13. Sabina
13
Sabina
By mid-morning, the storm comes back with a vengeance, howling outside the cabin and rattling the windows like it’s trying to tear its way inside. The steady snow from last night has turned into a swirling tempest, icy needles hissing against the glass. But inside, the cabin feels like another world—warm, safe, a cocoon keeping the chaos at bay.
The hours drift by, filled with stories and laughter. Nikolai surprises me with how easily he shares pieces of himself, and I find myself doing the same. Some stories are light, others heavier, peeling back layers we’ve both kept hidden for so long. For a while, the outside world feels distant, like a bad dream I can’t quite remember. I push aside the thought that this interlude isn’t real, that the real world waits for us, the real world where I am a Russo and he is an Ivanov.
But here, it’s just him and me, our words filling the quiet spaces between the crackle of the fire and the relentless wind outside.
In the afternoon, Nikolai suggests we go outside. I laugh at the absurdity of it—there’s a literal blizzard swirling around the cabin—but his grin is contagious. Against my better judgement, I find myself bundling up against the cold. He wraps me in an absurdly enormous down coat he pulls from the small closet by the bathroom. For footwear, I have no choice but to resort to the makeshift boots he crafted for me from the dead man’s coat sleeves. He pulls a gray woolen hat over my head and finishes the ensemble with oversized sheepskin mitts.
“You look…” He steps back, assessing me with a lopsided smile. “Ridiculous.”
“Thanks. Really,” I say. “Every girl’s dream.”
The moment we step outside, the wind bites at my skin, its icy fingers sneaking into the gaps around my collar and cuffs. Snow swirls in chaotic patterns, glinting like shards of crushed glass in the weak afternoon light. The air is sharp and crisp, filling my lungs with each breath. I shiver, tucking my hands deeper into the mitts.
“It’s freezing,” I mutter.
Nikolai glances at me, a smirk curling his lips. “You’ll warm up once we start moving.”
“I’m moving straight back inside if this turns into some Bear Grylls survival episode,” I mutter, but I follow him anyway, my boots crunching through the snow.
Then my foot slides out from under me, and I let out a startled yelp. Before I hit the ground, Nikolai catches me, his hands firm on my waist. He steadies me effortlessly, and for a moment, the world narrows to the feel of his touch and the heat of his gaze.
“Careful, goddess,” he murmurs, his voice soft but tinged with amusement.
I blink up at him, breathless and flustered, which only annoys me more. “Don’t call me that. I’m hardly feeling divine in these tragic boots.”
His lips quirk, and he doesn’t let go immediately.
When he finally releases me, I shove a handful of snow against his chest with as much sass as I can muster. It lands with a satisfying thud.
He blinks at the snow now dusting his dark coat, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then his smile shifts into something sharp, dangerous, and utterly unfair. “Oh, you’re going to regret that.”
Before I can react, he scoops up a handful of snow and lobs it at me with impressive accuracy, hitting my shoulder. I let out a mock gasp of outrage. “You did not just—”
The next snowball hits me square in the stomach, and I double over, laughing despite myself. “All right, Ivanov. You asked for it.”
He has no idea what I’m capable of; I have four older brothers.
The snowball fight escalates quickly. We’re both slipping and stumbling, our laughter carrying across the stillness of the snowy landscape. I manage to duck one of his throws and retaliate with a surprisingly solid hit to his chest, which earns me a mock glare.
“Not bad,” he concedes, brushing the snow off. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Oh, I will,” I promise, scooping up another handful of snow.
But before I can throw it, Nikolai closes the distance between us, catching me off guard. His hands come down on my waist again, and this time, he lifts me effortlessly off the ground, spinning me around.
“Cheater!” I squeal, half-laughing, half-protesting as he sets me down, my feet sinking into the snow.
He leans in, his breath warm against my ear despite the cold. “Cheaters always win, Sabina.”
I turn to face him, my laughter fading as our eyes meet. His expression is unguarded, his usual mask of control slipping just enough for me to see the man beneath it. The playful smirk lingers, but there’s something deeper there, something that sends a ripple of heat through me despite the freezing air.
“You’re impossible,” I whisper, my voice soft, almost lost in the wind.
“And you’re infuriating,” he murmurs back, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.”
For a moment, the world seems to still. The snow falls in gentle flurries around us, the wind quieting as if even nature is holding its breath. And in that moment, standing there in the cold with his hands on my waist, I realize just how dangerous this man is—not because of his power or his darkness, but because of the way he makes me feel. Like I could fall for him completely, without reservation.
But reality always intrudes. The wind picks up again, biting through the layers of clothing. Nikolai steps back, his expression shifting.
“Let’s get you inside before you freeze,” he says, his tone light, but the moment lingers like an unfinished sentence.
