Chapter 10
Anya
Horror spreads through my body like a bloodstain on fabric. Nikolai sits in front of me, waiting for me to… service him like a whore. I cannot believe this is what my life has come to.
When I was growing up, I was lucky enough to come from a family of privilege, but I never appreciated it at the time. I was always safe and protected from the brutal, harsh realities of the world. I was stupidly deluded, thinking that because my father was the ‘big bad man’ people feared, nothing could ever happen to me. Stupid, I know.
Though I’m not completely na?ve, no prior experience could have prepared me for this hell that I’ve been plunged into. I figured no matter how bad things got, that in some strange way I was untouchable, because of what might happen to the person stupid enough to cross that line. I know he’s powerful, more powerful than I can fully understand. I never thought about what might happen if somebody like Nikolai chose to use me as leverage against my father.
It would be so easy to fall apart right now. It would be so easy to let myself fall into a black hole of sadness, but that isn’t going to help me get out of this situation. My bravado will only get me so far. Nikolai thinks of me as a whore, and he wants me to act like one. Contemplating the hows and whys of my predicament isn’t going to stop him from forcing himself on me should he want to. I will never be able to live with myself if I just roll over and take it—if I just let this happen to me. That would be like turning my back on everything that makes me who I am.
Perhaps this is just the natural continuation of last night. Perhaps this is just the next logical step… only I don’t want this. He wore me down last night. I allowed myself to be pulled under by his strength and the way he tossed me around. It was a power display and I allowed myself to be into it. This is something different. This feels wrong.
Swallowing hard, I scour my mind for a way to escape from this moment. He’s waiting for me to obey him, but I simply cross my arms over my chest, pinned to the spot.
“Nikolai,” I say softly. “I can’t do what you want me to do. I’m not a slut and I don’t sleep with men I don’t know.”
For a second, he frowns before bellowing with laughter. “Sweetheart,” he replies, his accent thicker than usual as he draws out the word. “You’re whatever I wish you to be.”
“You don’t understand,” I continue, trying to ignore the veracity of his statement. If he wants to play the game, then he needs to understand that I have some rules that I want followed too. Pretending that I’m not attracted to him is stupid, but I will not be forced. Not like this. I speak between gritted teeth, “It’s not the kind of thing that I do. Can you understand that?”
A frustrated scowl flashes across his face. “You do not please men who have treated you kindly?” Gesturing to the luxurious surroundings, he shrugs. “I could have mistreated you. You could be locked up someplace cold and dank without anything to eat but bread and water. Instead, you are living a life of riches fit for royalty. You must be a very spoiled little girl to refuse to show your gratitude.” Nikolai shrugs, “But if you would prefer a dungeon, I can have that arranged.”
“I’m not your guest, I’m your prisoner,” I counter, my blood thrumming with annoyance. A part of me is hurt. It’s silly and irrational but I almost wanted him to understand that I would do it… if he agreed to just a couple things. I don’t have the words to explain that to him. We both know there is chemistry between us, that was obvious last night. This would be assault if he forces me.
“Don’t you see why it’s wrong to do this?”
“I see it,” he admits. “I just don’t see the problem you have with it.”
Exasperated, I spin away from him. It’s a heart-rending realization to know that talking to him and trying to reason with him will never work. No matter how much logic I throw at him, he always comes back with an answer, and my stupid feelings are hurt. Seemingly, he’s entirely devoid of empathy and he couldn’t give a shit how much anguish I feel.
I know that I need to think of a contingency plan because my original strategy is proving to have no effect. Perhaps there is some way to bend him to my will, securing my freedom. I mean, he is a man, after all and if there’s one thing that every man has in common, it’s their shared weakness for sex.
A man like him wants a whore. The sort of bimbo without a brain in her head who wants to do nothing but spread herself gleefully for him, arching and posing. The thought of myself doing anything like that makes my stomach twist.
Last night, when he threw me over his lap like a ragdoll and spanked my ass until it was red and raw, I couldn’t ignore the feel of his throbbing erection pressing into my tummy. His engorged member was a glaring neon sign that he wanted me, even if he fled as soon as he’d tortured me.
Could I really use a twisted version of my feminine power over him to exploit his weakness? I don’t even know if I have it in me. The thought is one that terrifies me as it looms large in my mind. If he’s going to refuse to see me as an actual person, maybe I can use that to my advantage somehow?
I’m not an experienced lover. Unlike many women of my age, I’ve been to bed with very few men and enjoyed the experience even more rarely. Casual hookups were never my thing, not even when I was in college. I don’t exactly claim to be lily-white, but something tells me that the Russian’s experience far exceeds my own. I’ve certainly watched my friends do it over and over again, I could be like them, right? I could pretend so that I can get out of this terrible situation? When I’m out of here, alone in my locked room again then I can take a scalding shower and pick up my pieces.
Maybe I can.
Still, I’m running out of options and I’m beginning to think that I don’t have a lot of choices left. If I cannot figure out a way to get to him, I honestly don’t see a way out of this bleak situation. God only knows what he could do to me if I refuse. Right now, he wants to use my body for his pleasure, but I need to ensure that he doesn’t discard me when he’s done. I’ve noticed the faint scars on his neck and wrists and I’m certain that he’s shed plenty of blood before. If I have to let him use my body to preserve my life, then that’s a tradeoff that I’m willing to make.
