Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
ARTEM
"I 'm okay, I can get myself—" Her words cut off as I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder, and turned to walk out of the house. The heat of her body burning through the fabric of my suit.
She beat her closed fists against my back as I carried her out, screaming at me to put her down or else, each blow as ineffective as a butterfly's wings beating against stone.
"Or else what, princess?" The endearment was mocking, but the possessiveness behind it was real, and that unsettled me.
"I swear to God I will end you." Her threat was adorable. Like an angry kitten trying to roar like a lion.
"Keep acting like a brat, and I will treat you like one. I don't care who sees." My hand rested on the curve of her ass, fingers splayed wide, claiming ownership.
It was a lie. I absolutely wanted to spank her tight little ass to teach her a lesson, to watch as my handprint bloomed red on her flesh, but I would be damned if anyone else saw her like that.
She was mine to punish. Mine to protect. Mine.
One quick slap to her ass in the far-too-short, cheap black skirt was enough to silence her protests as I carried her to the helicopter. The sound of my palm against her flesh was satisfying, the slight sting in my hand nothing compared to the shock that went through her body.
"If you throw up in here, you’re cleaning it up," I warned as we took off, the vibration of the helicopter no doubt adding to the sensations coursing through her body.
Not even ten minutes later, we landed on the roof of one of the best hotels in the DC area. The concierge met me on the roof with my room key in his hand, his face carefully blank as he took in the sight of the disheveled, beautiful woman slung over my shoulder.
Vladan must have called ahead.
I made a mental note to give him a raise.
"Sir, we have the presidential suite ready for you and your...companion." The man recovered quickly enough that I'd let it slide. "Is there anything you will be requiring?"
"Send up a full coffee service and bread. My companion has had far too much to drink." My tone brooked no questions, and he nodded hastily.
"Yes, sir, and might I recommend a bottle of our signature hangover cure? It will surely help the young lady in the morning." His eyes flicked briefly to Viktoria's exposed legs in the short skirt before returning to my face, a mistake he realized immediately as my expression darkened.
I gave him a terse nod, and he showed us to the room, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.
The suite was spacious enough, a sitting area with sofas and a desk, and a large king-size bed in the separate bedroom. This would do nicely. The thought of her sprawled across those silk sheets, her hair fanned out like dark flames, sent a jolt of heat through my body.
Viktoria was over my shoulder again, and her fight had come back. She struggled against my hold, her body writhing against mine in a way that tested my control. I put her down, then placed my hands on her thin, delicate shoulders and directed her into the very bright, white bathroom, my fingers digging into her soft flesh just enough to guide her.
"Strip," I demanded, my voice rough with an emotion I refused to name.
"What? No! I'm not going to strip for you. Who do you think you are?" Her cheeks flushed with anger, her eyes flashing defiance even as her body swayed slightly.
Her words were still heavily slurred, but the fire behind them was unmistakable.
"Suit yourself." I picked her back up and sat her in the large claw-foot tub. She scrambled to get up, her movements panicked and desperate, but I turned the shower tap on full blast, ice-cold spray hitting her like tiny needles.
She redoubled her efforts to escape the tub, only to slide back down the porcelain each time, her wet clothes clinging to every curve of her body, outlining it in excruciating detail.
If I hadn't been so pissed off, it might have been funny.
Instead, it was...something else entirely.
"How dare you," her screech bouncing off the marble walls as she pushed wet hair from her face, mascara running down her cheeks in dark rivulets.
"How dare I?" I laughed, a hot rage settling in my gut, spreading through my veins like poison. "How dare you. I was pulled from an important meeting because you were being careless and putting yourself in danger."
"I was not—" Her protest was weak, her words wavering under the shower spray.
"You're drunk, dressed like a slut, and surrounded by frat boys whose only mission in life is to get their dick wet." I may have yelled a little louder than I intended, but she had pissed me off more than her father ever had.
Rage colored my words, and I didn't mean them. Not entirely.
She actually looked beautiful, her chestnut hair down in soft waves, now plastered to her neck and shoulders. The skirt was short, and cheap, but with the white button-down top, it looked sexy in a dirty librarian kind of way. And that was before the shirt got wet, the fabric practically transparent, revealing every inch of skin beneath.
"Why do you care?" she shot back, her body shivering from the cold water, goose bumps rising on her exposed flesh.
That was a very good question, but not one I was prepared to answer.
Not to her, not to myself.
"Because you are my responsibility." It wasn't technically a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.
"No, I'm not. You're not my father. I don't even know you. What gives you the right to embarrass me like that?"
Despite the water, despite the alcohol, her words were stronger now, laced with a defiance that made my blood boil and my dick throb.
"No, I'm not your father. I am the man who put him down like the rabid dog he was."
I lowered myself down so I could look her in the eye, grabbing her arm as I pulled her toward me, my fingers encircling her wrist like a manacle. "I am the man who controls you. Remember that the next time you decide to act like a brat. I won't just pull you from the party, I will put you over my knee and spank you until you learn how to behave."
"You wouldn't," she growled, fire in her eyes.
The flush of pink that started on her cheeks traveled down her neck and disappeared under the soaked fabric that clung to her chest, or at least it would have if the white fabric wasn't so flimsy and now completely see-through.
She wasn't even wearing a bra. Her dark-pink, taut nipples poked through her shirt, beaded and hard from the cold water, and I had the urge to wrap my lips around them until she screamed my name, to taste the water and her skin and mark her as mine.
Images of her with that skirt up around her waist as she rode my thigh and I devoured her tits flashed through my head. My cock pulsed with need, straining against the confines of my expensive pants.
"Little girl, there is so much I could do to you. So many things," I said, my voice a rough caress that had her shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.
She rose up on her knees, her body closer to mine, cold water still raining down on her, and her bottom lip shivered a little, plump and inviting.
"Why do you care?" she asked, barely audible over the spray of the shower. A drop of water sat just above the dip in her perfect cupid's bow lip, trembling there like a crystalline offering.
I wanted to reach out with my tongue and taste it, taste her, claim her mouth until she surrendered.
"I thought you came here to learn not to be stupid," I growled.
I grabbed her hair and pulled it back, forcing her to look up at me, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat. The wet strands wrapped around my fingers like silk ropes.
She met my eyes, her breath catching. This time, it wasn't fear that gripped her. The darkening of her pupils, the parting of her lips, the subtle arch of her body toward me—that was desire, raw and undeniable, mirroring the hunger that clawed at my insides.