By evening, the storm grows louder, battering the cabin with renewed fury. Inside, the air changes, subtle at first. The laughter fades, replaced by something quieter, heavier. I feel it in the way Nikolai watches me, his gaze lingering too long, his movements slower, more deliberate.
The fire crackles in the hearth, the shadows flickering over the room, and I’m suddenly too aware of every breath, every inch of space between us—or how little of it there is.
I catch his eye from across the room, and my pulse quickens. There’s something in the way he looks at me, something unrelenting, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. His expression is unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze pins me in place, making it impossible to look away.
The air feels heavier now, charged with something I can’t quite name. My heart pounds against my ribs as the silence between us deepens, stretching taut like a thread about to snap. Nikolai doesn’t move, but his presence presses against me, demanding, consuming.
I swallow hard, my breath shaky as I realize what’s coming.
The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the generator and the crackling of the fire in the stove. The soft golden glow bathes Nikolai in light, casting shadows across his cheekbones, making him look more like a predator than a man. My heart pounds as I sit on the edge of the bed, unable to look away from him. He stands at the foot of the bed, his pale blue eyes locked onto mine, his body still and controlled, but the intensity radiating from him is anything but calm.
“Stand up,” he says, his voice low and commanding, the sound sliding over my skin like velvet.
I hesitate for only a heartbeat before I rise to my feet. My breaths are shallow, my pulse a steady drumbeat in my ears. His gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t soften, and the weight of it makes my skin flush, makes me feel bare even though I’m still fully clothed.
“Take off your shirt,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet dare.
I blink at him, the heat rising in my cheeks.
“What if I say no?” I ask, the challenge in my voice shaky but there.
His lips curl into a slow, wicked smile. “You won’t.”
And he’s right. Because the tension in the room is electric, the air charged with a shimmer of lust and need I don’t want to resist. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for the hem of my sweatshirt, pulling it over my head and letting it fall to the floor. I stand there, my breasts bared to his hungry gaze, the firelight painting my skin in shades of gold and shadow.
“Good girl,” he says, the words a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine.
Something about the way he says it—low, deliberate, possessive—makes my knees weak. He steps closer, his movements slow, deliberate, until he’s just inches away. His hand lifts, and his fingers trace the line of my jaw, down the column of my throat, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
“Do you trust me, Sabina?” he asks, his voice a soft growl.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word tumbling out before I can stop it. Because I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.
His hand moves to my wrist, his grip firm but not rough, as he lifts my arm and guides it behind my back. His other hand captures my other wrist, pinning them both with ease. The position forces my chest forward, the air leaving my lungs in a shaky exhale as I feel the press of his body, the hard, unyielding strength of him.
“Tell me your fantasy,” he says, his breath warm against my ear. “I want to hear you say it.”
I swallow hard, my body trembling with a mixture of anticipation and nerves.
“I don’t want to say,” I manage, my voice barely audible.
“Tell me,” he commands, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, making me shiver.
My cheeks burn as I say, “Being held down. Tied up. Blindfolded…”
“Go on,” he murmurs.
“Controlled,” I whisper.
Nikolai’s chuckle is a dark, velvety sound that wraps around me, pulling me deeper into the moment. His hands are firm but careful as he releases my wrists, only to trail his fingers down my arms, leaving a tingling heat in their wake.
“Stay right here,” he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding, a mix of promise and intent.
I watch, heart pounding, as he moves to the small dresser. From the drawer, he pulls out a t-shirt. Then, his eyes holding mine, he slowly rips the cloth into long, wide strips, biceps and forearms flexing as he moves. My breath catches as he moves toward me, the cloth coiled in his hand, his eyes burning with purpose.
“Take your pants off,” he says, his voice calm, even, pitched low and laced with command.
My pulse kicks up.
I wet my lips and hook my thumbs in the waistband, sliding the pants slowly over my hips. The I bend and push them down my legs, letting them pool around my ankles before stepping free, completely naked.
His eyes glitter in the dim light, his expression intent and hot, and so sexy.
“Fold them,” he orders, and I bend to retrieve the pants, fold them, then set them aside.
“Turn around,” he says softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I obey, my pulse racing as I turn to face the bed. I don’t hear him move, but I feel the heat of him at my back. I freeze as he runs the tip of his finger along my spine, down, down, to the crack of my ass. I shiver.
He positions my arm so my right wrist is at the small of my back. Then he does the same with the left. Each movement is slow, controlled, gentle but inexorable. The cloth slides across my skin as he binds my wrists together behind me, the knots firm but not uncomfortable. My breathing quickens as the control is taken from me, the sensation both thrilling and terrifying.
“You’re stunning like this,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the back of my neck. His hands glide down my sides, skimming the curve of my hips. “Completely mine.”
His words send a wave of heat through me, and I bite my lip, my body trembling. He’s barely touched me yet, but my pussy throbs, wet and aching.
“You like having me at your mercy, don’t you?” I manage to whisper, my voice shaky but laced with defiance.
