9. Chapter 9
C lara
The moment he shuts the bathroom door, I get out of the shower.
I grab a towel and wrap it around me as I rush to press my ear against the door.
The tenor of Viktor’s voice is easily heard, although not the words.
He sounds calm, but I know he really can’t be.
I know my father. Every time Viktor pauses to listen, I know what my father is threatening.
He’ll come for me. He’ll storm his way through this hotel, and if he has to kill people to get me back, he will.
Not because he wants me, but because he’s insulted anyone would try to take what’s his.
That includes the daughter he never wanted, born from a woman he hated and who I resemble so closely that when he’s angry enough to beat me, he sometimes called me by her name.
I hear Viktor laugh, but his reply is so low, I can’t make it out, and it’s killing me. I need to know what’s being said. I need to know how much time I have before he comes for me.
Cracking the bathroom door, I peek out, but all I see is the wall, the nightstand, and a sliver of the bed. My belly tightens, then flushes warm as I notice the fresh sheets. He’s already stripped it down and made it up again, good as new after my accident, as though it never even happened.
“If you think for one second, I’d ever let her go back to your abusive household, you’re out of your mind. I made you a fair offer, one you agreed to.”
My father’s shouted reply is soft as a hum from this distance. I can hear the anger in his tone, but the words all run together.
“I don’t care,” Viktor drawls, still calm, blissfully unaware of the danger his actions have put us both in.
My father is shouting again.
“That will not happen,” Viktor cuts in firmly.
“You have no leverage. I’ll send a runner to your casino with a packet of papers you will sign turning over your interest in the Crown to your daughter.
Call it a wedding present, but you, your family, and your company will no longer hold ownership of any kind over her or it. ”
I think I hear my father laugh, but Viktor ignores it, giving instructions over the top of it.
“You’ll do it because I have men positioned within five minutes of your top five investors with copies of your fraudulent profit statements and proof of your embezzlement.
With what I’ve provided, I doubt they’ll waste any time before hunting you down.
You want to stay in Vegas, you want to stay alive? Then sign.”
I can’t hear the faintest hum of a reply coming through from my father’s end of the phone.
I have never in my life heard anyone give my father orders.
Pushing the bathroom door open farther, I search for where Viktor is and find him sitting on the foot of the bed, looking right at me, holding the phone to his ear.
My stomach knots at the look he’s giving me, then flushes hot.
It’s more than just embarrassment being caught eavesdropping.
He doesn’t invite me out, but he doesn’t send me back into the bathroom, either.
After a moment, he takes the phone from his ear and hits the speaker button.
My father’s low, furious voice spews into the room.
“…built that fucking place. Me! No one else. You think I’m going to let some Russki pervo take my daughter? Fuck you! That cunt belongs to me. I’ll kill her before I let you have her. You hear me? I’ll fucking kill h—”
Taking the phone off speaker, Viktor puts it to his ear again. His voice is still calm, but his expression is the coldest I’ve seen him wear as he rises from the bed. Turning his back to me, he walks a short distance away.
“Never threaten her again. Do you hear me? I’ll fucking destroy you.”
I believe him.
I believe him every bit as much as I believe my father won’t, or perhaps he just won’t care.
He’s coming for me, and the safest place I can think to hide is right here, in Viktor’s home.
Anywhere else, I’d have no protection. No money.
No friends who could hide me, and even those I hadn’t seen in years, I wouldn’t dare ask because they’d be risking their lives just by trying.
I was trapped.
No, not true. Trapped is what my life used to be, but if Viktor keeps his word, I would have a car, money, and after a year, my freedom if I want it.
I could go anywhere I wanted, and by then, perhaps my father’s wounded pride would have lost its sting, and he wouldn’t look for me.
That was an awfully big ‘perhaps,’ not to mention, a year could feel like an eternity if stuck with the wrong person.
Like a person who insists I call him Daddy and who wasn’t at all shy about spanking me or sticking a ginger plug up my ass if I disobeyed.
But he wasn’t above bringing me water to drink when I was thirsty or cleaning up after me when I made a mess.
I don’t want to marry, especially not someone like my father, but I’m not stupid.
It’s not freedom I’ll gain by resisting Viktor but abandonment.
