Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
VIKTORIYA
I don’t tell Aleksander about my throwing up. He would only look at me with disappointment, and I’m not sure I could bear it.
Since he’s busy with work during the day, I can avoid him. And when my sisters arrive to take me to the ballet that evening, it’s easy to not talk.
“Viktoriya, hold on,” he says before I leave the house.
“What? My sisters are waiting.”
He looks at me with those intense eyes of his. My heart rate spikes. Can he tell I threw up? I know I shouldn’t have, but I needed that release. I needed to feel in control.
After a beat, he steps back, “Have fun.”
“Thanks.” I hurry out the door and to the car waiting for me. Sofiya and Mila are in the backseat, while the driver—a man I don’t recognize—is in the front.
“Who’s that?” I ask, sliding in beside them.
“Mikhail’s driver,” Sofiya explains as we pull away from my house. “And guard. He understood we needed a girl’s night out, but he still wanted to make sure we were protected. After what happened to you and Mila …” She shakes her head. “Gleb is still out there. We have to be careful.”
The image of his cold face as he handed me over to be sold still haunts me.
“If he shows himself again, I’ll kill him myself,” I mutter.
“You don’t want blood on your hands, Vik,” Sofiya says softly.
“I already have blood on my hands.”
She looks away, her cheeks flushing. “That’s right. You do.”
The energy in the car is tense. Mila smiles at me, but it’s not her usual bubbly one. It’s tinged with a sadness that was only brought on by what Gleb did to her.
I nudge Sofiya’s arm. “Hey. It’s ok. It’s something we have in common. Let’s just focus on the ballet tonight.”
“Right. Ok. Let’s do that.”
The energy lightens somewhat, but it will always be dampened by what the world of the Bratva has done to us.
Walking into the theater brings back memories of my time spent in theaters, dancing, rehearsing, changing into costumes, and calming myself down until I was ready to go on stage.
Tonight, though, I’m just an observer, not a dancer.
My breath comes out faster as my heartbeat picks up. I can still feel a slight pain in my rib. My ankle isn’t as strong as it once was and probably never will be again. Is this my life from now on? Watching dance from the sidelines rather than doing it myself?
“Are you ok?” Mila asks, setting her hand on my arm.
I suck in a quick breath and straighten up. I will not lose it. Not tonight. “I’m fine. Why would you ask?”
“You didn’t look ok.”
“I always look great, Mila.” I toss my hair over my shoulder and walk on ahead. I can feel my sisters’ gazes on me, but I don’t look at them once.
We take our seats, which are close to the front but not too close. They’re ideal seats. I almost wish I was farther from the stage. If I were farther, then maybe this wouldn’t sting so much.
The show starts—Swan Lake. Typical. Watching the main dancer play both Odette and Odile, the White Swan and the Black Swan, only reminds me of the battle within myself. The need to be close to Aleksander and the need to run far away from him.
I gave him my virginity. He’s my husband; it’s expected of me. But I wanted it. I craved it. It was the best experience of my life.
And that’s why I feel ashamed. Dance was my life. I worked and breathed and lived for it for years. How can I just give it all away for a man? And not even one who comes from any status. Father would be so disappointed in me. He would have wanted me to marry a man like Mikhail—one in power. Not a worker bee like Aleksander.
I was supposed to be pure. The pure Ice Queen. Untouchable. Unfazed by anything in this world.
Yet, here I am, feeling like Odile, full of a lust and sensuality I shouldn’t be feeling.
Watching the dancers prance around the stage creates a strong yearning inside me. I’ll never be truly happy until I can dance again.
Or until I’m fully free of it.
Intermission rolls around, and the three of us get up and enter the lobby, stretching our legs.
“Interesting to see you here, Viktoriya,” a familiar female voice says. Turning around, I see Vera and her group of friends approaching us. She nods to Sofiya and Mila before directing her vicious grin on me.
“I would’ve thought you ladies would be in New York by now.” God, I’d hoped they had. The sight of Vera makes me want to stab something. Mainly Vera herself, right in the eye.
“Oh, we wanted to, but my husband had some work to do in Moscow, so we decided to stay a little bit longer. Wonderful ballet. Shame you weren’t in it. You were always such a beautiful dancer.”
