Chapter 5 #3
I squealed as he lifted me up as if I weighed nothing.
My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, my body knowing what it wanted even when my mind was screaming at it to stop.
He carried me toward the sliding door that separated the courtyard from the main suite, my back bumping against the cool glass as he shouldered it open.
He didn’t put me down. He strode through the main room, his steps sure and confident, and kicked the door to his bedroom shut behind us with a heavy thud that sounded like a final judgment.
The room was cast in shadow, the lights of St. Petersburg painting patterns across the floor and the large bed that dominated the space.
He dropped me onto the bed. Not gently. I bounced once, the mattress giving a soft sigh, and before I could even think to scramble away, he was over me, braced on his arms, caging me in.
“Now, should I start with you lying on your back in my bed with your legs spread or put you over my knee first for a dose of what you really need,” he warned and I couldn’t help it as my hand drew backwards to slap him once more.
Wait.
Like for a spanking?
Fuck.
Why was my pussy clenching at the thought of him doing exactly that, of him taking me over his knee and spanking my ass until it was bright red and hot?
I shook my head, not choosing either. Because he was the enemy. Because this was wrong.
Because if I let him, I was going to enjoy it.
His lips twitched into a slow, dangerous smile. “Slap me again if you need me to take these clothes off you.”
My breath caught in my throat. The challenge was there, hanging in the air between us, thick with unspoken promises.
He was daring me, pushing me, testing the limits of my anger and my control.
He knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard.
He knew that slapping him would be an admission.
He was twisting me in knots so that what I should do, slapping the domineering sneer off his impossibly handsome face, would just be me giving him permission.
My gaze flickered down to my jacket, to the simple shirt beneath.
He was right. The clothes felt like armor, a barrier between the soldier I was supposed to be and the woman I was trying to forget.
The thought of him peeling them away, of those rough hands on my skin, was terrifying. And exhilarating.
The slap came before I could stop it.
It wasn’t as hard as the others, but still, the crack echoed in the quiet room, a damning sound of my own unmaking. My palm stung, and I was suddenly, painfully aware of the heat blooming in my cheeks.
Viktor didn’t so much as flinch. He just watched me, a dark heated gleam in his eyes that told me I had just made a fatal mistake.
A fatal, wonderful mistake.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, the words a triumphant rasp. He shifted, moving over me with an unhurried grace that was more intimidating than any sudden movement. His knees nudged my thighs apart. “I know you’re angry, kotenok. But that slap wasn’t just anger, was it?”
His fingers came up, not to strike me, but to trace the line of my jaw. A feather-light touch that made every nerve in my body stand up and scream.
“You slapped me because you’re losing control,” he continued, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.
“And you hate it. But you also hate that you want me to take you as I see fit.” His gaze dropped, lingering on my chest where my breath had quickened, making the fabric of my shirt pull taut.
“I know what to do with beautiful tits like these. I know that just enough of you wants me to tear this shirt right down the middle so I can see them.”
His words were a like a firebrand, searing through the last of my resistance.
I was a soldier. I was trained to withstand interrogation, to resist coercion, to withstand physical pain.
But this… this was something else entirely.
This was an assault on the very foundation of who I thought I was, and it was working.
The shame of my body’s betrayal was a like a hot rush of magma rising in my throat.
My hand twitched, wanting to push him away, to claw at that smug, beautiful face, but it remained limp at my side. My body had mutinied against me and there was no turning back now.
“See?” he said, a wickedly devastating smile on his lips. “You’re already mine.”
Then he moved, and the slow, terrifying anticipation shattered into a whirlwind of action. He didn’t rip the shirt as he’d threatened. No, that would have been too quick, too merciful.
As the seconds slowly passed, it soon became clear that he intended to savor every last moment of this.
My coat was first, but he was gentle when he pushed the woolen fabric over my shoulders and then down my arms. Then his hands went to the hem of my shirt, and in one fluid, economical motion, he pulled it up and over my head.