I’ll be back in my father’s keeping before the elevator takes me from the penthouse to the ground floor lobby.
Would he keep me to himself, or would he give me back to Miguel?
Miguel, with his promises to make me scream for ruining his life.
I cover my face with both hands.
“Bring it,” Viktor says, snapping me out of ‘what ifs,’ back into the here and now. I can’t afford to keep doing this. I have to decide. No matter which option I choose, it’s like looking down a gun barrel at the bullet chambered for me.
Only one, however, offers me hope for the future. It might be an illusion, but it’s the only hope I have, so I choose it.
Opening the bathroom door, I hug my towel around me as I pad into the bedroom.
The contract Viktor has been trying to get me to sign was still on the bed where he’d left it.
Picking it up, I glance at Viktor’s back before sitting on the edge of the mattress near the nightstand.
I ransack the drawer in search of a pen, finally finding one that wrote when I scribbled practice circles on the back of my hand.
I didn’t think I’d made that much noise, but once I go through the pages and sign everywhere I’m supposed to, when I look up, Viktor is watching me.
He doesn’t move. For the longest few seconds of my life, I don’t think I do, either. We stare at each other, my heart jackhammering in my chest, before I put the pen down, pick up the contract, and holding my towel closed, walk it over to him.
The closer I get to him, the better I can hear the hum of my father’s angry tirade coming through the phone.
If Viktor’s listening to it, he doesn’t show it.
I approach him, every fear I’ve ever had clamoring for me to rethink this, but there was nothing to rethink.
Maybe I’m making the biggest mistake of my life, but at that moment, all I feel is…
relieved. Once I hand it over, there’s nothing to do but wait—wait for my father’s reaction, wait for Viktor to make good on his promises, wait for my year with him to be up.
Will he really let me go then? Will I even want to go once my time was up?
I don’t know. My only attraction to escape was I would finally be away from my father. Being with Viktor did that as well.
Maybe I’ll like being with him.
Viktor held out his hand, and I look at it for only a moment before quietly handing him the signed contract. I’m his now—for better or worse.
“Thank you,” he mouths.
Please don’t let me have made a big mistake .
He winks, then motions for me to drop the towel.
Just like that, from potential savior to jackass.
“My offer has just changed,” he says into the phone. Snapping his fingers twice, he points first at the towel, then the floor.
Clutching it tighter around me, I shake my head and back away from him. As if I wasn’t feeling vulnerable enough as it was.
He takes a warning step toward me, showing me the flat of his spanking hand. To my father, his voice is chilling sincerity.
“You have until nine tonight to hand me documentation showing you’ve given my wife full ownership of the Crown. Every percentage you own, all authority and control you hold. Be sure you sign it over to Clara Antonov. That’s A-N-T—”
My father hangs up.
I don’t know if Viktor even bothers to hang up the phone before he tosses it on the bed. The next thing I know, I’m racing for the bathroom with him right behind me.
“You think you don’t have to obey just because Daddy’s on the phone?”
I let go of my towel the second I feel the tug of his hand catching the back of it. I should be scared. God knows, it’s what I’d felt just seconds ago, but when he yanks the towel off, instead of yelping, crying, or begging him to stop, I let out a shriek of laughter.
Nervous laughter but still laughter.
I barely reach the bathroom before his straining fingertips skim my shoulder, searching for a firmer grip on the nape of my neck. I shriek again, but he has me.
Swinging me around, he pulls his strength at the last second, bumping me against the bathroom counter instead of throwing me over it.
“No! No!”
He ignores me. Yes, was the flat of his hand briskly spanking all over my bottom while I waffled between laughing and shouting.
He isn’t striking hard, just hard enough for the sting to quickly blossom into a smarting fury.
No matter how hard he spanks, my bottom, which already received two such treatments, plus a paddle smack, needs no encouragement to rekindle its former tenderness.
Heat flares in the deep muscle of my flesh, and I can’t hold back.
Groans and moans punctuate my fading laughter until the only sound was the crisp smacks of his open hand and my own ragged breathing.
Why does this feel good?
Why, instead of fighting him to escape, am I fighting myself not to writhe so much, I accidentally break free?