A compliment from Vera? What’s the catch? “Thank you. I am a beautiful dancer.”
“Oh? I thought you gave it up!” She shares a laugh with Darya. Now, I want to stab Darya in the eye as well.
“I didn’t give it up. I had a broken ankle, which is all healed by now.”
“But that must be hard, right? Dancing with a weak ankle. It can’t be easy. Besides, aren’t you getting a little old to be a ballerina?”
“I’m twenty-five.”
Vera smiles in a way that makes me curl my hand into a fist. “That’s my point.”
“Vik is young enough to dance,” Mila says so innocently. Clearly, she didn’t get the memo about passive aggressiveness among Bratva women.
“How’s your face doing?” Vera asks, sidestepping Mila’s comment. “When I was at your wedding, I saw you had a large bruise on your face. It’s gone now. Did your husband do that to you?”
“No. The guard of the man who bought me off the black market did. You know. The man I killed.”
Vera’s jaw drops while the rest of her friends go very still. Even Sofiya looks scandalized.
“Vik is joking,” Sofiya says quickly.
“No. I’m not.” I step up close to Vera. From here, I can see her gulp as I stand over her. That’s the one perk of being a taller woman—I can look down at all the bitches who annoy me. “I’ve killed once before. I can do it again. I would be careful with what you say, Vera.”
“My husband would kill you for hurting me,” she responds, but there’s no courage in her voice. Only fear.
“Maybe he would. I know how Bratva men can be. They’re quite good at getting revenge. But it would be worth it just to shut you up.”
“We should head back to our seats,” Sofiya says, grabbing my arm.
I brush her off, still staring Vera down.
“It’s a good thing you’ve found yourself a husband,” Vera says. “I’m amazed any man would want you with that mouth of yours.”
“Then it’s a good thing Aleksander wanted me. I seem to remember you falling all over him when you met him. How embarrassing. For you.”
Vera’s cheeks turn red. Her friends look outraged on her part, but they don’t stand up for her. Every woman for herself when it comes to the Bratva.
“Come on, Vik.” Sofiya tugs on my arm.
I let her pull me away, but I don’t make it far before Vera says one last thing. “I hope you’ll feel better about yourself the next time you decide to throw up.”
I go still. How does Vera know about that? The only one who knows is Aleksander. Other than this morning, I haven’t thrown up in the past few weeks. I’ve been good.
I turn back to Vera. “What did you say?”
“I smelled it on you once before. I assume you still do it.” She smirks. “Don’t you?”
Rage fills my vision. Pure, unadulterated rage.
I scream as I run for Vera, ignoring the pain in my side. Vera screams in return as I tackle her to the ground.
“Oh my god,” Sofiya gasps, sprinting over. Between her and Mila, they manage to pull me away from Vera.
Though I do get a quick swipe in at Vera’s face, with my nails leaving behind a red welt. Vera scrambles away, clutching her face.
A security guard comes over and tells me I need to leave.
“I didn’t even want to be here in the first place,” I mutter before walking outside.
Sofiya and Mila follow.
“What was that about?” Sofiya asks. I don’t respond. “Vik? Vik!” She grabs my arm, turning me to her. “Talk to me.”
“What is there to talk about? I didn’t want to come here tonight. I can’t dance anymore. It hurts. It fucking hurts, ok?”
Sofiya jerks back. “I …”
“Of course, you don’t care.” I huff, crossing my arms. “I’m the only one who ever cared about ballet. You were happy to be done with it the moment you married Mikhail. And I know Mila hates it.”
“I … don’t hate it,” Mila says, though it’s not convincing at all.
“You’re a terrible liar,” I tell her, making her flush.
“Hey!” Sofiya snaps. “Be nice.”
“I know I was making you do Romeo and Juliet . I knew you didn’t want to do it, but I wanted to do it, so I made you. I’m sure you hate me for it.”
“I don’t hate you,” Mila says softly.
I scoff. “You still chose to be with Sofiya over me. Clearly, you don’t like me.”
“What’s going on?” Sofiya asks. “You’re normally crabby, but this is … something else.”
“I’m fine. I’m always fine. I’m going home. Get the driver.”
“We should finish the show.”