Mustering my courage, I hesitate, questioning myself. Usually, I’m pretty decisive, but I can’t think under the glare of his fiery stare. If he’s trying to intimidate me, he’s doing a damned good job of it. I’m so anxious and I can feel it pooling in the pit of my belly, warning me not to take this leap. If I give in to him, especially after our brief tryst last night, he’ll believe that he can do whatever he wants to me. That’s not what I want. But then, I don’t want to suffer anymore. I just want things to be easy until I can get out of here.
The finality of my decision weighs heavily on my shoulders, but I shrug it away for now. Focusing on the handsome man in front of me, I try to imagine what might have happened if we met under different circumstances. If he was just a man that I met in my bar, and we hit it off. He’s handsome, and perhaps if I can convince myself that nothing else surrounding this circumstance is real then I can do this. Just do it. Get it over with and then he can lock me away in my room again. If I refuse, who knows what he’s going to do? I lick my lips. Trying to swallow my pride, I force myself to walk towards him.
My hips don’t sway the way that I try to make them, I don’t think I pass as the seductress that I’m pretending to be.
Surprise blossoms on Nikolai’s face at my acceptance. Narrowing his eyes as I brush a finger down his clothed chest, he peers at me curiously. “What are you doing?” he asks suspiciously.
Dropping to my knees, I stare up at him, wincing at the scratchy carpet beneath my legs. “I’m obeying you,” I reply nonchalantly, desperate to take back a shred of control. He’s stolen everything from me, but I won’t let him steal my choices.
He seems to enjoy me in this position, and smirks arrogantly. “A moment ago, you were averse to this,” he points out, suspicion still strong in his tone. “What’s changed?”
I sigh lightly, fluttering my eyelashes. “Maybe I realized that you were right,” I tell him pushing a sugary sweet affect into my voice while grazing a hand over the rapidly expanding crotch of his pants. I hardly even recognize my own voice. “Is that so hard to believe?”
His face remains impassive, black eyes probing me for an answer. I double down on my actions and caress the fabric of his crotch with robotic motions. I can already feel how hard he is beneath the thin material, but he grows more engorged by his perceived superiority over me.
“Unzip me,” he commands, leaning back torpidly in his chair. Blinking, I suck in my cheeks, feeling my fingers tremble as they hover over his zipper. “What are you waiting for, Anya? I said, do it!”
“Yes, sir.” I say with vitriol as I obey and draw down his zipper agonizingly slowly.
As I prize his jeans open, his manhood springs into my hands, startling me. Gulping hard, I hesitate. I really don’t know whether or not I can do this. It goes against every moral fiber in my body and I’m terrified to cross a line from which I can never return. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow it back down.
However, before I can back away, one hand grips my hair, yanking my neck forward painfully. “Take it into your mouth,” he urges me firmly. “Now.”
I know there’s no way out of this now. No matter how scared I am, I’m acutely aware that he’s not requesting, he’s demanding. There is nothing but spite and hate in my eyes as I move into position, his manhood staring me in the face. “Sir,” I spit again for good measure with that same sickly-sweet voice. For some reason, I feel my body quiver at his tone, and I bob my head in agreement.
Drawing his member into my mouth, I gag on the hefty size of it. He thrusts forward, almost choking me, but I suppress a splutter and try to do my best work. I wish that I was more practiced at this.
“Do it harder,” he orders me. Nikolai hisses and bucks his hips when his cock bumps against my teeth. I should bite him. It’s the least that he deserves. “Less teeth, more tongue.”
With a sigh, I try my best to do as he asked, folding my lips over my teeth and bobbing up and down on him as he pumps himself into my mouth. But my lips are too dry, and my throat feels roughened and sore. I feel like my throat is bruising. My head is spinning while my lungs can barely draw any air into my body.
I hate this. I hate every moment of it. I don’t like the salty way his skin tastes, and how the smell of him that I liked so much the other day now seems sour to me.
I wish I could find a way to block out what is going on right now, so I focus on my objective. Seduction. The problem is that when I glance up at his face, I see by his unimpressed expression that I’m clearly not doing a very good job.
Screwing my eyes shut, I return to my task, trying to imagine that we’re both somebody else, like romantic lovers who really care about each other rather than a devilishly handsome kidnapper and the woman who is at his mercy. I want to cry, but I don’t allow myself to.
Pretend, Anya, pretend that you are Allison, and you are in one of her many hookup stories. This is the only way I can survive all of this. I lock myself away inside of my own mind, this is not actually me, this isn’t being forced on me, I’m somewhere else.
“Go slower,” he demands, nearly evoking an eye roll. He wanted faster and now he wants slower. I want to bite down on him and show him the pain I feel. But something stops me from doing that. Maybe it’s my innate instinct to survive, but I can’t deny it could be the fact that I’m so wet from the way he’s treating me. I feel like I don’t even know who I really am anymore. With the logical side of my mind locked away, it seems that my body is compensating for it and responding with gusto.
Finally, I shut off all the intrusive thoughts that torment me and focus on nothing but the way he feels in my mouth. It’ll all be over soon. I have to keep on reminding myself that. My eyes close, and I remove myself from my body—hovering safe somewhere above me and wait for him to finish. He has to, sooner or later.
My jaw aches as he gathers my hair in his fist and holds my head in a tight grip that makes it feel like there are bees rattling around inside of my skull. I try to focus on my breathing so that my stomach doesn’t wrench while he uses me like I’m just a piece of property.
Someday, I’ll be free again and all of this will just seem like a terrible but distant nightmare.