I shouldn’t worry. His arm wraps around my waist, his hand shoving under my belly and down between my legs, and grabs my clit.
He isn’t gentle, but I don’t care. My legs are already parting, giving him the access he needs to get a better hold, to grip me tighter, to do whatever he desires to make me feel better… or worse.
My legs shake, and I can’t help moaning again, the guttural lust barely recognizable as my voice.
He isn’t just spanking me, he’s rubbing, too. His hand caresses the blazing heat he’s rekindled, from one bottom cheek to the other. His other plucks, strums, and rubs my clit until I can’t think of anything beyond the pleasure he’s stroking from me.
“Are you a naughty girl for Daddy?” he asks huskily.
I nod, and for once, I don’t even consider this might be a trap.
“You like it when Daddy spanks your bottom, don’t you?”
He could have asked if I was a three-headed alien from Venus, and I would have nodded.
There’s nothing about this I don’t like.
He isn’t spanking anymore. Squeezing my bottom, he makes it even more tender as he pries my bottom cheeks apart with every shift of his grip.
Is he looking at me or admiring the intimate view?
I grab the sink, my face burning as I raise my head to look at our reflections in the mirror. My gaze meets his reflection, the desire reflecting in them enough to make me shiver.
He feels it. He likes it.
His nostrils flare as if he could smell my climbing frantic need. He jerks back, pulling me off the counter, then shoves me face-first against the wall. His feet kick mine wide apart while his hands catch my wrists, twisting my arms between my back and pinning them there.
“Naughty little girls need to be punished, don’t they?”
“Yes.” I gasp when he grabs my hair, pulling my head all the way back.
“It’s time for Daddy’s cock to punish you, isn’t it?” he growls before gently biting the side of my neck, sucking so hard, I feel each pulling draw tug through my nipples to my belly to my pussy.
“Yes,” I moan, so close to coming, I couldn’t bear for him to stop. “Yes, please!”
“Please, Daddy, punish me,” he tells me.
I’m only too happy to repeat it. Every sexual nerve ending is crying for him.
Every time he touches me, I ache for more and more.
I barely hear when he spits on his fingers.
When he adds that slickness to what I’ve already produced has me grinding my pussy against his hand.
He pulls away long before I’m ready, and I actually sob. I want him so much.
I thrust my hips back, arching my back until it hurts, but that’s not what makes me cry out.
The first hard thrust of his cock parts the folds of my sex, shoving so deep, he’s through the barrier of my maidenhead before I even remember it’s there.
The pain is sharp but fleeting. Within a matter of thrusts, every awareness is locked again, not on the hurt but the heaven of how good he makes this feel.
This isn’t punishment.
I melt under his burning kisses on my neck.
He holds my clit prisoner between his fingers.
My breasts are crushed against the wall, the friction of his pounding thrusts rubbing me against the wall.
My grunts meet his. We’re one breath, one movement, one being, shaking in the throes of such ecstasy, I have nothing to resist him when he orders, in that harshly beautiful voice of his, “Come, Princess. Come on Daddy’s cock. ”
My body is a prisoner of his whim. That’s the only reason I can think of that explains the force of the orgasm that rips through me, crushing me against the bathroom wall in his arms. His devil’s mouth scalds me with his kisses.
The unrelenting force of his driving cock destroys me, one rippling wave of pleasure at a time.
It only stops when he joins me, the hard expulsion of breath and the last few vigorous thrusts my only warning before he comes. The wetness of his cum is inside me. I can feel it dripping down my thighs when he pulls out.
“I’m hungry,” he breathes into my hair. Letting go of my hands, he releases my clit, only to catch a tuft of my pubic hair and give a sharp tug. “Shave this off for Daddy, Princess. I’ll make reservations.”
“I have no clothes,” I remind him. “You cut them into pieces.”
“Trust Daddy to take care of that.” Smiling, he pats my pussy. “After all, we’re going to be married. Daddy will take care of everything then, right?”
I think I’d prefer to stagger off to sleep, but his charm is definitely getting to me. I don’t even argue when he chucks me lightly under the chin, pulls his pants up, and walks out of the bathroom.
Had I known the outfit he would pick for me to wear, consequences be damned, I would have locked him out of the bathroom.