Chapter 6
Nikolai
Watching the vibrant city below is a pleasure for me as I lounge on the leather chaise longue in front of the panoramic window. The lights, the people—it could not be more different to the world that I had known. Growing up in Moscow, life was very different than in America, and I have come to appreciate the pleasures that can be so easily obtained in this part of the world. Anything you want is just a couple of button pushes away. Everything is open twenty-four hours, anything that you can imagine—you can have it. Cash is king and I can turn this whole place into my playground with ease. The possibilities are endless.
Wine and women are two of my favorites, but there is one woman that dominates my thoughts right now; the woman I hold captive in my home.
I grin at the thought of the sassy little temptress, wondering if she’s discovered that all of her sensible clothes have been taken away and replaced with attire of my choosing. Her face must be the picture of irritation and disdain. I’m positive her temper will impotently spark as she quietly rants to herself about her violent dislike for me. Good. Her soul will be quietly tortured just like she deserves. Breaking down any prisoner is simple. Take everything away from them. Then, over time, they will become grateful for each scrap you give them. Anya will not be an exception to this rule.
Time passes too slowly as I wait for her to come out. I begin to grow impatient. Surely, it does not take this long to shower. Unless she really enjoys the cascade of water across her naked silky skin, and wishes to remain in there until she prunes, she should be finished and redressed by now. I was expecting a temper tantrum. I expected to hear shit being thrown at the walls when she realized that her clothes were missing, and she now had to remain naked, or put on the skimpy little things that I have chosen for her.
When it doesn’t come and all I am met with is silence, I can’t deny my curiosity any longer.
Surging to my feet, I march toward her room, determined to find her. I long to appreciate how her new clothes fit her sensual form. As I reach the bedroom door, I pause to listen for a moment, but I hear no sound coming from inside. I don’t bother to knock before I throw open the door, instantly catching sight of Anya curled up in the bed.
She’s nestled under the sheets as if that will protect her somehow. She should know better by now. The first thing that she’s going to need to learn is how to behave. If I honor her with my presence in her bedroom, then I expect to see her, all of her. A muscle in my jaw feathers in irritation when she doesn’t even roll over to greet me. Is this how she throws a temper tantrum? There is no way in hell that she is sleeping right now. Which means that this is a deliberate shun. Well, it’s time to correct that behavior.
I slam the door behind me, and her shoulders jerk. She shrinks further down under the covers. She knows what I want, I can feel it. I cross the room to the bed and grab the bottom of the thick comforter, this is a very good way for her to lose all bedding entirely.
“A comfortable bed is a privilege,” I start, and pull at the fabric.
She closes both of her hands around the top in an attempt to keep me from removing it. She grunts with the effort to hold it up to her shoulders, but she’s no match for me physically.
I step up onto the bed and rip the thing from her torso, dropping to the bed with my knees on either side of her waist as she tries to wrap her skinny arms around her modest chest to hide the red satin from me. She directs her gaze to the nightstand. She can pretend all she wants, but just because she isn”t looking at me doesn”t mean that this isn”t happening. I crack a smile as I notice she”s wearing one of the nightgowns I chose for her.
Unbeknownst to her, it’s actually my favorite. It’s a little deep red designer number that was only intended for the runway. Using my connections, I managed to get a hold of it.
“Where are my clothes?” she demands.
“They were dirty, I had them burned.” I answer nonchalantly, unperturbed by her visible ire. “Are you not pleased with your new nightgown?”
I’m tempted to teach her a lesson right here and now, I will take what I want and there is nothing that she can do to stop me. I could touch her, here and now. I could snap these little red strings holding the nightdress together and leave her bare—she should be lucky that I’ve left her anything to wear at all.
I grab her chin firmly in my hand, and force her face to mine. She looks like she’s chewing on her tongue to keep from spitting at me again. “When I enter a room, you are to stand and greet me. Or else.” I leave it at that, letting her imagination fill in the rest, before I push up and off of her.