“I can’t go back in there. Literally. I just got kicked out. I’m going home. I’ll walk if I have to.”
Sofiya sighs and shares a look with Mila that I hate. It’s filled with pity and worry. I don’t want anyone pitying or worrying about me. I’m Viktoriya Morozova. I’m always fine.
“Ok,” Sofiya finally says. “I’ll get the driver.” She heads into the theater, leaving Mila and me alone on the sidewalk.
I can feel Mila looking at me, but I refuse to look at her.
“I don’t hate you,” she says in her soft, angelic voice. “I’ve never hated you, Vik.”
I cross my arms. “I doubt that.”
“Believe it or not, but I’m telling you the truth. I wouldn’t be alive right now if not for you. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t saved me? And that wasn’t the first time you saved me. You’ve been doing it all your life. I’m so grateful to you. I could never hate you. Never.”
I blink back the tears that threaten to fall. Glancing at Mila, I can see the sincerity in her eyes. I know she’s telling the truth.
I open my mouth to say … something, but then Sofiya walks back out, the driver/guard with her.
“We can go now,” she says, eyeing me with disapproval. It’s a look I’m used to.
Mila turns away from me, following Sofiya to the car. After a moment, I walk after them, feeling the pain in my rib with every step as a sort of punishment for my actions.
“You’re back early,” Aleksander says when I get home.
“We left at intermission.”
“Why?”
“Why do you say it like you’re suspicious?”
“Because I am.” He places his hands on my arms, drawing me closer. I don’t resist.
“I just didn’t want to be there any longer, ok? It was … harder than I thought it would be. I just want to be left alone right now.”
“All right.” He lets me go. Even though he’s not fighting me on this, I can tell he wants to say more. I walk away before he can and hurry to the bathroom.
I know I shouldn’t. Vera’s words are just that—words. She’s a bitch and doesn’t mean anything to me.
And yet … If I’m ever going to be able to dance again, I need to stop eating. I need to throw it up. I need to find my release.
I bend over the toilet and shove my fingers down my throat, crying as I do it.
The door bursts open, and Aleksander rushes into the room, grabbing my hand and pulling it away from my mouth. I don’t get the chance to throw up.
“What are you doing?” he demands, holding me to his body.
Instead of fighting, I slump against him, feeling only tired. “I need to dance again, Alek. I need to do it.”
“No. You don’t need to hurt yourself ever again. Do you hear me, Viktoriya?”
I let out a sharp gasp. “I need to feel better.”
“I can make you feel better.” He lets me go and turns me around to face him, placing his fingers under my chin and making me look at him. “If you ever feel upset, you come to me. You don’t hurt yourself.”
“I need the release it gives me.”
“If you need release, Viktoriya, I can give it to you. Don’t spend time thinking about things that are hurting you. Come to me, and I’ll make you feel better.”
“How can I trust you? You’ve spanked me. Maybe you’ll do worse.”
The look he gives me is filled with hurt. “You need to learn to trust me. I know how we can do that. Come with me.” He walks away, and I know I’m expected to follow.
So, I do.
Aleksander takes me to our bedroom. “Take off your clothes.”
“I’m not in the mood for sex right now.”
“It’s not sex I’m talking about. You need to feel better. You said so yourself. I know how to make you feel better. Start by taking off your clothes.”
With a sigh, I get naked before him. He rakes his eyes over me, sending goosebumps over my skin.
“Get on the bed.”
Instantly, I’m in this moment with him. The ballet and Vera are disappearing from my mind.
I get on the bed, my breathing slowing down. Evening out.
Aleksander opens a dresser drawer and pulls out silk ties. Red ones. “I’m going to tie you to the bed.”
The old me would have objected right then and there, but this new me—this married me—wants to see where this will go.
“Once you’re tied up, I’m going to touch you. I’m going to give you the release you need. And you will remain tied up for the next hour. And you will never make yourself throw up again. Understood?”
“Understood,” I whisper.
He takes my hand and lifts it over the bed, wrapping the tie around it and securing it to the headboard. He does the same with my other hand and both my ankles.
I’m spread wide, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Aleksander is taking my control away from me. My mind already feels more at ease.
“One last thing,” he says, grabbing a blindfold from the dresser. “If you’re going to trust me, then you need to learn to feel.”