“Not mercy,” he corrects, his voice dark and smooth. “Devotion.” He pauses. “If you want this to stop, that’s all you need to say. That word. Devotion. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper, knowing I won’t say the word. Knowing I welcome this, welcome him.
My breath hitches as he steps in front of me, holding another strip of cloth. He takes his time, folding it double, his blue eyes locked on mine, his expression raw and hungry.
“Close your eyes,” he commands, and I do, the world plunging into darkness as he ties the blindfold in place.
The absence of sight heightens everything else—the sound of his breathing, the heat of his body, the faint crackle of the fire in the woodstove. My senses are on high alert, every nerve ending buzzing with anticipation.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he says, his voice closer now, his hand skimming over my bare shoulder. “Completely open. Trusting. Do you know how rare that is?”
I don’t answer, because I can’t. The words stick in my throat, my body too focused on the way his fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns over my skin.
He moves me gently, guiding me to the bed. There, he positions me the way he wants: face down, shoulders to the mattress, my legs bent so my ass is in the air, my bound hands at the small of my back. I sense him behind me and make a little mew of protest. My ass and pussy are on full display. He can look at me, touch me, do as he wants with me…
“Anything you want to say?” he asks, and I know he is offering a way out. All I need to say is the word he gave me, my safe word. Devotion.
Instead, I say, “No.”
He laughs softly, low and dark, his hand skimming my ass, squeezing, kneading.
Then he shifts. I don’t know where he is, what he’s doing. I see nothing from behind the cloth he tied over my eyes. I strain to hear him.
I gasp as I feel the rough scrape of his stubble as his lips touch the back of my neck. He kisses me there, slow and purposeful, his teeth grazing just enough to make me catch a sharp breath, every sensation heightened by my bindings and blindfold.
Being unable to see him, to anticipate his next move, is intoxicating. His hands slide up my thighs, parting them with deliberate intent. His touch is firm but reverent, like he’s memorizing every inch of me.
“You’ve thought about this, dreamed about it,” he murmurs, his voice like molten honey. “Haven’t you, goddess?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice shaky, the admission raw and unfiltered.
His chuckle is low and sinful. “Good. So have I.”
His hands slide around my body, coming to rest on my breasts. He rolls my nipples between his fingers, teasing, tormenting, gentle at first, then rougher, the calloused pads of his fingertips making me gasp and arch. He takes his time, every stroke and pinch and pull sending a jolt of lust straight to my pussy.
I whimper and pump my hips, finding no relief.
“Such a needy girl,” he whispers.
His lips blaze a trail down my body, his hands following. He slides one hand between my legs, stroking my clit so lightly I barely feel it. I make a sound of protest, of need. He ignores it and continues to touch me with just enough pressure to make me ache and sob, but not enough to take me higher. His fingers push inside me, making the ache twist tighter. I pump my hips, wanting—needing—more.
He swats my ass, a sharp sting, and I cry out in shock. In pleasure.
Oh, my god. Did I actually like that?
“Greedy girl. You get only what I choose to give you. Do you understand?” his voice is low, hard, the sound only twisting my lust tighter.
“Yes,” I whisper, biting my lip to keep from begging him to fuck me.
He keeps playing with me, teasing my nipples, my pussy, my clit.
I’m helpless to stop the moans spilling from my lips as he worships me. He takes his time, every touch, every kiss deliberate, designed to drive me to the edge. The tension coils tighter and tighter inside me until I’m trembling beneath him, the blindfold and my bound hands only amplifying the fire building between us.
“Nikolai,” I gasp, his name a plea, a command, everything I need.
He hums against my skin, his touch never wavering. “Say it, Sabina,” he demands, his voice low and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”
I hesitate, the words tangled in my throat, and he presses harder, his hands and mouth working me into a frenzy until there’s no room for defiance.
“I’m yours,” I cry out, the words spilling from me like a confession, a truth I can no longer deny.
“Good girl,” he growls, the words vibrating against my skin.
He positions himself behind me, over me, caging me with his big body, the broad head of his cock stretching my opening as he pushes inside, just a little, just enough to make me cry out.
And then he takes me, completely and utterly, his big cock stretching me, filling me, his size making the sensation a gorgeous mix of pleasure edged in pain. He fucks me with long, deep strokes, one hand toying with my nipple, the other reaching around to stroke my clit while I lie, pliant and pinned beneath him, taking whatever he chooses to give me.
There is only Nikolai—the feel of him, the sound of his voice, and the fire raging between us as he takes me, uses me, pleasures me.
It’s overwhelming, all-consuming, and when I finally shatter, it’s with his name on my lips, my body and soul utterly claimed by him. And as I lie there afterward, blindfolded, bound, and utterly sated, I realize I don’t only trust him with my body, with my secrets.
I’m beginning to trust him with my heart.
And that is a very dangerous thing.