Chapter 9 – Celine
My wrist hurt, my waist ached, but I wasn’t concerned about the pain as I lay in bed that night. I stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, my thumb grazing my lower lip.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. It was sudden, unexpected, and dangerously intense. The charge in the atmosphere should’ve prepared me for the event. Yet I was caught off guard.
I should’ve resisted.
I should’ve pushed him away.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
The kiss left me craving more; it ignited a flame that almost consumed me. My body melted the second our lips collided, my pulse raced quicker than it ever had, and my heart stopped for a moment.
I only realized that I hadn’t been breathing after he stepped away from me. That self-satisfied grin on his face seemed like a mockery. And although it pissed me off, it still didn’t erase the feeling stirred up within me.
I hated how much my body craved this man. Even hours after the kiss, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. What occupied my thoughts was the different ways things would’ve turned out if he hadn’t stepped away when he did.
Considering the amount of heat spreading across my body at the time, if the kiss had gotten deeper, I may or may not have fallen into bed with him. That’s how horny I was.
It was embarrassing. But it was the truth.
I rolled over to the other side of the bed and clutched a pillow to my chest. My thighs brushed against each other in reaction to the tingling sensation between my legs.
My nipples were hard and erect, and my heart was pounding heavily. The more I imagined what could’ve happened but didn’t, the hornier I became. When my fingers pinched my peaks deliciously, a soft moan fell from my lips.
I felt the irresistible urge to touch myself, and before I could even react to the thought, my hand was already sliding down my tunnel.
No, don’t do it. Don’t go down that road, my inner voice of reason warned me.
Ignoring the warning, I slipped my hand into my panties, my fingers sliding along my warm, slippery entrance. “Oh, fuck,” I murmured, biting my lower lip.
The feeling was electric, and my body couldn’t help shuddering. My face was contorted in pleasure, my toes curling beneath me.
I was soaking wet.
The fact that the man who turned me on was also my captor really messed things up for me. This man had caused pain to my wrist and waist just because I interfered in his affairs.
Don’t get carried away, Celine. He’s evil.
I closed my eyes, let out a deep, long exhale, and then withdrew my hand from my panties. My fingers were glistening under the soft light, coated in the warmth of my wetness. This was proof of how deeply I was already unraveling.
Fuck.
This was all shades of wrong. I shouldn’t let this devil control my actions and my thoughts.
Too late, you already traded your freedom for that man in the basement.
Shut up, I shunned that pesky little voice in my head.
It was true. I did agree to do whatever he wanted. But in my defense, I wasn’t thinking straight at the time because I was distracted by his commanding presence. I didn’t know what he was going to do to me—I was afraid.
I rolled over to my back again, my hands flying into my hair. My fingertips massaged my temples as a myriad of thoughts crashed into each other in my head.
Unsure of what the future held for me, I could only hope for the best while expecting the worst. With men like my captor, there was no telling what he’d decide to do with me at any given time.
What was his name anyway?
I’d seen it in the ledger, but the Russian names never stuck. Besides, I was more focused on the numbers and the story they told than the names I couldn’t pronounce.
Although it sounded like…Artan Takasov.
Or was it Anton Marasov?
I wasn’t sure.
However, I knew that his first began with an “A” and his last name ended in “sov.”
I rubbed my tired eyes, pulled the sheets over my body, and lay on my side. The plan was to force myself to sleep since I didn’t have anything better to do.
It took a while and a shitload of discipline, but in the end, I fell asleep. In my dream, I was back in the library with him.
He had his arms around my waist, his lips devouring mine with an intense fervency that left me breathless. As the kiss deepened, his hand dipped beneath my underpants, and his finger slid inside.
I moaned, swooning in ecstasy.
“You belong to me, little one,” he whispered in my ear. “Spirit. Body. And soul.”
I tipped my head backward, my arms caressing his back as he kissed the nape of my neck. He palmed my tender breasts, fondling them over the fabric of my blouse.
The deeper his finger drove into me, the deeper my moans. He stared into my eyes while his hand worked its magic on my cunt.
“Say you’re mine,” he commanded. “Say it.”
I didn’t want to. But the sensation coursing through my blood was already driving me closer and closer to the edge.
“Say it.” He pushed deeper and deeper.
I bit my lower lip, holding his intense gaze as my legs trembled beneath me. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them.
“You know you want to.” His lips curled into a faint smirk. “Say it, little one. Say it.”
“I’m yours!” I finally gave in.
That’s when I opened my eyes with a quiet gasp. It was a dream. Yes. It wasn’t real. Nevertheless, the man sitting across from me was real, as real as the heart hammering in my chest.
He didn’t say a word. He just sat there in silence, legs crossed on the sofa before my bed.
I blinked a few times to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. Sadly, I wasn’t. My breath hitched in my throat as I wondered whether I’d moaned out loud. Before, if I had, then he must’ve heard me.
An invisible veil of shame draped over my face, but I maintained a neutral expression.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked, my voice shaky but calm.
Silence.
My attention flicked toward the bowl on the stool beside him and the small towel around his neck. Tonight, he wasn’t dressed in a suit, just a pair of black pants and a white singlet that hugged him like a second skin.
His ash-brown hair, still neat as ever, caught the soft light, a few strands framing his face. His large muscles were exposed, his broad chest bulging from underneath his singlet.
The man’s hot body sent heatwaves spreading across mine. When he rose to his feet, I stared up at him with a racing pulse.
“Sit up,” he said, his voice calm but authoritative.
I hesitated before doing as I was told, with my back against the headboard. He dipped the towel in the bowl of water, wrung it, and then sat on the edge of the bed.
Confused, I watched him lift the hem of my top just enough to reveal the blemish behind my waist. He shifted my body slightly for a better view and then placed the wet towel on the affected area.
It was warm and soothing.
He spent the next few minutes massaging it until the pain gradually vanished. Like magic. When he was done, he returned the towel to the bowl and met my gaze.
“Hold out your hand.”
I knew which one he meant, and I obeyed.
He took my wrist, tilting and rolling it gently while examining it with the eyes of a professional.
“Aww.” I winced at a pain I couldn’t endure.
He paused, as though he’d just found what he was looking for. Without looking at me, he used both his thumbs to administer the best and most relaxing wrist massage I’d ever had.
I didn’t want him to stop—that’s how good it was. For the first time, I didn’t see a cruel monster. Instead, I saw a physician, whose touch was gentle, steady, and soothing. The way he worked with practiced ease reminded me of the time he bandaged that man’s injured arm.
I saw the humanity in him tonight, and it warmed my heart in ways it shouldn’t. How could someone be an administrator of both pain and pleasure at the same time? He’d done this to me. Yet here he was, fixing the damage he’d caused.
Should I be worried, angry, or glad?
What did this gesture mean for me?
Was I still just a prisoner or something more?
As the silence stretched on for eternity, tension hovered in the air. I felt the intimacy between us, like a mistake neither of us was willing to make. I noticed the scar that cut along his cheekbone. It was faint. But it added to his ruggedness.
There was a story behind that, and maybe, just maybe, someday I might hear it.
“All done,” he murmured as he rose to his feet.
I flexed my wrist and could hardly feel the pain anymore. At this point, I wasn’t sure whether to thank him or act like I didn’t care.
He picked up the bowl and walked away without saying a word. At the door, he glanced back at me for a moment before stepping out.
I let out a quiet exhale after the door shut behind him, my heart pounding like a drum. He was gone, but his scent still lingered in the air—heavy and intoxicating.
Confused, I was torn between fear and the ache that I couldn’t explain. I wasn’t sure what I was in this mansion anymore, and the need to find out scared the shit out of me.