Chapter 11
G regor
It had taken all my control not to pull out my cock and fuck her hard and deep the moment I had her bent over the counter. Especially with that small pink heart tattoo on her upper right ass cheek.
Christ.
I needed to stay focused around this woman.
She may have looked innocent and sweet, but I now knew better.
She was smart as a whip and cunning.
And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I found it arousing as hell.
Damn, I loved this spirited side to her… even as I seduced it into submission.
Still, I had made the mistake of thinking her biddable once and almost lost her.
I wouldn’t be making that same mistake again.
After shutting the door, I rapped my knuckles on the limo roof to signal to John, my driver for the night, to proceed. I had already given him instructions to under no circumstances lower the divider.
As the limo pulled away from the curb, I took a minute to study her, my little captured bird.
She had shuffled to the opposite end of the limo and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her small ballet slipper clad feet peeking out from underneath rows and rows of pink ruffles.
Since the museum gala was a formal function, I probably should have let her put on high heels, but I liked the feeling of towering over her slight form. Dominating her in every way.
She still looked younger than her years.
And vulnerable.
Fear did that to a person.
I was excellent at reading people. I knew the soft touch approach with her would never have worked. She would have seen it as a weakness. What Samara needed was a firm hand, literally.
Besides, building loyalty and trust took time and patience.
I had neither.
Fear was faster and just as effective.
I needed her to be off-balance. Needed her to not know how all the pieces were moving around the board.
If she knew the complete picture, she could take advantage of the situation.
Information was power. Keeping Samara fully informed was unacceptable.
She would only know what I chose to tell her and no more.
I knew I was being too hard on her, but I didn’t give a damn.
I was punishing her for the embarrassment she had caused me and my family over the last three years.
It was difficult to save face with our criminal connections when we couldn’t bring two young women to heel.
Fortunately, that was all over now. After tonight, word would spread that Samara Federova was in my possession…
to have and to hold from this day forward till death do us part.
I flipped up the side console panel, grabbed a glass, and dropped a few ice cubes in it. Tonight's victory didn't call for cheap vodka, so I lifted the whiskey decanter and poured myself a generous portion. Savoring the warm fire as it coursed down my throat, I watched her.
How the pulse in her neck throbbed with every hesitant breath. The white of her teeth as she bit down on her full lower lip. How her fingers played with the edge of the crinoline.
The flush on her cheeks. Was it from fear or desire? Perhaps both.
“Come here,” I ordered.
Samara looked at me, her beautiful green eyes wide and bright.
“Don’t make me ask again,” I warned, keeping my voice low and controlled.
Samara swallowed nervously, unfolded her legs, and slid along the upholstered seat towards me, stopping a few feet away.
“Closer.”
I could see the hesitation in her movements as she slowly responded to my command.
As her body slid further on the seat, it pushed the fabric of her skirt up higher, exposing her trim thighs.
I could not help smiling when, noticing the direction of my gaze, she immediately pushed the skirt back into place.
Finally, she was within arm’s length. Without giving it much thought beyond the fact that I wanted to, I snatched her around the waist and placed her on my lap.
Her small hands balled into fists as she pushed them against my chest. One look from me and she quieted down. I liked that. Liked that we were already at the point where she would respond to non-verbal commands.
I pushed her wavy reddish-brown hair to the side and ran two fingers over her exposed shoulder, feeling her inhaled gasp as much as hearing it.
The neckline of the dress was perfect on her where it gently cupped and lifted her beautiful breasts.
Just enough to fill a man’s hands. From my vantage point, I could see the shadow of her cleavage, smell the musk of the perfume I had placed there not moments before.
Shifting slightly, I placed my right arm securely around her waist. My left hand slipped under her dress to move up the side of her right thigh. Her skin felt warm and soft. From the determined set of her jaw, I knew she could feel the press of my hardening cock beneath her ass.
“If you promise to be a good girl, I will tell you where we are going,” I offered, breaking the silence.