The moment that she’s no longer trapped by my thighs, she scrambles off of the bed, jumps to her feet and plants her hands on her hips—her hostile brown eyes conveying the outrage that she’s feeling right now. For the first time, I’m able to drink in a true picture of just how completely the nightgown compliments her body. It clings to her in all the right places, enhancing the slight curves of her small breasts and showing off just enough ass and thigh to tempt me.
Immediately, she notices the way my gaze caresses her and attempts to cover herself. I guess she didn’t learn the first time. Storming over, I grasp her wrists with one hand and force them over her head, allowing me to pin her against the wall so that I can take a better look. She smells sweet, freshly showered. Her cheeks are still flushed from the heat of the water and her hair is damp. I nuzzle her neck, inhaling her fragrance.
“You look stunning,” I comment as she wriggles against me, trying to wrestle me away.
“Stunning?” she sneers. “I look like a goddamn whore.”
“A stunning goddamn whore,” I correct her with a wry laugh. A shout of exasperation passes from her lips, and she doubles down on her attempts to escape my grip. Her thigh grazes my material-clad cock and I feel it spring to life instantly.
“Get off of me!” she shrieks, staring at me in wide-eyed horror.
Apparently, she felt my hardness against her leg. Little does she know that her struggles only arouse me more.
“I swear to God, I’ll kill you!”
As she writhes in my hold, I know that I could take her like this. Her body is barely clothed, and it would be easy to open her up and expose her entirely. The momentary thought sends my heart into a wild flurry of desire, lapsing my concentration. That flickering loss of focus allows her to free one of her hands from my hold. With a scream she draws it back and slaps me across the face.
The noise of the slap stills us both and I’m sure she knows that she’s crossed a line even if she hides the glint of fear in her eyes. Fire ignites in my chest as I slowly turn back to her. My grasp on her captured wrist increases, and she winces in pain. She winces as she tries to wriggle away from the grasp. Her body seems to shrink as she grinds her teeth together trying not to make any pained noises.
In my rage, I yank her away from the wall, slamming her backward into it. Her head thuds against the wall. Enraged, I grab her shoulders and shake her forcibly.
“You vicious little bitch!” I laugh. She’s got some nerve, but she has to learn that she shouldn’t push me.
My cheek burns from the imprint of her tiny hand, which packed more of a punch than I could have foreseen. However, I refuse to show her that she hurt me. Once, I allowed myself to be vulnerable with Helena, and I will never allow myself to be vulnerable in front of a woman ever again.
“You made me do that,” Anya whispers harshly in her own defense. “You are hurting me!”
“Oh, you think that was hurting you?” I bellow menacingly. Leaning down to her ear, I whisper, “you haven’t even tasted the kind of pain I could cause yet.”
Clenching my jaw, I glower at her, relishing the tiny gasp of fear as she baulks at the ferocity glinting in my gaze. I step forward and she stumbles backward, coiling my fingers around her skinny little wrist.
“Now, slapping me was a big mistake,” I growl furiously, shaking my head at her.
To my surprise, Anya thrusts her face forward and glares at me. “So, what are you going to do?” she challenges me. I wonder where she got all that bravado out of nowhere.
“You’ve already kidnapped me and incarcerated me in this place! You’ve taken me away from my friends and family! Hell, you even stole my clothes and forced me to wear something that looks like I should be shaking my ass in a brothel! There’s nothing else you can do to hurt me.”
My laughter fills the air at her assertion. Clearly, this girl is more na?ve than I anticipated. She has no idea of the depths I could stoop to if I wanted to hurt her. And I do. I do want to hurt her. I want to liberate my anger and let it all out on her.
Anya shrieks as I grab a hold of her, restraining her tightly when she kicks and writhes against me. Tossing her onto the bed, I loom over her and plunk myself down next to her.
