7. Katerina
CHAPTER 7
Katerina
Roman Volkova demonstrates he’s a man of many talents. These talents include pinning innocent women to the ground, duct-taping their mouths, and tying them in electrical cords. In no more than five minutes, he’s got me bound and squirming on the bedroom floor of Finch’s safe house.
He stands back to admire his handiwork, his dark sapphire eyes gleaming in twisted satisfaction.
“Ty vyglyadish’ krasivo, devochka? * .”
I snarl at him from behind the silver strip of duct tape. “Icantunderstandyouasshole!”
The irony isn’t lost on me—I’m yelling at him about not being able to understand him while my words come out garbled.
The difference is, I’m speaking English and he’s speaking Russian.
He grunts out a solitary laugh, realizing my complaint. “You look very beautiful, devochka,” he translates, kneeling beside me. He thumbs my cheek in an almost affectionate way. It disturbs me more than any callous act of his, like tying me up or slapping me across the face. “Don’t worry, I will not hurt you… too much. If you behave. It is your choice.”
His large hand slips into the back pocket of my jeans. I react like a fish, flailing on the ground to ward him off. If he intends on making me feel even more uncomfortable, he’s done it, his palm sliding along the curve of my ass slower than necessary.
He digs out my cell phone, then peels back the tape across my mouth. “It needs to see this pretty face of yours, devochka.”
The facial recognition technology grants access. The second it does, the tape’s sealed back over my lips.
He stands up and begins fiddling with my phone.
“Dontlookthroughmyphone!” I shout at him. I thrash some more, despite the electrical cords scraping against my skin and clothes. “Youassholegimmeitback!”
But my protests fall on deaf ears.
The Russian calls up someone, pressing my phone to his ear. The other person answers within a few rings. He launches into a lengthy discussion in full-blown Russian. His thick, naturally guttural voice deepens. If at all possible, he sounds even more masculine and dangerous speaking in his native tongue.
My eyes narrow glaring at him… but my sex clenches down below.
Kat, no! NO, STOP IT!
This man has you bound and gagged on the floor.
You’ve always had a thing for dangerous guys, but this is a new low. STOP!
I’m caught between chastising myself and trying to make out even a few words of what he’s saying. He speaks so fast, so confidently, it’s damn near impossible.
Though an inkling tells me I’m mentioned. He glances over at me before he continues speaking.
“Oni plokho podgotovleny. Oni trusy, kotoryye ostavili etu devushku v pokoye. Ona nichto. Nikakoy ugrozy.? * ”
“HELLO!” I scream from behind the tape. I wiggle around some more, working up a sweat even being bound on the floor. “HELPHELPHELP!”
“Niet? * .”
“HELP!”
His head turns in my direction, his expression hardening. The sounds I’m making might not be clear, but they’re posing a distraction during his phone conversation.
“Derzhis’, otets.? * ”
He presses a button on the phone—presumably the mute button—then comes over to crouch beside me. I’m not sure what I’m expecting from him, but it’s not for him to grip my face between his long, thick fingers and jerk my head up closer to his.
“Devochka,” he says sternly, “be good for me. Behave yourself. Or I will make you regret it. Do you understand?”
He lets go of my face, rising up to return to his lengthy phone call.
I lay where he’s left me, my heart hammering in dismay. I’m not sure whether to be terrified or furious.
…or disgusted with myself for being a little turned on by the authoritative way he handles me. I’d never admit it aloud—damn sure would never tell him—but there’s a rugged masculinity about him that’s fucking sexy.
It’s more than how good he looks, his huge body molded by muscle and his dark blue eyes striking.
It’s in how he carries himself. Why couldn’t he be the creepy, frail old man I’d pictured Roman Volkova to be going into this mission?
At least then I could regulate my reactions to him. I could be repulsed and upset like I should be, instead of being on the verge of making myself wet.
That settles it. It’s been too long.
If I survive this ordeal, I definitely need to get laid.
The Russian’s conversation goes on for another few minutes. He’s started pacing the length of the bedroom, speaking every word in his native tongue, his tone growing more impatient and frustrated. I’d give anything to translate even half of what he says.
When he hangs up, he pockets my phone like it’s his. I make a throaty noise of protest before giving up altogether.
It won’t change anything—he’s not going to give me my phone back.
A moment passes where the Russian Bear rests his hands on his waist and peers at some distant point in the room. He’s doing some thinking.
The conversation he just had wasn’t a good one.
His gaze swings over to me and he says, “You were bad, devochka. I told you to behave yourself. But you interrupted me.”
I squirm on the floor as he steps over, taking a knee beside me. “Do you want to know what I was talking about? It is none of your concern. You don’t know how you’ve involved yourself with your scheme. You have made a mistake coming for my family. But I reassured the sovietnik you are no threat. You are a harmless little kitty cat… right?”
