Chapter 15
Nika
Shame hits on the heels of the overwhelming lust.
Humiliation burns through me from head to toe, pooling in the exact places his hand just stroked.
He catalogued the way I responded, the way I couldn’t control myself.
I hate how he regards me. I despise him with a physical intensity that stretches my skin. I loathe him for arousing me and proving that fifteen years of discipline and training mean nothing when confronted with his presence.
Worse still, I hate myself for craving his touch.
The silk stockings bite into my wrists, and I strain against them, testing their strength. They don’t give.
I’m stuck here, helpless and at his mercy.
Heat comes off Max’s body in waves as he braces himself over me.
Beneath the damp scent of melting snow, that heady, woodsy fragrance wafts through my nose, coating my throat.
His ragged breathing tells me he’s not as unaffected as he wants me to believe.
This isn’t just a ruthless demonstration of power, only his excuse for surrendering.
So why can’t we? Why not just toss everything else aside, get this out of our systems, and then go back to killing each other?
That impulse complicates the situation further as his hand moves without warning to cup my ass.
He spreads his fingers and lifts. The angle changes everything. Opens me. Exposes me. And his thumb—
Oh god.
His thumb slips under my underwear and finds my clit. His calloused fingers stroke me in skilled, surprisingly gentle patterns. A leisurely circle sparks electricity straight through my core.
While I’ve never had sex with someone else, I’ve pleasured myself plenty of times. This…is nothing like that.
At first, the loss of autonomy terrifies me. Underneath the terror, though, a hot, taboo yearning surfaces and sizzles under my skin.
Part of me yearns to surrender so he can take complete control. To finally give in and stop fighting.
The thought shatters as his thumb circles again, this time with more pressure. The sensation radiates out in waves. I curl my toes, twisting off the bed despite the restraints.
A low moan rips from my throat.
I hide my face behind my bound arms, torn between pleasure and fury. If I don’t see him, if I don’t watch his expression, maybe I can pretend I’m dreaming. Lost in some fantasy. Anything but the truth.
Damn this fucker for getting me off when I’m supposed to be killing him.
“Look at me.” His dark tone demands obedience, compelling me to comply. “Look at me, or I’ll stop.”
Bastard.
Our gazes lock, his arctic blue eyes blazing with the same dizzying vortex of hatred and desire that swirls in my core.
“Good girl.”
The words stir a shiver through me that has nothing to do with temperature. He taunts me with his praise, but my traitorous body apparently has no shame.
His thumb starts again in that same steady circle, firm and building in speed. “See? You’re enjoying this.”
As much as I long to deny him, he’s not wrong.
“Since you did what I asked, you get a reward.” He bends farther over my body.
I’ve no idea what he’s planning until his mouth closes over my nipple through the thin fabric of my tank top. Tentative at first, his tongue traces the outline before flicking over the hard peak. I jolt, a shudder running from my head to my toes.
I curve into him, unable to stop the instinctive response that presses my breast against his mouth, that begs for more without words.
He chuckles. Fucking chuckles. The sound vibrates against my breast and straight down to my pussy.
I hate this. Hate him. And I’m not going to just lie here and endure this mockery.
I tense my core, readying my legs to twist and kick, but then his teeth close around my nipple. The border between pleasure and pain short-circuits my brain and lights up every nerve ending.
My heels twitch, digging into the bed. My hips buck without conscious thought. He presses harder on my clit, the knuckles of his fingers tight against my opening.
This is so much better than anything I imagined in those dark, desperate moments alone in my bed.
Better because he’s dangerous? Because I’m not sure if I’d rather murder him or ride him until this pressure releases? Because he could kill me but instead coaxes responses from my body as if he owns it?
His mouth drifts to the other nipple, where he gives the same treatment of tongue and teeth, walking the line between too much and not enough. He sucks in, dragging the peak into his mouth.
He continues to circle that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.
I spread my knees wide, turning off my shame and granting him access.
He must sense my surrender because he lifts his head from my breast, his lip curling. “That’s it. Show me you want this.”
I grit my teeth as his thumb grinds against me. Knuckles twist, gaining access. The pleasure spikes in a sharp, near-painful burst.
I arch against the restraints digging into my wrists, welcoming the bruising sensation.
“All you have to do is ask.” His hot breath washes over my damp shirt as he nips at the edge of my breast. “Beg me. Beg me to make you come.”
Hell no.
My hips buck, rubbing his hand with desperate, brazen need. My body begs even if my mouth won’t, even if my pride refuses to shatter completely.
“Say, ‘Please, Max.’” His voice drops, adopting a seductive quality. “Say, ‘Please fuck my greedy little cunt with your fingers.’”
I bite my lip violently enough to taste copper as my hips rock harder.
“Or maybe it’s my cock you want. You were having so much fun riding it before. Beg me, and maybe I’ll give you that too.” His knuckles oscillate like a wave, causing my toes to curl again.