Just feel .
He slips the blindfold over my eyes, and all I can see is black. My breath sounds louder to my ears. I can feel every inch of my skin and the way the air hits it.
All I can focus on is Aleksander.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
I hesitate.
“Answer honestly.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
His hand touches my upper chest. I suck in sharp breath. “It’s ok,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to hurt you, Viktoriya. I have no desire to hurt you.” His fingers move down to my breasts. He takes his time gently touching each of my nipples. I’ve never been more aware of my breasts in my entire life.
Normally, I would just slip on my bra and call it a day. Aleksander is making sure I know they exist. He’s drawing my attention to them and his touch, pulling my attention away from the pain in my mind.
I gasp when he tugs one of my nipples.
“Does that hurt?” he asks.
“A little.”
He does it again, making me gasp even louder in the quiet room. A flash of arousal hits me between my legs. I want to rub my thighs together to help with the sensation, but I can’t. Not when I’m spread out like this.
He cups my breast in his palm. “You have the best tits I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t be vulgar.”
“You’re supposed to be feeling. Not arguing with me.”
I flush and don’t say another word.
He trails his fingers down to my stomach. It tickles. “Do you trust me?” he asks again.
“I’m still not sure,” I say.
A soft sigh escapes me when his fingers touch my upper thigh. “You’re never going to hurt yourself again, Viktoriya. If you do, I’ll punish you. Promise me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“You wanted me to answer honestly. And the honest answer is I can’t promise I won't try again.”
“Then I’ll just have to show you that you can find release in other ways.” He brings his fingers right between my legs, pressing down on my bundle of nerves.
I cry out, my hips jerking up. They don’t make it far with my ankles tied to the bed.
“Don’t fight it,” Aleksander says, stroking his fingers up and down my folds. When he slips his finger inside of me, I moan.
I never knew my body could go from zero to sixty, but Aleksander has managed it. He’s taking away my control by controlling me. I thought I would hate it.
Instead, I’m learning I need it.
He presses his entire palm to my vulva, grinding it against my clit as his index finger inside of me continues to move in and out of my body. “Tell me how much you like this.”
“It feels good,” I admit.
“How good? Explain it to me.”
“I feel … like I’m alive. Like I’m waking up for the first time.”
“This is what I want you to always feel, Viktoriya. Pleasure. Don’t hurt yourself ever again. By the end of this session, I'm hoping you can promise that to me.”
He thrusts his finger faster inside me. I can feel the familiar stirring of my orgasm reaching its head.
“Let go, Viktoriya. You can let go.”
With his permission, I let myself come.
“Alek,” I whisper, gasping as my orgasm leaves me breathless and trembling.
“You did good,” he says, pulling his finger out of me and running his hand over my stomach. “Now, I want to fuck you.”
“Yes,” I moan.
I can hear his zipper coming undone, and then he’s on top of me. I can tell he’s still clothed, just like he was when we had sex the first time. It’s almost like he’s keeping himself distant from me.
But why?
I don’t have time to question it before he settles between my legs and thrusts into me. We moan together. There’s something so … relaxing about letting him have his way with me. I don’t have to fight it. I can just give in to it.
Aleksander grips my hips and thrusts himself harder and harder into me. I need to forget. I need to be in the moment. I need to stop hurting myself. I need him .
“Oh!” I cry out.
“Tell me how much you like this,” he growls.
“I love it!”
“I knew you needed this.” He’s breathless as he fucks me with wild abandon. I raise my hips to meet his, needing more. Needing to let go again.
“Alek,” I gasp.
I feel his hands settling on either side of me. Feel his breath on my face. Feel his cock deep inside me. I can’t see, but that makes the rest of my senses heightened. All I can feel is pleasure.
And suddenly, I’m coming again.
Aleksander thrusts into me once, twice, three more times before he comes next. He groans, breathing heavily.
He pulls out of me and gets off the bed. I’m instantly colder without his touch. Still, he doesn’t take the blindfold off or untie me.
“I’m going to ask again.” His voice makes me startle. “Do you trust me?”
Do I trust him? Aleksander has shown I’m safe with him. That all he wants is for me not to hurt myself.
I know what my answer is.
“I’m starting to.”