She didn’t respond.
I squeezed her thigh. Samara’s mouth opened on another gasp as alarmed eyes rose to clash with my own.
“Will you tell me if your brother has Yelena?”
“No.”
“Will you at least promise me your brother won’t hurt her?”
“I am not my brother’s keeper, so no. Now are you going to promise to be a good girl?”
“Fine! I promise,” she sputtered angrily.
“Temper, little one,” I warned. I could tell she was chafing at having my bit between her teeth.
Samara tilted her head and gave me a false smile. “Fine. I promise,” she said in a high falsetto voice dripping with sarcasm.
Minx.
“We are headed to the Art Institute. There is a gala celebrating the early female artists of the impressionist movement. I thought you would enjoy it.”
It would also be the perfect time to parade my bride in front of some influential business associates.
My plans had been delayed. It was time to get them back on track.
I might as well stay in Chicago for a few meetings and events to solidify my claim on Samara before returning to D.C.
to face her father. I didn’t trust the man to have not tried to make other arrangements for her hand over these last few years, despite taking and spending my money.
With luck, the news that I had found—and claimed—Samara would reach her father before our return to the East Coast, squashing any plans he may have made otherwise.
Plus, I had to admit, I was looking forward to walking the galleries with someone who appreciated art as much as I did.
I didn’t exactly associate with the type of people who liked to discuss the use of light and shadow in an artist’s work.
Most assumed I collected art because it was an easy way to launder huge sums of money.
It suited my purposes to let them think that.
The truth was, I enjoyed looking at paintings.
I was in awe of anyone who had the talent to put paint to canvas.
Tonight, we’d be viewing an Impressionist exhibit, a particular favorite time period of mine.
Judging by her work, I suspected the Impressionists were also influential on Samara’s style as well.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I hoped it would soften her towards me and my intentions. I may have been a monster in forcing her hand in marriage but that didn’t mean I planned to make her miserable for the rest of her life. Quite the contrary.
Her cute brow furrowed. I knew I was confusing her. In order for her to be the doting bride, I needed to be the perfect fiancé. This was all just a game, and we all had our parts to play.
“You are to stay by my side at all times. It’s time you started fulfilling your responsibilities as the fiancé of an Ivanov. If you try to leave, there will be consequences.” I grabbed her chin and turned her face to mine. “Do I need to explain to you what those consequences will be?”
She shook her head vehemently no, breaking my grasp.
“Is that all you want from me?”
“Oh malyshka, I haven't even begun to take all that I want from you.”
* * *
After entering the museum, we made our way up the grand staircase and across the Alsdorf Gallery, which was filled with Himalayan and Asian art. Placing my hand on her lower back, I guided Samara to the right, into the Sculpture Court where the invitation said they would serve cocktails.
I took two glasses of champagne from a passing server and handed her one. “This is your only glass for the night, so sip it.” I pretended not to see the face she pulled at my heavy-handed command.
We casually strolled among the Greek and Roman marble statues as I nodded to the occasional passing acquaintance.
“Aren’t you worried someone may recognize me as Gwen Stevens?” she asked. There was a slight cheeky quality to her smile. The crowd had emboldened her, made her think she was safe from my advances, my discipline. The little one thought she had caught me in a miscalculation. How cute.
Looking to my left and right, to make sure the rest of the guests were more concerned with their own conversations, I turned my attention to Samara.
Taking one step, then another, I forced her to back away.
I kept stalking her till I cornered her in one of the smaller, unoccupied rooms off the main hallway displaying early American art.
Deliberately dominating her with my superior height, I leaned down.
“Failing to recognize the skill of your opponent. Rookie mistake,” I teased, knowing it would get a rise out of her.
Her green eyes flashed. “Why you—”
I raised an eyebrow, practically daring her to make a scene.
Her knuckles turned white from her fierce grip on her champagne flute as I watched her master her emotions.