Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Anna
The glass reflected his silhouette—blurry, but I could still make out those broad shoulders, the taut lines of muscle.
Heat pooled between my legs. Something foreign stirred low in my belly. I pressed my thighs together, grinding against my clit. My heart hammered so hard I thought it'd burst from my throat.
What the hell was wrong with me?
He was a complete stranger. Yet I couldn't stop imagining his body.
Twenty-two years. I'd kept every man at arm's length because of Gary.
Even proximity made me sick. But this man was different.
Those gray-blue eyes—like frozen Siberian lakes.
Still. Suffocating. The danger rolling off him, the weight of it, hooked into the softest part of me.
A glass door separated us, but I could smell him anyway.
That scent slipped through the crack, wrapped around me until my limbs went liquid.
"Sir."
My breathing hitched. A soft gasp escaped. If he hadn't stopped earlier, he'd have me pinned to the bed right now. He'd fist my hair, drive into me from behind.
Drive into me.
The words struck like sparks on kindling. Everything ignited. I spread my legs, fingers grazing that sensitive flesh. Current shot up my spine. I bit my lip to trap the sound, circling slowly. All I could see was the way he'd looked at me—dark as ink, like he wanted to devour me whole.
"Wildcat, slip your claws inside."
The water had stopped. When had it stopped? His command cut through the silence.
I exhaled shakily. Every rational thought screamed at me to stop. But my trembling finger pushed inside anyway.
God, so hot. The heat consumed me. My walls clenched around the intrusion. Pleasure burned through my belly like ignited cotton—soft and scalding. I was melting.
"How does it feel?"
A hint of amusement colored his voice, like he was teasing a drowning cat.
"Strange, sir." I bit my lip, but my fingers moved faster. "What should I do next?"
Christ. Why was I asking that? But I couldn't stop.
"Try another finger."
I bit down harder, arched my back, and pushed a second finger in. The stretch made my lower back ache. That fullness rushed from my core to the crown of my head. I turned my face. A moan escaped, fractured, dissolving in the steam.
He went quiet, but his gaze burned through the glass, branding my skin.
My whole body shook. My fingers grew wetter. Sweat dampened my temple. My mind hazed over. Instinct took control—rocking my hips. Each time my fingertips grazed that soft spot inside, I jolted, toes curling tight.
He was still watching.
I couldn't stop. Didn't want to. His rough voice and shadow filled my head. Pleasure built like rising floodwater, coursing through every vein. For a moment, I dissolved completely, melting into his silhouette.
I slumped against the glass. Heart erratic, skin flushed and damp. I could barely open my eyes.
Footsteps approached.
The glass behind me vibrated with a soft knock. The lock turned. Warm body heat enveloped me from behind. His palm, slightly cool with calluses, traced my sweat-slicked waist upward. His jaw pressed against my wet neck. He laughed low. "Such a good girl."
His breath swept across my nape, making my relaxed body tremble again.
I mumbled something. "If you're satisfied, sir."
He lifted me. His kiss landed at the corner of my eye, like melting snow. My body sank into the mattress. Drowsiness crept up from my toes. I couldn't keep my eyes open. Before they closed, I heard him murmur.
"Sweet dreams, kitten."
Morning. White light sliced through the curtain gap, straight across my eyelids.
I reached beside me. The sheets were cold.
I sat up, rubbing my throbbing temples. Last night's heat still lingered on my skin. The faintest trace of cedarwood hung in the air.
A thick stack of cash sat on the nightstand. More money than I'd ever seen. Beneath it, a business card—crisp white, gold lettering.
Ivan Volkov.
I gripped the card, thumb brushing the embossed name. My heart skipped.
The wall clock ticked. Muffled car horns sounded below. Everything reminded me last night was just an unreal dream.
The dream ended. Time to return to my place.
I slipped into the shirt he had left behind and fastened every button up to the collar. I hid the money at the very bottom of my bag. Then I pushed open the door and left.
