Chapter 7
I must have you for my own—entirely my own.
- Charlotte Bronte , Jane Eyre
Emma
“I wasn’t sure I could swallow.”
His eyebrow rose at my unintended sexual innuendo as his fist tightened in my hair. Despite my increasing embarrassment, I could not tear my gaze away from the growing bulge in his pants.
“ A bite! I… I… meant I wasn’t very hungry and was sure I couldn’t swallow a bite , so I left.” I quickly straightened my bangs and yanked on the collar of my sweater.
What a pathetic lie! The sardonic twist of his lips proved he didn’t believe a word I had just said.
Desperate to put some distance between him and me, I shifted my body back, ignoring the sting against my scalp as his tight grip pulled on my hair.
I reached up to grasp my ponytail at the base and after a moment he finally released it.
I scooted a few feet on my ass till I could rise with what little dignity I still possessed.
Reaching down, I picked up the stack of books I had dropped and turned my attention to the shelves.
Irrationally thinking if I ignored him, maybe he would go away.
Other women might be better at this sort of thing, but I did not have the skill set to handle a man like him.
I knew when I was out of my depth and right now I was drowning in some seriously deep, shark-infested waters.
I could feel the heat of his gaze on me.
With shaking hands, I shoved the books onto the shelves, paying no attention to their proper Library of Congress placement.
Suddenly his arm snatched my left wrist as he yanked me toward him. Unable to stop the momentum, I slammed into his chest.
He was just so… big.
Everything… and I mean everything… about him was so… big!
I wouldn’t have thought he could look more intimidating than he had last night with his naked chest, crazy muscles, and ominous tattoos on display, but somehow seeing him in a clearly very expensive suit was even more intimidating.
It made him look both big and powerful, which was yet another reason he was way out of my league, as if that hadn’t already been made clear to me last night.
Shy librarian students like me didn’t attract the attention of rich, influential men like him.
The weight of his arm wrapped securely around my waist as he lifted my left arm high. The pad of his thumb caressed the sensitive inner skin of my wrist, sending delicious shockwaves to my stomach and lower.
His voice was a low growl. “What the hell is this, Emma?”
Eyes wide, I looked from his hand ensnaring my wrist back to his face. His eyes narrowed and there was a small tic high on his right cheek. He was suddenly angry… very angry… and I could not understand why.
Nervously clearing my throat, I asked, “What do you mean?”
He lifted my wrist higher. “This! What the hell is this? Who marked you? Tell me his name.”
Realization dawned.
It had taken a moment to realize he was talking about my tattoo. “Oh! You mean the numbers?”
His answer came through clenched teeth. “Yes, baby. The numbers on your wrist. The fucking brand. Who did it?”
Brand?
It was 822.33 Q1, written in tiny typeface in purple. My one spark of rebellion in my teenage years. I knew from the news that sex traffickers often tattooed their victims with barcodes and numbers. He must think…. Oh, for heaven’s sake!
“It’s not what you think! It’s the Dewey Decimal call number for Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing .”
He did not seem convinced. His slate-grey eyes were hard and cold as he continued to glare down at me. And he did have to stare way down at me from a rather towering height. Fuck, he was tall!
“You see, Shakespeare is the only author afforded the honor of his own Dewey Decimal call number, 822.33. It’s kind of a big deal if you think about all the brilliant authors there have been over the course of history.
And the Q1 is for Much Ado About Nothing , my favorite of his plays. I just love how Beatrice…”
Dimitri pivoted, pinning me against the heavy bookshelves.
I could feel every inch of him along my frame, especially the intimidating ten inches pressed against my stomach.
His hand caressed the curve of my waist before cupping the underside of my right breast. All reason fled. My head swam. It was like someone had sucked all the air in the room into a void. Every nerve in my body fired off sparks.
Dipping his head, he nuzzled my neck while he murmured something in Russian.
“Боже мой, ты станешь моей смертью.”
It sounded like Bozhe moy, ty stanesh’ moyey smert’yu .
I would have to remember to Google it later.
Somehow I didn’t think he was in the mood for a quick language lesson.
All I knew now was it sounded sexy as hell, whatever he was saying.
There was something so dark and decadent about the Russian language, especially when he spoke it.
Releasing my wrist, his fingers wrapped around my neck, forcing my head back.