The fabric whispered against my skin, and then it was gone, tossed aside like an afterthought.
My bra was next. Simple, black, functional.
It offered no adornment, no illusion of femininity, but in his eyes, by the way he was looking at me right now, it might as well have been lace.
He reached behind me, and the snap came open with a soft click.
The straps slid down my arms next, and then that, too, was gone.
My breathing went shallow. The air in the room was cool against my bare skin, raising goosebumps.
I felt exposed, vulnerable, laid bare not just in body, but in spirit.
I fought. Not with my hands, not with words, but with my gaze.
I stared at him, a challenge in my eyes, a promise of retribution. I was a soldier. I would not be broken.
His eyes, dark and hungry, roamed over me.
There was no mockery in his gaze, only an openly undisguised appreciation that was somehow more humiliating than any insult could have ever been.
He saw my scars. The thin, silvery lines on my ribs, the puckered bullet wound on my shoulder.
They were souvenirs from a war that had taken everything from me.
He saw them all, and he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.
He simply saw them as part of me, another piece of the puzzle he was so determined to solve.
“Beautiful,” he breathed.
His hands came up, not to touch, but to frame around me.
His fingers traced the air just above my skin, a phantom caress that was more potent than a real touch.
He followed the line of my collarbone, the curve of my waist, the swell of my hip.
His gaze was a tactile thing, a brand that seared me from the inside out.
I could feel the heat of it, the intensity of it, and it was making me tremble.
He was learning me. Mapping me. Memorizing me.
And I was letting him.
His fingers finally made contact at the hollow of my throat. His thumb brushed against my pulse point, a steady, frantic rhythm against the pad of his finger. He could feel my fear. He could feel my desire. He could feel the war raging inside me.
“Your heart is beating so fast right now, kotenok,” he said in a low, satisfied rumble. “Are you scared of what I’m going to do to you, or are you scared of how much you’re going to like it?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Words were useless. My silence was my only defense.
He chuckled, a dark, seductive sound. “I’ll take that as a yes to both.”
He shifted, and then his hands were on my breasts. He cupped their weight in his palms, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, and the shock of it, the sheer, unexpected pleasure of it, jolted through me like a lightning strike. I couldn’t help but gasp at the feeling of it.
“Ah,” he breathed, a soft sound of discovery. “There she is.”
He rolled my nipples between his fingers, a slow, delicious torment that sent sparks of fire shooting through my veins.
My hands, which had been lying limp at my sides, curled into fists, the sheets twisting in my grip.
I was fighting a losing battle, and I knew it.
The worst part was that he could see every moment of my defeat written all over my body.
He watched my face, his gaze intense, unblinking. He saw every flicker of emotion, every twitch of my muscles, every breath that tore free from my throat. He was reading me like a book, and he already knew the ending.
“You’ve never let anyone touch you like this, have you?” he asked quietly.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of shame washing over me. No one had ever touched me like this. I’d never allowed such a thing. My life hadn’t allowed for opportunities like this to come out of the woodwork either. This was new territory. Uncharted. Dangerous.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
My eyes snapped open, instinct overriding my desire to hide.
A devastatingly handsome smile spread across his face. “No. You haven’t. You’ve been so focused on being a soldier, so busy being angry, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a woman.”
He lowered his head, and for a heart-stopping second, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t.
He bypassed my lips, his mouth finding the sensitive skin just below my ear.
He nipped at my earlobe, a quick, stinging bite that was immediately soothed by the warm sweep of his tongue.
A shudder racked my body, and I couldn’t tell if I hated it or not.
“That’s it,” he murmured against my skin. “Let go.”
His hands left my breasts, and I felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of loss.
But they didn’t go far. One slid down my stomach, tracing the line of my muscles and my breath caught in my throat.
The other tangled in my hair, his fingers tightening, guiding me back so that I was lying down on the bed a silent, unyielding reminder of who was in control.