“You really think I can’t hurt you?” I ask, smirking darkly. “Let’s see about that.”
Fear registers in her dark eyes for a moment, then I’m moving again.
Before she can stop me, I bundle her over my lap, pushing her dress over her back and exposing her taut bare ass. Her olive skin is soft as I run my hand over each plump cheek.
Drawing my hand back, I bring it down against her skin, feeling the subtle ripple of bruised flesh beneath my fingers. Red blossoms cover her skin, giving her olive skin a pretty tint. A stunned gasp escapes her lips, and I voraciously repeat my actions until it reddens to a deep crimson.
“Stop it!” Anya cries out from my lap. “You bastard! Stop it! You’re hurting me!” She screams as her skin grows redder and redder.
Her legs kick, scrambling for any purchase, despite the fact that I have her fully incapacitated. Her torso tenses and she tries everything to get away from me. If she doesn’t stop fighting me soon, she’s going to have a bruise. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? She would have no choice but to stand at the ready for me then.
She pushes at my legs, hitting at me and the bed, anything that she can reach at first, until the sensation becomes too much.
Her pained cries split the air. I can’t help but notice the almost imperceptible change in them. While her protests began as high-pitched screams, her words changed from condemnation into nonsensical sounds and grunts of frustration.
Her torso sags over my legs after a minute or two of my unrelenting spanks as the fight leaves her. I can feel the tension in her back, all of her muscles clenched as the arm she”s holding at an awkward angle grips the bedding absently, as if she”s not aware of it. Her breaths are short, quickly punctuated, and I don”t think it has anything to do with how she”s dealing with the pain. I wonder if there”s a part of her, one she”d never admit to, that”s enjoying this.
It’s a beautiful sight. Her thighs and ass are a dark red that has turned a delicious shade of purple in some places. Each touch of my hand leaves a white imprint before the red fills in the color.
I run my palm reverently across the angry skin, admiring my handiwork and smiling as gooseflesh ripples across the skin of her back up to her shoulders. Does she like that? I do it again, and her hold slips. I touch the injured skin with a feather light touch and follow it with an even harder smack.
Blood rushes downward in my body, hardening me to steel. If she is enjoying it, I don’t want her to enjoy it too much. I take a breathless pause to admire my work. My fingers trail over her angry, reddened skin, and I watch as it pebbles under my touch. Does the contrast of sensations excite her? I”ve made a stunning tapestry on Anya”s backside as a tribute to all the pain and fury that rages inside of me like a tempest, never pausing for a moment to give me any respite.
This woman is a blank canvas that was begging to be painted red. I want to mark her. I want to paint her in my handprints and ruin her perfect skin. Nobody, including her, would ever doubt the ownership I now have over her.
A muscle in her thigh twitches and, for a moment, just a moment it looks like she arches her ass back upward into the contact. I spank her again, and she yelps. I wish I could see the way her tears ruin her makeup. There is something forbidden about this which causes my arousal to heighten more than before.
Her body is tempting me and I know that her mind would baulk at the idea of me taking it. Naturally, that just makes me want her more.
“Please don’t,” she whimpers pathetically, tensing every muscle. “It hurts.”
Not nearly as much as she wants me to think that it does. “Hurts?” I spank her again, right where her thigh hits her ass. “Good.”
“Stop! You monster, stop it!” She begs. As far as I’m concerned, if she’s still able to speak in full sentences, she hasn’t had enough yet. Amused by the undercurrent of lust running through her voice, I spank her again.
Afterwards, I brush a single finger over her damp center, inhaling a sharp breath when she gasps in pleasure. Her pink folds are moist and swollen, so ripe for me. Maybe this is going to be easier than I suspected. I’m already halfway to breaking the little bitch and when I’ve finished, she will be nothing but putty in my hands.
Oh yes, ripping away any vestiges of her innocence is going to be fun.
Laughing, I slap her ass again as hard as I can.
“I’ll stop when you beg me to.”