“You and I will have to come to an understanding.” His other hand punctuated his words, giving my breast a threatening squeeze as his thigh pressed between my legs, opening them.
I swallowed, feeling the press of his hand against my throat as I did so.
My fingers splayed out along the books behind me, feeling the worn leather spines against my fingertips as I was forced to rise on my toes.
My entire body now felt suspended within his grasp as my sensitive core pressed against the top of his thigh.
“There will be certain rules you will need to follow.”
“ Rules? ”
He unbuttoned the first button of my blue cardigan. “Yes, rules. Rule number one. I never want to see you down here in the stacks again.”
I shook my head, trying to focus on the crazy things he was saying through the sensual fog in my brain. “What are you talking about? I have to come here. It’s part of my work-study job.”
“No, it is too dangerous.”
He wasn’t making any sense. This was heaven to me. Alone, surrounded by books. How could this possibly be dangerous?
“Besides,” he undid several more buttons till you could see the simple lace edge of my bra, “you won’t be working from now on.”
“Not work? I can’t pay my tuition and rent as it is, and you think I can stop working? No. That’s not possible. That’s insane. I’m in enough trouble until I talk to Mr. Fitzgerald’s son about my grant money.”
A frustrated sigh escaped through his teeth. “моя крошка, you are not listening to what I’m telling you.”
“Because you are not making sense! Listen. I have to finish stacking these books. Then I have to take a train halfway across the city. I think I found where Mr. Fitzgerald’s son moved to after selling his father’s house to you.”
His eyes rose to the ceiling. “Боже, дай мне сил.”
Then both of his hands grasped the loose material of my open neckline and wrenched down, tearing the remaining buttons off. I could hear them ping as they hit the linoleum floor before scattering. He forced the cups of my bra down till it exposed my naked breasts.
My cry of alarm was cut off as his hot, wet mouth closed over one already erect nipple and pulled it deep into his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue.
My fingers clawed at the fabric covering his shoulders and upper arms. “Stop! We’re in public!”
Rarely did I see anyone down here. Usually I was the only one willing to trudge down into the dusty storage stacks, but that still didn’t mean nobody ever came down here. It was still a public space in the center of a busy university campus!
“нет, we are in a dark basement where no one will hear you scream.”
His rough hand traveled up my bare thigh to cup my sex. His finger pushed aside the silk fabric of my panties to feel my already wet cunt. I hissed from the shock and twinge of pain as he forced one finger inside of me. I was still sore from last night.
With a growl, he pulled his hand free and spun my body till I was facing the shelves. My naked breasts pressed against the soft leather spines of the books. I could feel a rush of cold air as he lifted the back of my skirt. His fingers tore at my panties, pulling them down to the tops of my thighs.
Before I could protest his brutal handling, a hot sting of pain shot through my body as his palm connected with my bare ass. The sharp sound of skin striking skin reverberated throughout the silent room.
“Ow! What are you doing?”
He spanked my ass several more times. It felt like a thousand hot needles pricking at my skin all at the same time. “You will not be going to another man’s house to beg for money. Do you understand me?”
Salty tears stung my cheeks as I tried to make sense of the warring emotions of pleasure, pain, and fear all battling inside my mind and body. “No! I don’t understand any of this!”
“You are mine now, under my protection. Any money you need will come from me and me alone.”
Even though I knew I risked his anger, I couldn’t accept that.
It would make me… make me… what he thought I was last night.
Besides, I had been on my own for too long to accept someone’s charity.
I worked to earn my way through life and I had earned that grant money.
If I couldn’t get it I would find another way.
Work longer hours at the Newberry Library.
Pick up more work-study shifts. Maybe Mary could get me a few cocktail shifts at the bar she worked at part-time.
With a burst of anger I rarely expressed out loud, I bristled. “No! I’m not your… whore!”
My mouth fell open the moment I uttered the blatantly blunt word. I couldn’t believe I’d actually just said that… and to this man!
His large hand stilled on my right ass cheek. His fingers dug into the bruised flesh as he squeezed it hard.
“Ow! That hurts!”
He gave me several more spanks till I could feel my pulse pounding under my skin as it heated and swelled from his punishment.
Grasping me by the shoulders, he flipped me around again. I hissed the moment my bare skin came into contact with the leather book spines.