Chapter 5 - Avraam
Carrying her up the stairs, tight against my body as she fought like a wild cat—it sparked desire deep inside me. Desire that I am trying desperately to push aside as I stand next to the bed right now and stare at her.
Those wide, bright eyes. Her lips flushed pink. Bright cheeks and heaving chest as she tries to catch her breath. I watch her breasts as they rise and fall.
She is terrified. Her body is shaking.
It bothers me to see her this way. I didn’t want to scare her like this. I don’t like the idea of her being so distraught.
I watch her for a long time and her breathing begins to change.
It looks as though she is starting to calm down.
Outside in the garden I thought she was going to give herself a heart attack she was so scared. I have never seen someone fight that hard before. She was in blind panic. Lashing out at everything after Royce managed to catch her. She was fighting as though her life depended on it. There was something so intense in her eyes, it was as though she knew something I didn’t know.
I guess fear does different things to different people.
Royce was too hard on her though. I saw him slap her as I was running towards them, and he had his hand locked around her throat. She had a right to be scared with the way he was handling her. I know she was fighting back, but he should have been able to restrain her without hurting her. I will have to speak to him about that. I think that might be the reason she panicked so much.
At least he caught her.
I almost lost her.
She is so much more resourceful and so much smarter than I thought.
I can’t believe she managed to pick the bedroom lock. How the hell did she even do that? I suppress the smile that wants to spread across my face because I am impressed by her yet again.
My eyes graze over her body.
She has her legs curled against her chest and tears spilling down her cheeks, wetting her thick dark eyelashes. The tears make her eyes glitter.
Her tears bother me. The fact that she is this scared bothers me. I want to comfort her. I have a deep need to reassure her that no one will hurt her.
I want to protect her—from what though—from myself?
Why the fuck am I wanting to protect her now? She is just a tool.
I clench my jaw.
My fists are also clenched tightly at my side.
Turning my back on her for a moment, I try to pull my thoughts together.
She is just a tool. Nothing more. She is not someone I care about. She is a means to an end. I should not even be considering her emotions.
Fuck. What is wrong with me ?
I turn back to look at her. Ensuring my face is blank and emotionless, not hinting at anything going on inside my thoughts.
“Do not try to escape again,” I say sternly.
Her eyes flash wide. She tilts her chin up, her mouth tight, her expression one of pure defiance. I admire her ability to show strength when she is clearly terrified.
“Let me go and you can have whatever you want. Money? Business? What did you take me for? What are you going to ask for?” she says, clear and crisp. Her voice not trembling at all.
I tilt my head, a smile of amusement on my lips.
“Anything I want? And you have the power to make that happen—little butterfly? Colorful and bright, the social queen with all the power in the world.” I taunt her—acting as though she is the one in control in this conversation.
“My brothers are very powerful.”
“I know who your brothers are, Ruslana Kuznetsov,” I say and watch her expression change for a brief moment, giving away her feeling of surprise, which she quickly hides again.
“If you know who my brothers are—then you know that they will come after you,” she snaps back.
“They can try,” I shrug, folding my arms across my chest. “You’ve seen my security, well, a portion of it. There is more where that came from. I doubt your brothers even know where you are anyway.”
I walk around the bed to the other side and she shifts across it, away from me again. This game is amusing to me, I like interacting with her when she isn’t scratching and clawing at my face.
“Who are you?” she demands. Her eyes tracing up and down my body.
Should I tell her? It doesn't make any difference. She can’t get out of here. It’s not like she can contact anyone outside.
“My name is Avraam and all you need to know about me is that you are my prisoner. And I am the one who has you captive.”
She bites her bottom lip, deep in thought as she stares at me through narrowed eyes.
“Avraam,” she says, after a moment, slowly stretching her legs out in front of herself, relaxing her body. “What is your surname?”
I snort laughter. She thinks I am going to answer that.
She runs her hand over her thighs, rubbing her legs. “I think I hurt my leg earlier.” She runs her hands slowly up and down, drawing my attention to her body.
I clench my jaw. I know what she is doing.
When she sees me watching, she tilts her head back and pushes her chest out, lifting her arms and running her fingers through her hair, brushing it up into a high pony, twisting it and showing off her long slender neck.
She is moving slowly, seductively, using her body as a distraction.
“You’re really strong.” The corner of her mouth curls into a mischievous grin. She twirls her hair and pulls it over one shoulder, playing with the blonde curls. “I was surprised at how easily you carried me inside here.”
“Is that so?” I say, sarcastic and unamused. I will not fall for this tactic. I am not so blind and desperate that she can use her body to negotiate with me.
“We can talk about this—and maybe you can let me go. I doubt you want the hassle of having to deal with me anyway. I’m sure there are other ways to get you whatever it is you want,” she purrs.
