11. Cathy
11
CATHY
T he bathroom is an imposing chamber of stone and marble, grand and cold, as if carved from the walls of a castle. Dark tiles line the floor, arranged in intricate patterns, each piece smooth and cool beneath my bare feet.
A grand clawfoot tub sits in the center, its porcelain gleaming under the soft flicker of candlelight that fills the room with shadow and warmth.
Heavy velvet curtains hang over the window, thick and plush, but pulled back just enough to reveal a metal grille over the glass—a subtle reminder that even here, in this illusion of comfort, I am still his prisoner.
I reach for the stack of towels, soft and luxurious, and wrap one around myself, feeling the indulgent weight of the fabric, so different from anything I’m used to. Every detail here feels foreign, extravagant, a world far removed from mine.
Even in this intimate, cloistered space, Ivan’s presence lingers, the shadows themselves seeming to take on his power, his darkness. The house feels like a living thing, ancient and watchful. I almost feel as if it’s observing me, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
As I turn the faucet, hot water pours into the tub, filling the room with steam. The faint scent of lavender rises as I undress, mingling with the warmth, softening the atmosphere.
I’m glad to be out of the dress. I hate it. I hate how good I feel in it, how revealing it is, how it caught his eye, how it was just one of several in that wardrobe, all in my size.
I step into the tub, letting the water embrace me. It’s almost too much—too hot, too deep, too perfect—and I sink slowly, letting myself feel the luxurious warmth surrounding me, wondering if I’ll ever fully adjust to this world that seems to belong entirely to him.
My thoughts drift to him as I settle back, my eyes slipping closed. I can still see him from earlier tonight, seated across from me, so controlled, so certain. I hate how he looked at me, how he seemed to read my every thought, like he knew I’d try to escape and was daring me to try.
I can’t help comparing him to Jimmy. The thought is bitter, dark, and yet I linger on it, recalling Jimmy’s thinly veiled disdain, the way he barely even looked at me, like I was an afterthought, something to be tolerated.
I think of Ivan in his place, and the image sharpens, intensifies. Ivan wouldn’t tolerate someone like Jimmy; he’d look at him the way he looked at me tonight, with that dangerous focus, that knowing intensity.
I can almost see it now—Ivan finding Jimmy, breaking his neck without a second thought. And something about that thought makes my skin heat in a way that I can’t ignore.
I sink lower into the water, the steam thick around me, and imagine Ivan walking in, his presence dark and commanding as he closes the door. He would pause, take in the room, his eyes darkening as he looks at me, a faint smile on his lips.
I imagine the slow, deliberate way he would unbutton his suit jacket, his fingers precise, controlled, as he peels away each layer, revealing more of himself, piece by piece.
I see him sliding the jacket off his broad shoulders, his shirt clinging to his chest, and I can almost feel the weight of his gaze, burning through the steam, claiming me in a way that Jimmy never could.
My hand trails along my collarbone, a soft, tentative touch, as I imagine him closing the distance, stepping into the tub behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders, firm and possessive.
I let my fingers drift lower, tracing the line of my throat, as I picture his lips there, warm and unyielding, a shiver spreading through me. I close my eyes tighter, letting the fantasy take over, letting it fill me completely.
My hands mimic his, skimming along my arms, across my chest, each touch making my skin feel more alive, more sensitive. I picture him lowering himself into the water, the heat intensifying, his body pressed against mine.
I feel the strength in him, the quiet power as his hands explore me, his mouth warm against my neck. His whispers come to me in Russian, the words rough and low, rolling off his tongue with a familiarity that feels forbidden, exhilarating.
I understand nothing he says but I know exactly what he’s telling me. He wants me. I can’t lie. It feels good to be wanted for once.
I can’t stop now, my hands slipping lower, moving in slow circles over my clit, each movement drawing me deeper into the feeling of him.
I imagine his hands there, guiding me, controlling me, his fingers firm, his breath ragged as he ravages me.
My body reacts, my hips shifting, my breath hitching as I reach the point of no return, unable to hold back the tidal wave of sensation building within me.
The world narrows, my senses overtaken by the warmth, the pleasure, the feeling of him. And as the climax crashes over me, I gasp his name, the sound spilling from my lips before I can stop it. “Ivan…”
The word hangs in the air, echoing softly, its weight sinking into the silence. My eyes open slowly, the room still hazy, my pulse racing as I come back to myself, the realization of what I’ve done settling heavily in my chest.
My face burns with shame, the sound of his name still lingering, reminding me of how deeply he’s rooted himself in my mind.
I force myself to rise from the bath, wrapping myself in the soft towel, but I’m still breathless, my body alive with the aftermath of my fantasy. I step out, my legs shaky, the air cool against my damp skin as I tighten the towel around me.
Wrapped tightly in a towel, I open the door to my bedroom, hoping for solitude but finding Ivan waiting, his presence filling the space. He stands by the bed, peeling off his shirt, his movements controlled, unhurried, as though he’s completely at ease being here, in my room, with me.
The room feels smaller with him in it, the shadows deepened by his presence, the silver moonlight casting a faint glow over his skin, highlighting the scars and tattoos that mark his chest and arms.
I try to keep my face neutral, to hide the thrill that prickles through me as I take in the sight of him. He’s more powerful, more dangerous than I realized, his body carved from years of battle and strength, every scar a story I can only imagine.
He pauses, catching me in his gaze, his eyes traveling over me, lingering on the towel wrapped around me, his stare dark and intense.
