Chapter 7
“It’s time for a bath.”
VALENTINA
Idon’t know what to make of this yet. Any of it.
This eccentric woman and her crow are diverting me from how Roman hasn’t unlocked my shackles. And the mouth-watering smell of my food.
I want to trust the woman before me. Like Mary Poppins. Well, if Mary Poppins were Russian and had a crow instead of a talking umbrella parrot. Wait, that’s a memory, right?
She’s all crisp lines and unflappable posture, her gray-blonde hair swept into a long braid. The crow blinks at me, clicking its beak like it’s judging me. Probably is. Hell, if I were a crow, I’d judge me too.
Zina—the house matron, Roman said—pats the crow with two fingers. Zina’s eyes still haven’t left mine. Her deadpan is perfect.
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “So, if I ever have a corpse to hide, I assume you’re the one I should call?”
She cocks her head, smile curving like a blade, and turns to Roman, eyes gleaming. “Ona mne ochen’ nravitsya, Roman. Horoshiy vybor.”
I really wish she came with subtitles.
I turn to Roman, lifting a brow but frowning until he winks at me. “She likes you.”
A proud heat flushes me. I don’t even consider how I must look right now. If she appreciated my quip, it’s enough to cancel out my wounded pride.
Zina turns back to me, all grace and menace. “Just ring the bell in the corner, my lady. I have a host of locations we can dump a body on this island. It would be my pleasure.”
I flash a slow, sly smile and glance over at Roman. “Even if it’s my husband’s?”
He lifts his brows, inclining his head like a smug bastard, lips twitching into an arrogant grin.
Zina doesn’t miss a beat. She turns to Roman and says something else in Russian. And then…“You better not let this one get away. She’s got teeth.” She turns back to me one last time. “I assure you, he’s much prettier breathing. But I’m certain you’ll have him on his back in no time, my sweet.”
Roman smirks. “She can try.”
I lift my chin, half-tempted to stick out my tongue. “I don’t try, moya korol. I do.”
His laughter rings low and rich, chest lifting beneath his tailored shirt, silver-gold hair glinting as if he belongs in a painting. He looks too good for a man with chains on his wife.
“Until you ring…” Zina finishes and exits, Shalun still perched like a sentinel.
Roman moves toward me, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world—and all of it belongs to him.
I feel my body respond. It’s infuriating. My breath quickens, my skin tingles. And the memory of his mouth on me flares in my core.
“You going to let me go now?” I arch a brow.
“Not yet,” he says, smooth as silk. “My wife’s health and well-being come first. In my dauntless effort to ensure you don’t exert yourself, I shall feed you myself.”
My eyes roll so hard, I swear I see another dimension. “You’re ridiculous.”
He leans down, brushing a thumb beneath my lower lip. “No. I’m dominant.”
“Have you always been this—” I pause, eyes narrowing, trying not to melt. “—like this?”
He smiles wickedly. “Yes. And you don’t want a passive man.”
“And I’m supposed to trust that you understand my needs, my wants?”
His eyes burn into mine. “Without equivocation, Moya Koroleva. I am the master of this house. I am lord, king, and Czar. You are my lady, my queen, and Czarina. I can think of no higher calling than for a king to put his queen’s safety, her welfare, and happiness—her desires—above all other duties.
In my case, it is not merely duty. It is an honor to look upon you, to care for you, to meet your needs—including the ones you do not even know. And in ways you can’t even imagine.”
He leans in, voice dark velvet. “Now. Be a good girl and let me feed you, Valentina.”
I would slap him—if not for the cuffs.
Instead, I swallow the moan as he presents the plate like an offering.
Black sturgeon caviar glistens like obsidian pearls atop warm, buttered blini.
Luxurious sour cream melts at the edges.
Sirniki, soft and golden, rest beneath a drizzle of honey that catches the light like liquid sunlight.
A porcelain cup of kopi luwak steams gently. It smells like money and sin.
I request the tea first, and Roman obliges. He is criminally good at this, seeming to know just how to move, how much to give me.
After the tea, he feeds me a bite. My lips close around the blini, the tang and butter exploding on my tongue. I chew, swallow, and hiss when his fingers brush a sensitive spot at the inside of my thigh.
The bastard grins.
He feeds me more. Each time, he trails his knuckles across sensitive places. Light touches, teasing—just enough to remind me that he’s in control of my body, my appetite, my everything.
And the worst part?
I eat. Every damn bite. I moan sometimes. And sigh, hating myself a little.
Because something in me knows that all of this is wrong. I should resist him. Fight. Claw. Tear the room apart.
But something else, something deeper than blood and bone, wants to kneel before him.
After I finish the last bite, he finally unlocks the shackles.
But before I can even stretch my arms, he scoops me up into his arms, stealing my breath. His body, his chest, is like a slabbed fortress of muscle.
“Where are you taking me?” I whisper, heart thundering.
His voice is a promise carved in stone. “It’s time for a bath.”
It’s not a bath.
It’s more like a hot tub on steroids.
The bathroom is a cathedral of stone, marble, and steam.
My breath catches as Roman carries me through the arched doorway. The tub is carved directly into the marble floor, the white stone gleaming beneath the golden light.
Thick steam curls from the surface, and I breathe in the fragrance of the rose petals, reds and soft pinks across the surface. The water glows faintly, reflecting light from the high sconces above. My worn body aches for it.
But the view captivates me most.
The far wall is entirely glass. Three massive panes stretch nearly floor to ceiling.
Just beyond them, the Alaskan wilderness unfolds with a sea of evergreens standing sentinel on the clifftop, needles coated in frost. The gray Bering Sea churns below, so alive, crashing against the cliff face.