He strokes my cheek some more to my murmurs from behind the duct tape.
“I have done you a favor,” he says, his long fingers slipping along my jaw. His thumb glides across the soft curve of my chin. He’s peering into my eyes as if these touches are wanted. As if I’m not bound and at his mercy. “He was very angry, devochka. He would have your head on a pike. How will you repay me?”
“Donttouchme!” I demand, producing more garbled sounds.
The Russian’s face cracks in a hint of a grin as his hand continues exploring. It slips down the column of my throat and then my collarbone to the swell of my breasts. I suck in a sharp breath from behind the duct tape and watch in mingled dread and curiosity as his hand smooths its way down my stomach.
Over my navel.
Past the little mound of fat above every woman’s pussy.
My pussy.
“STOP!” I erupt and thrash on the floor, jerking left and right to fend him off.
He simply grins wider and holds me down with one hand. His other shoves its way between my thighs and cups my pussy through my denim jeans.
“Mmmm,” he hums, the sound thick and husky. “Is this the kitty that’s purring? Does she want to be fed?”
“Nononono!”
“I will give you a choice, devochka, my little kitty cat. I want to feel this pussy,” he growls, bending closer, hovering over me as if about to kiss me. “Tell me you want me to. Or I will call up the sovietnik and tell him to come get you.”
You asshole…
The choice isn’t really a choice. He’s well aware as I peer up into those amused, glittering sapphires.
Yet my pussy throbs. My pussy’s responding to his depraved threat.
I’m pretty sure I’m wet. Ugh.
“Asshole.”
“What was that, devochka? A yes… or no?” he asks, his palm still groping my pussy.
“YES!” I yell bitterly from behind the duct tape.
He chuckles. “I thought so. This will be fun for both of us.”
My body tenses up as he holds my gaze and slips his hand down the front of my jeans.
Inside my panties.
His fingertips pause on the fuzzy patch of hair I have on my mons pubis.
He feels the coarse little hairs as if intrigued and aroused all at once, still staring at my face unblinkingly.
Startlingly.
Then his fingers slip lower to my pussy lips.
I watch the muscle in his jaw tic… and heat burns me up from the inside.
Why does this feel so intimate? Why does it feel strangely tender that we’re staring into each other’s eyes as he feels my pussy while I’m bound and gagged?
He runs his fingers along my labia and I almost cringe from shame. Awareness dawns even in the subtlest ways in his expression. The knowledge that I’m wet .
Not just wet.
I’m soaked.
Clit-throbbing, thigh-clenching, flushed-skin kind of soaked.
“Devochka,” he says in his deep voice, speaking the term almost like a musical note. “You are wet for me. My little cat is purring just like I thought.”
I bow up off the ground as he slips a finger inside me. My eyes round and my heartbeat doubles.
He continues watching my face in fascination, like he’s captivated by every detail about me. I can’t help giving him more.
My pussy walls flutter around his finger. More flush breaks out on my already burning skin. Pleasure must flicker across my face and my chest shudders out a shaky breath.
He slowly slips his finger in and out of me before moving onto my clit. He tweaks the little swollen bundle of nerves and makes me cry out from behind the duct tape sealed over my lips. The pinch sensation quickly blends into the pleasure building.
I’m a goner as he experiments with my pussy. He slides the wide base of his palm back and forth along my pussy, creating a delicious warm friction that has my hips moving and makes me hump his hand.
He pushes a second finger into me, curling both digits and watching as another cry breaks from my throat.
The final straw is the rough pad of his thumb rubbing circles into my clit. The orgasm that’s been rising through me like a rocket finally blasts off. An eruption of tingles shoots through my body, born in my sensitive pussy, spreading to the rest of me.
He rips the duct tape off in time for my cry of pleasure. His fingers remain deeply entrenched inside me as my pussy pulsates and I’m lost to bliss for several seconds.
“Krasivyy? * ,” he whispers.
It’s a while before I come down enough to realize he still hasn’t stopped staring at my face.
I’m panting looking back up at him, hot and flustered. Distantly, I’m aware he’s given me the strongest orgasm I’ve had… in a very, very long time.
Neither of us get a chance to say another word to each other.
A loud boom rings out from the front of the apartment. It’s the door busting open and the stampede-like pounding of half a dozen sets of footsteps.
“POLICE! Everyone on the ground!”
* ? Ty vyglyadish’ krasivo, devochka - you look beautiful, girl
* ? Oni plokho podgotovleny. Oni trusy, kotoryye ostavili etu devushku v pokoye. Ona nichto. Nikakoy ugrozy. - They are ill prepared. They are cowards who left this girl alone. She is nothing. No threat.
* ? Niet - No
* ? Derzhis’, otets. - hold on, father
* ? Krasivyy - beautiful