The moment I walked out the back door of the club, sunlight spilled across my vision. It was a harsh, dazzling white, so bright that I had to squint.
I leaned against the wall for a while, adjusting to the brightness. Traffic streamed past. Pedestrians rushed by. No one looked twice. Like last night's derailment never happened.
I pulled the shirt collar tighter. Cedar clung to it—his scent mixed with mine, carried off by the wind.
Ivan Volkov.
The man who'd bought me for six hundred grand. We'd probably never meet again. The thought twisted something sour in my chest. But I couldn't let it spread. I couldn't drown in pointless fantasy. I had to return to my real life.
I stepped forward.
Then—I saw that face.
That face I loathed.
Sunken eyes. Vicious features. Hunched gait, like a starving dog hunting for rotten meat.
Gary Bennett. The bastard who sold me here. The person I wanted to escape most in this life.
He was my father. A complete piece of shit.
"Where's the money?"
Not even a greeting. Stale alcohol stench squeezed through his teeth. His rough hand shot out, grabbing my wrist like reclaiming stolen property.
I yanked my arm back. Nails dug into my palm. Hate and resentment surged up like lava.
"You're not getting a goddamn cent." I bit out each word. "You sold me like livestock. You're not getting shit from me!"
His cloudy eyes bulged. Probably shocked I'd fight back. He swung his hand. The slap whistled toward me. I jerked my head aside. He missed, shoulder slamming into the wall. Cursing, he lunged again.
"I made you. You think you can run?"
He caught me. His rough fingers wrenched my hair. Pain blackened my vision. Like my entire scalp was being torn from my skull.
I tried to escape, but I wasn't strong enough. His hand crept toward my collar. I knew what he was after. I thrashed wildly, nails clawing into his arm. The small pain made him crazed.
"Riiip—"
Fabric tearing. Despair crashed over me. The buttoned shirt ripped open, torn down to my waist. Cold air hit bare skin. I shivered, almost blacking out.
Gary stared. Eyes gleaming. Drool sliding down his slack jaw.
"Well, well. Turns out you've got the goods!"
Nausea churned my stomach. Acid burned my throat. I nearly vomited. But Gary didn't stop. He looked like he'd struck gold. That sudden mania terrified me.
"What's the difference between selling yourself once and twice? Put on something more revealing. Let those wealthy buyers passing by see your worth."
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. The metallic tang couldn't suppress the rising sickness or the cold despair spreading through my limbs.
"Let me go!" I screamed. Useless. My struggle only excited him more.
"Hey, mister, my daughter's prime goods. Tight, hot, barely touched. Wanna try? Fifty bucks."
He was pimping me out. Literally pricing me on the street.
I could barely see. Humiliated tears spilled onto his rough hand. I twisted violently, but his grip tightened. My wrist bones felt ready to snap.
Passersby stared. Those probing, lewd, indifferent gazes—like needles piercing my skin.
No. Don't look at me like that. I'm not a whore.
I drove my elbow back with everything I had.
Gary sucked in air. His hold loosened for a second. I seized the chance, wrenched free, and scrambled away.
Cold wind slashed my face, tears streaming down my throat. I thought I'd escaped. But I underestimated Gary's madness. He caught my hair again, slamming me into a wall.
My skull cracked against the brick. Pain buckled my knees. Gary grabbed my chin, wrenching my face toward him. His red eyes burned with cruelty.
"You little bitch, you dare run? I raised you this long—you're gonna earn your keep!"
I glared at him, then bit down hard on his hand. He grunted. Raised his hand to strike.
I squeezed my eyes shut. The blow never came. A strong hand caught Gary's wrist.
The voice came low, laced with fury, ground through clenched teeth.
"What the hell are you doing to her?"
I opened my eyes. Followed that hand upward. Shirtsleeve rolled to the forearm. Prominent wrist bone. Veins bulging from the force.
Then I saw his face.
Severe. Rigid.
Ivan Volkov.
My hero. Twice now, pulling me from hell.