarred into silence without movement.
For all of five seconds. But as soon as the second crack of the wooden back on the hairbrush had made contact with my skin, I’d screamed through the gag.
Not that it had done me a lot of good. The people in my apartment building were typical New Yorkers.
A bloody murder could occur in the room next door and they’d turn up the television louder. It was insane how people were.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try, my agitation with the man fueling my fury. I struggled to get off his lap even as the brush was brought down several more times, but to no avail. He was far too strong and I was weakened from all the earlier fighting.
While he continued bringing the brush down in an even, methodical rhythm, I was driven into a lull in reality. Not one that fueled the fight I’d had earlier, but the one that said in no uncertain terms I was going nowhere.
Not unless he allowed it. The reality that he was stronger, faster, and more ruthless was finally settling in. That didn’t mean I’d stop trying to escape, but right now, I was exhausted on every level.
Sadly, being tired was only one reason I wasn’t fighting back and it was only partly to do with having my hands bound.
My body was trembling. All over. Quivering from the interaction, our banter, and the excitement of having him close.
How ridiculous was that? I was so into the throes of passion that my core was on fire.
How was that even possible? So much so that the hard throbbing in my pussy had caused my scent of desire to float between us.
The entire situation was crazy. I couldn’t dream of a more ridiculous storyline in my life.
Another hard smack of the brush brought me back and as soon as I shifted on his lap, I realized he was in the same position as I was. He was fully aroused. Unacceptable. I wanted nothing to do with his life. I saved lives.
He destroyed them.
We weren’t a match made in heaven.
The ache was intense, pain coursing across my sit spots with excessive heat building.
When he stopped smacking my bottom, I took several gasping breaths. I wanted to scream at him to let me go, but my mouth was gagged. Gagged. I couldn’t believe what he’d done and continued to do to me.
He slowed his pace but continued, still moving from one side to the other, leaving me spent and aching all over.
His heavy sigh was the only indication he was thinking about stopping. After tossing the brush, he placed his palm on the small of my back for a few seconds before sliding his hand under my shirt and caressing my skin.
My pulse began to slow, the pain from before subsiding.
“This could have been much easier.” His statement was made as if saddened by finding it necessary to do the unthinkable.
Although if I had to guess, I’d assume he’d done much worse than dragging a bound woman across his lap and spanking her into submission.
That’s what I wanted him to think. That I’d surrendered. That I’d lost the will to fight.
When I didn’t move even a muscle, he seemed more frustrated by my response than before. There was a level of expertise in the game of flirtation that few achieved. We’d both played well while on the plane, keeping our distance emotionally and mentally while allowing for a physical connection.
What we’d experienced before was something else entirely, a pure connection that transcended the usual torment of first through third dates. Maybe he was right in that the spell of him being a gentleman, a fantasy that I’d carried with me had been tossed aside by his depravity.
I had to face facts. Being a killer meant he wasn’t inclined to taking hostages for sport.
He eased me off his lap and onto my feet, removing the gag then gripping both my arms while studying me in a perplexed way. He had no real understanding of how to deal with me.
My presence had been unwanted, a shock to his system.
Especially since I’d given him so much trouble.
His frustration was evident in his pinched face, a clenched jaw that could cut through stone.
I could be wildly amused had it not been for knowing he’d killed someone.
He also winced every time he moved his injured shoulder.
While doing his best to hide the pain, as a doctor I knew all the signs.
The wound was deep and as a physician, I was concerned.
As a woman being held hostage, I could only hope the injury would become infected. He brought out the worst in me. “You need to be careful or you’ll disturb your stitches.”
“I’ve been through much worse. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared.”
“Then you’d be wrong.”
As he locked eyes with mine, his were filled with the same frustration I’d felt since realizing whose footsteps I’d heard. “A good decision.”
Even after the last few hours, I was struck by his beauty, the aristocratic features that could hold any woman’s attention. In studying him without most of his clothes, I’d been struck by the number of previous injuries, scars telling a story more colorful than any words could do.
I sensed he didn’t like the tone of my glare, finally looking away and whatever he’d muttered in Russian was a clear indication of just how furious I could make him.
An emotion I’d use to my advantage. As before, when he had wrapped his fingers around the elastic of my thong, I stiffened. The thought of him touching me was…
Unable to handle the reality of how I was feeling, I looked away. The ugly truth was that his touch had created a strong feeling of arousal that I could sense he was well aware of. What a terrible position to be in.
A nightmare with no end in sight.
I was certain he was finished with tormenting me and himself, yet the pull we shared, the electricity pounding through us both was increasingly difficult to ignore.
He had one hand stroking my arm almost absently, as someone would do while enjoying a movie or reading a book. A connection that couldn’t be denied even with both of us engaged in something other than each other.
I was completely torn by the way I felt about him, the need that so far I’d been unable to shove aside. He was fighting with the same emotions, the intimate desires we’d both embraced when we were nothing but two strangers enjoying each other’s company.
“I don’t want to find a further need to punish you, Vivian. So please do me a favor and stop fighting me.”
My entire body trembled from his touch alone.
The absent strokes continued as his gaze became fixated on something on my bed. But I could sense a powerful need building within him that I wanted so desperately to shove aside even though I knew it wasn’t possible.
He’d entered my bubble, uncertain how to handle me.
Not the woman who’d interfered with his bloody mission.
If this were anyone else, he’d easily have his men tie weights to my ankles and toss me into the Hudson River.
No, the war raging within him was all about the same unyielding hunger that had a sense of taste and smell, both so raw neither one of us wanted to move.
And yet, I hated him for who he was and what he stood for.
With his chest rising and falling, he slowly turned his head toward me. Even my attempt at destroying a portion of his beauty had failed, the spray from the extra can of mace doing no damage to his skin.
His body stiffened and in those few seconds I couldn’t breathe, unable to think clearly.
That’s what he wanted for me, to have me so torn apart inside by the longing that I would stop fighting him. Little did he know my resolve was much stronger than his. But that was something I couldn’t show him. Or at least I shouldn’t.
Maybe that’s why when I noticed something snapped within him, I didn’t react.
At least right away.
We were both caught in an unwanted web where refusing the crackling desire seemed as harmful as the situation we’d found ourselves in. With our eyes locking, all else faded away with a similar if not more intense yearning yanking away everything else.
Never blinking, he removed the scarf from around my mouth, rubbing my cheek with the palm of his hand as soon as he did. Very slowly he rolled the rough pad of his thumb along my bottom lip, shifting it back and forth several times before pulling my lip down.
His upper lip curled as he slipped the thick digit inside and without him commanding me, I sucked on his thumb. The man was fascinating in several ways, his desire for me catching us both off guard.
When he was satisfied, he unfastened my wrists, raking a single nail down my arm as he did.
He yanked the top over my head, ripping it from my body. My breath was caught, strangled to the point of near suffocation. The way his jaw clenched was different than before, a man determined to have what he wanted. There was no possibility of shutting him down.
Even if I wanted to.
As horrible as it was that I was here, and no longer in a fighting spirit, the fact that my body was willing to fall prey to him, to feel the same endorphins as before was perhaps the worst thing I’d done in my life.
But I couldn’t stop the madness and he knew it.