“You’re not sleeping in here,” I say. I want him to go, to leave me in peace, but another part of me—the part I hate—wants him to stay, to keep looking at me that way, like I’m something he’s already claimed.
A faint smile touches his lips, as if my words amuse him. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it, an unspoken promise. He takes a step closer, and I can feel the air shift, charged with something I can’t ignore.
My instincts scream at me to resist, to keep my distance, but I can’t move, can’t tear my gaze away from him.
His hand reaches out, fingers brushing the bare skin of my arm, and the touch is electric, sending a shiver through me that I can’t control.
His fingers linger, his gaze still holding mine. For the first time, I feel wanted in a way I never felt with Jimmy, who always looked at me with a thinly veiled disgust, as if I was a duty, an inconvenience.
His hand trails down my arm, each touch deliberate, claiming, until he stops, his fingers resting just above my wrist. His eyes darken as he leans in, his voice a low murmur that reverberates through me. “You said my name when you came just now, didn’t you?”
The words break through the last of my defenses, tearing down the walls I’ve so carefully built. His touch, his presence—they stir something deep within me, something I can’t deny.
And beneath his commanding exterior, I catch a glimpse of something else, something raw and vulnerable, a pain hidden beneath the power he wields. The realization pulls me in further, making it impossible to look away. “Yes,” I mutter as his eyes demand an answer.
I want to resist him, to keep some part of myself untouched by his influence, but the pull is undeniable. He steps back slightly, his gaze unwavering as he speaks, his voice calm but unyielding. “We’ll sleep in the same bed tonight.” He pauses, letting the words sink in, daring me to challenge him. “Take off the towel.”
A flush rises to my cheeks, and I clutch the towel tighter, shaking my head. I won’t give him the satisfaction. “No,” I say, my voice trembling but defiant. “I won’t.”
For a moment, he says nothing, his expression unreadable. But then, with swift precision, he reaches out, his hand closing around the edge of the towel, and in one motion, he pulls it away, leaving me naked before his piercing gaze.
I gasp, heat flooding my face, but he doesn’t give me time to react. He lifts me up, his hands firm and sure, and places me on the bed, his gaze never leaving mine. “Get off me,” I say, pushing at his arms but it’s like trying to move a brick wall.
We stay like that, locked in each other’s stare, a storm of emotions passing between us—fear, defiance, desire, something darker, something I can’t name. The room is silent, save for the faint sound of our breathing, heavy with anticipation.
Up close, I can see faint lines around his eyes, markers of years spent in a world I can barely imagine. There’s a hardness to him, a coldness that makes me shiver despite the heat radiating from the fireplace.
"Why did you come here?" he asks, his voice carrying an undeniable weight of authority.
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. I’m not sure what he wants to hear or if there’s anything I could say that would appease him. He watches me, his lips curling into a predatory smile as he seems to sense my hesitation.
"Cat got your tongue?" he murmurs, reaching out to trace a finger down the side of my face. The touch is brief, almost gentle, but it sends a jolt through my body, startling me.
I flinch, trying to step back, but he catches my wrist before I can move any further. His grip is firm, unyielding, his fingers encircling my wrist with a strength I can’t ignore.
"Answer me," he demands, his voice rising slightly, a note of impatience clear in his tone.
I bite my lip, trying to steady my racing heart. "To clean," I finally manage. "Remember?”
His eyes darken at my words, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "To clean? Is that what you think this is about?" he scoffs, his free hand moving to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over my trembling lips. "You think this is just a job, little girl?"
My breath hitches, and I shake my head quickly, too afraid to speak. His intense stare feels like it’s peeling away every layer, stripping me bare. I feel like I can’t hide anything from him, and it terrifies me.
"Look at me," he orders, his grip tightening on my wrist.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I obey, lifting my gaze to meet his. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, a force that sends a wave of dizziness washing over me. I’m trapped, completely at his mercy, and I know it.
"Better," he says, satisfaction lacing his voice. "Now, let’s get something straight. I don’t negotiate. I make demands. And right now, my demand is simple."
He pauses, his words heavy in the air, letting the threat settle, watching the fear flicker in my eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he releases my wrist, stepping back to give me a moment to steady myself.
He looks me up and down, his gaze lingering on my exposed collarbone before moving lower, his eyes tracing the curve of my body. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his lips, sending a chill down my spine.
"So beautiful," he says, his voice a low purr.
My heart races, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. His fingers brush against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
"You’re trembling," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, sending a thrill through me. "Are you scared?"
I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing. "Yes," I admit.
His eyes darken with something that might be approval. "Good. You should be. But don’t worry, I won’t hurt you… not unless you beg me to."
His words send a rush of heat between my legs, a confusing mix of fear and arousal. I don’t know how to respond, so I stay silent, watching him as he slides his hands around my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies are flush against each other. The warmth of his body sears into mine, making my senses reel.
"Look at me," he commands.
I obey, meeting his piercing blue eyes. There’s a flicker of something almost tender in them, but it’s quickly veiled by his usual coldness.
"Do you trust me?" he asks, his tone laced with an edge of danger.
I hesitate, my mind racing. Trust him? How can I trust someone who’s done nothing but intimidate and seduce me since I walked through that door?
Yet, in this moment, there’s a part of me that wants to say yes. A part of me that craves the connection I sense between us, even if it’s rooted in peril.
"Yes," I finally whisper, my voice trembling.
He smiles, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. "You want revenge, same as me. That’s why you’re here. I will help you avenge that scum who threw you out like garbage."
His fingers trace the still healing scar on my cheek. “He will pay for what he did to you, but first I want something from you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Your virginity.”