The morning sunlight glistens off the surf, turning the caps as white as snow.
I stare, throat tightening.
It’s like standing on the edge of the world.
Roman sets me down with infuriating care beside the bath. My shackled heart clenches. All this primal beauty…it suits him.
“Was this inherited or did you earn it?” I wonder softly.
“Oh, I earned it,” he says, circling behind me. “Through blood.”
So, he doesn’t just own the house. He owns the world that bleeds into it.
He owns me.
I’m so swept up in everything, I don’t notice until his hands are on my shoulders, pushing the straps down my arms, freeing me of the silk nightgown. I gasp, covering my chest with my hands until he grips my wrists and forces them down, chaining them at my belly.
“No,” he says with a dark warning, sharp and unrelenting.
“You are mine, Valentina. Every inch. If I want you naked, you will be naked. And you will not hide from me.” I shiver, tears burning my throat.
One hand chains my wrist while the other reaches up to cup my chin.
He lowers his head to purr warm breath along my face.
“In fact, you will present yourself with pride. Not one scrap of your flesh holds shame. You are more than beautiful, Moya Koroleva. You are glorious.” It leaves his mouth in thick Russian, sounding like ‘glor-ee-oos’.
His delighted and dangerous tone and his deeply hooded eyes staring with predatory intent all conspire against me, surging heat to my center.
“Now, I am going to release your hands, maya Valya. And you are free to tremble. But you will stand here while I explore my wife and praise her assets.”
I blink, lips parting. It feels like a small shockwave has detonated in my chest. I don’t know how to respond to this infuriating man who is both a gentleman and devil with a leonine gaze prowling and devouring me.
I’m shell-shocked.
After inhaling deeply, nostrils flaring, Roman’s eyes stroll down my body. My nipples stiffen while hunger coils between my legs.
I mask my fear, burning my eyes against his. Arrogant asshole just smiles. Not arrogant. Just irritating authenticity and dark masculine intent.
His breath grows labored as his eyes stroke me, and that gives me a sliver of power. I stretch that power, lifting my chin and steadying my hands at my stomach. But when he opens his mouth, I hold my breath, heart in my throat.
“Every goddess who has ever walked the earth would shudder with the greatest envy at the sight of you, Valentina Makarova.”
I force my knees to remain strong, though my heart pounds.
“An exquisite, wondrous creature,” he remarks, circling me, folding his hands behind his back. “Since you cannot remember me, I am duty and honor-bound to inform you of my undying admiration and devotion, including a thorough description of your form. Particularly your most intimate regions.”
Oh, God, I hold back a moan.
“Flawless skin. Frost and lace. Graceful curves,” he goes on, his breath ghosting along the side of my face.
“Not too subtle, not too much. The greatest artists of time would have begged for the honor to capture your contours and lines and immortalize them in marble, paint, or ink. This hair…” He fingers the ends of my waves, his knuckles brushing the small of my back.
“Golden silk. Aphrodite herself would have spent a century hoping to replicate it.”
“Or she could just shave my head and make her own wig,” I counter, yelping when he smacks my ass.
“Hush. I did not give you permission to speak.” He cups my bottom, and I feel his brutal intensity.
“Excuse you!”
“Silence!” he snarls and digs his fingers into the one cheek, snuffing my breath.
When I swing around, hand raised to strike, Roman catches my wrist and cocks his head, feral. Fear rushes through me right before he swings me around, forces me up against the nearest sink, and brings his hand down, slamming his palm against my ass.
“Ow! Fuck, what was that fo—”
“You ruined my worship with your insolence. And therefore, demand to be punished. Five strikes.”
Five? What the fuck? How could I have married this…beast? Or did I have a choice?
He holds me down with the power of his hand on the back of my neck. And then…he undoes his belt. Oh, hell no!
I writhe and struggle, but he pushes me harder until the rim of the sink presses against my throat, cutting off my air.
Crack!
Fire erupts, radiating on my ass, spreading outward. The hit resonates in my bones. My spine locks up, but my legs shake.
He doesn’t just spank me. He beats me. The belt snaps against my flesh once, twice, three times.
I bite my tongue, tasting blood. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see and feel his heated gaze.
There is still worship there. It’s mindless, savage, but it shows through his granite jaw and bared teeth.
He’s unleashing something. Something dark and animalistic. And though it scares the hell out of me, it also fills me with a sense of power. Like only I could have this effect on him. Only I can poke the beast enough until it breaks its cage and attacks me.
I grip the edge of the sink, fingers turning white knuckled.
My breasts grow heavy, nipples hardening and tightening more.
Wetness fills my center, slicking my pubic lips.
How can I be getting off on this? But I am.
Endorphins release pleasure chemicals, igniting my blood. I’m clenching. Aching for more.
Finally, he stops, chucking the belt to the floor.
My breath heaves and cleaves. My ass smolders. And hot liquid trickles from my opening.
He closes in, pelvis against my back, and I gasp. Oh. My. God! He’s fucking pumping iron down there. I bite back a moan.
“Hmm…” His voice is gravelly. His hand glides down my stomach as he grinds against my burning ass. I flinch. But there is no escaping the moan when he glides two fingers along my wet pussy. “Such a pretty she-demon, getting wet for her master. Gryaznaya shlyushka, Valentina. My dirty, little slut.”
One tap. One rubbing of my clit, and I buckle. He lets me fall, crashing to my knees. But then, he positions me facing him, and I am inches from that massive cock tenting the fabric. It lasts only a second before he unzips and shoves down his pants, unleashing himself.
And I’m convinced even the devil himself would break every Seven Deadly Sins at the sight of Roman Makarova’s massive, throbbing cock.