“It’s not going to work, Ruslana.” I pull my mouth tight, my eyes tracing up and down her gorgeous figure, blatantly looking at her and indicating that I know exactly what she is trying to do.
She notices my disinterest and immediately her body language shifts.
She is clearly annoyed that it didn’t work. She huffs loudly and folds her hands across her chest.
I’m annoyed that I couldn’t pull my eyes off her while she was being so blatantly flirtatious.
My body responds to her even when my mind is fully aware that her seduction is a tactic.
“Ruslana—“
“Just let me go!” she screams suddenly. Enraged that she couldn’t trap me with her cunning plan. “I demand that you let me go right now. Who the hell do you think you are? I am a Kuznetsov. No one treats me like this." She stands up on the bed, glaring down at me with a ferocious look in her eyes.
My body ignites with desire. Her temper turning me on ten times more than her fake seduction. Because this is real. This is raw and nothing about this is fake.
I move closer to her—picturing myself grabbing her and pinning her, face down on the bed. Spreading her legs and taking her from behind.
“Stop this immediately,” I snarl at myself, not even talking to her. I don’t want to think about her like that. I would never do that to a woman. I would never be with someone who was not willing.
How the fuck is she even making me consider that?
“I will get away. I won’t stop trying. You can do whatever the hell you want to try and keep me here, but I will escape!” she shouts with determination.
This is enough. I’ve let her get away with this outburst for too long.
She is making me behave in ways that are not normal for me. I am not that person.
I reach across the bed and she tries to dodge me, but I’m faster, and stronger. I grab her leg and tug her towards me. She loses her balance and lands on her butt on the bed. As I drag her in my direction, her skirt pulls up over her hips.
I clench my jaw. Don’t even look. Don’t even think about it.
I grab her wrist, my body exploding with desire.
She is right at the edge of the bed and fighting hard again.
I have to use my body to hold her down, feeling her rock and twist beneath me, her skirt still high on her hips, her thin, beautiful lace panties not hiding anything. I can smell her skin.
Like fields of wild jasmine and dark, musk roses. It seeps into my pores and my insides are melting, begging, pleading me to take her.
I have to put an end to this—now.
It’s already gone too far.
I reach into my back pocket and find what I’m looking for.
Slapping a pair of handcuffs on her wrist—I attach the other side to the very solid bed frame and lean away from her, taking a deep breath.
She shifts and wiggles, crying out in horror. She pulls her skirt down, trying to cover her body now that I have stepped back, off the bed.
Ruslana kneels there—glaring at me with hate.
“Let me go!” she screams, tugging at the cuffs, wincing as they cut into her wrists.
“I can’t do that. And seeing as you are so determined not to co-operate—I will be watching over you myself. I won’t be letting you out of my sight. I don’t want you fluttering away during the night.”
My cock is pulsing, throbbing and threatening to swell against my pants and give away the desire burning inside me. I can’t let her see that because then she will know the effect she has on me and she will try to use it again.
I refuse to let her control me in any way whatsoever.
No woman has ever made me lose control like I almost did now, and she will not either.
I am not the kind of guy who thinks with his dick. It’s not going to start happening now. I don’t need to do that to feel like a man.
I sigh in intense frustration and turn my back on her. Pacing around the room until my body feels like it belongs to me again. Like I am the one in charge of how it responds.
Then I unbutton my shirt and tug it from my body, shrugging it off my shoulders, tossing it onto the back of a chair nearby.
I kick off my shoes and remove my belt. Focusing on my breathing, not paying any attention to her.
I have to regain my composure before I climb into that bed.
“What—what are you doing?” she asks with fear in her voice.
I’m not doing what she thinks I’m doing. Even though I want to. Just for a moment—I want to lose control like that. I want to be that dark that sinister. Because I want to feel her against me. I want to take her. Own her. Experience her.
Stop .
I demand, fighting my own thoughts.
“I told you. I’m going to be watching over you myself.”
I tug the blankets aside and climb into the bed, pulling them back over myself.
“You’re sleeping in here?” she stammers in shock.
“Correct.”
“In this bed?” she whines, fighting tears and anger.
“Correct. Now stop talking. You may as well get some rest. There is no point in being tired. I’d hate to see your grumpy side,” I say sarcastically.
She lets out a huff of annoyance.
I roll onto my side with my back facing her.
But I can still feel her eyes, hot on my back. She is glaring at me, full of hate, full of anger.
Well, butterfly, you can glare all you want. It isn’t going to do a damn thing to help you.
For ages, I lie there with my eyes closed but I can sense her right next to me. She’s shifted a few times, I know she is trying to wiggle her wrist free of the cuffs, but I also know that I paid a lot of money for inescapable handcuffs for a reason. I can sleep peacefully knowing she is secure.
Except—I can ’ t sleep. I keep thinking about her. Her delicate lace panties.
The curve of her hips.
Those luscious lips tinted pink.