With every circle of his thumb, every word from his mouth, my control slips away. Each second, the pressure mounts until I’m nothing but a writhing mass of tortured desire.
This is what helplessness feels like. Not just my physical body tied to the bed with my own stockings. This is a deep, complete betrayal of my psyche. Everything I thought I was dissolves under his touch.
A muffled moan escapes my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to bear looking at him as he drives me higher and higher.
“I can make you feel so good.” His thumb eases into a stroking motion. “Beg me, and maybe I’ll play nice.”
My embarrassment should kill the arousal. Instead, every sense sharpens. Humiliation and desire feed each other until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
I’m gone, lost in an intense sensation that whites out all thought except for how I’m going to get more.
I’m so close. Right at the edge where one more stroke, one more second, one more—
Max stops and pulls away, leaving me gasping and shaking and desperate.
His voice breaks through the fog of my mind. “You didn’t beg, so I guess you don’t want to come.”
His thumb returns for one final stroke over my aching clit before he removes his hand from my panties and pats my cheek. “I win, Nika.”
My body screams, unfulfilled, the pleasure cut off right at the peak as humiliation returns full force.
What the hell was I thinking? Although my body apparently didn’t get the memo, I can’t forget that Max is the enemy.
Just wait until the tables are turned, Max. Then we’ll see who ends up begging who.
Max
I swing up off the bed, trying not to crush my hard-on as Nika trembles and curses me.
She’s already gotten enough pleasure from me in the last twenty-four hours. Riding me like that, luring me to the precipice. She was happy to take advantage while she was in control. The twisted part of me wants to know how much more she enjoys it when she’s the one on the hook.
I left her hanging on the edge of an orgasm, intentionally denying her. I knew she wouldn’t break yet, but when she does, she’ll spill all her secrets.
Despite how much I want to fuck her, she’s just a problem to solve.
I walk out of the room without a backward glance because I sure as hell won’t give her the satisfaction of glimpsing how much she affected me.
The main living area spreads out, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing nothing but white darkness. Not a single light remains on, and no soft hum of heated air blows through the vents.
First order of business is survival.
I have no idea how long the power will be out, if there are backup generators, or the quality of the insulation. Now that I don’t have Nika’s body to distract me, I’m reminded of just how cold I am.
A stack of prepped firewood sits next to the fireplace, and more logs line one wall. I grab an armful and find matches on the mantel.
Soon enough, flames crackle in the hearth, warming the living room degree by degree.
Nika’s door sits wide open, so I have a clear sight line into the bedroom. She’s still tied to the headboard, her hands useless, but she could wiggle her way under her blankets. Even from her room, she’ll also benefit from the fire’s warmth.
Every time I shift my weight, my ankle screams, but I ignore the pain as I shuffle around the house. I check each window and door to ensure this fortress is as secure as it can be.
Nika doesn’t say a word when I return to the living room carrying the bag I left in the garage. She’s silent as I shift the couch to face her bedroom door. I’m farther from the hearth this way, but considering I don’t trust her, I’d rather keep her visible.
I feed the fire some bigger logs, and the seasoned wood catches fast. Within minutes, a cheerful blaze tosses dancing shadows on the walls.
Cloaked in waves of heat, I strip off my wet clothing. My muscles protest every move, every inch of me sore from the hike and fight. At least the exhaustion that’s taking over got rid of my boner.
In just my undershirt, boxers, and socks, I lay my clothes out on the other furniture to dry and examine my injuries.
I note my hellishly scraped, chafed, and bleeding hands, the bruises littering my arms—some still red and forming, others already deep purple—and this damn ankle.
Now that I’ve shoved my boots off, I can see that the swollen one’s nearly twice the size of the other.
This sort of injury requires rest, ice, and elevation.
Too bad I’ve had enough ice and elevation to last a lifetime.
I shuffle into Nika’s room, doing my best not to reveal the state of my ankle.
As I figured, she’s used her legs to slide herself under the blanket and has wiggled enough to get her pillow positioned against the headboard.
“Are you cold?”
She presses her lips together and glares at me.
The silence stretches.
Five seconds. Ten.
“Nika?”
Apparently, she’s not going to respond.
Lifting the blankets, I pull them higher so they cover up to her chest. Considering the murderous gleam in her eyes, I stop before my hand gets close enough for her to bite.
She angles away and faces the wall.
If I had the energy to engage with her more, I would, but exhaustion wins out. Humans can push themselves beyond their limits, but eventually the body will collect a toll.
I need at least a few hours of sleep.
Scooping up my snow pants and glove, I carry them back to the living room and lay them out with the rest of my gear to dry.
Using the parka as a blanket, I sprawl out on the couch. In my chest holster, my gun hangs heavy but accessible.
Within minutes, warmth spreads over my skin and my eyes close.
I’ll deal with Nika once I’ve rested.