The Master (15 page)

I
sat in my new room—adjoining his, naturally—trying to recall more. No matter how drunk I’d gotten, I wouldn’t have
told him to come in me; was he making it up as an excuse to keep me?

Right before the shit had hit the fan earlier, he’d been pissed that I’d had other things to do, supposing I was about to go away with another man. Then all of a sudden Sevastyan had
a reason to keep me indefinitely?
Qué coincidencia.

But I couldn’t remember last night, and attempting to only made my head hurt worse. Though I was no longer nauseated, I was wiped out, my temples pounding.

This pillow-top bed was like a cloud, the thread count of the sheets astronomical. I lay back and tugged the fluffy duvet close, gazing out through the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows at the
ocean. In minutes, I drifted off.

I dreamed I was lying out by the pool while Sevastyan’s hooded eyes watched the sun darken my skin. . . .

When I woke, I was curled against his bare chest, my bent leg stretched over his thighs. Staring out at the water, he lay tensed, with his hands behind his head. He reminded me of our first
night, when he’d kept his arms over the back of the sofa, struggling not to touch me.

The sun was setting? I’d slept the day away? Tentatively, I eased up. No headache? No stomachache? I stretched my arms above my head.

He shifted as well, sitting up against the headboard. “You slept for hours.”

As if speaking to a child, I said, “Because I was recovering from being
blackout drunk
. A condition I found myself in because
you
kept pouring champagne. I trusted my
older-man date and got trashed with him, and the next thing I know, I’m on the wrong end of a speculum, getting an IUD shoved inside my body—after being informed I’m a
prisoner.”

“Funny you should mention my being an older man. The doctor said you were probably in your early twenties.”

“I never said I was twenty-six.”

“You looked young, but your confidence made me believe you were older.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me you can legally drink in this country.”

“Relax, Father Time. You’re not going to jail for serving me alcohol—only for everything else.”

“You’re twenty-two, aren’t you? When
I
was twenty-two you were thirteen.”

“That sounds like a
you
problem.” Then I frowned. “Why did you get in my bed?”

He let the other subject drop. “Because I can.”

“Is that why you pulled me against you?”

“
I
didn’t. You moved toward me, clasping me close, because you’re used to sleeping with your partner.”

Whatever. “You put your arms behind your head because you were tempted to pet my hair, weren’t you? Hmm? Hmm? You enjoy petting my hair.”

He didn’t answer.

“I’ll bet you’ve been replaying our night, and it’s got you sprung. This just proves my theory.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Which is?”

“That you like me more than I like you. You’d rather kidnap me than let me go.” I stretched again. “Will I be fed during my captivity? I’m starving. In prison,
I’d get two hots and a cot.”

Glowering at me, he picked up the phone and dialed room service. “What do you want?”

I scrambled over him and snatched away the phone, enjoying his shocked expression.

“
Hablas español?
” I asked the woman.

“
Sí.
”

Inwardly I wore an evil grin. In Spanish, I told her, “I need pizzas. Six of them. Big. Macaroni and cheese. Lobster bisque and whatever else you have with lobster. Basically lobster piled
on lobster. I want Cokes. Not diet, but real ones. In glass bottles, if you can find them. Also, if you bring up ten Cuban midnight sandwiches, with extra pickles, Mr. Sevastyan will tip you
extravagantly. Please put that gratuity in with the total. Excellent. Thank you for your help!” As I hung up, my stomach growled in readiness.

“I suppose you always sleep the day through,” Sevastyan said, his tone snide. “Occupational necessity.”

I sighed. “You keep thinking you know things about me. Yet you are always so wrong, it astounds me.”

“Then give me an example.”

The bilked heiress accused of bilking another! “You’d never believe me. You’d laugh in my face. But one day, when all this is a distant memory, I’ll send you a
postcard—with a
list
. Once you verify everything, you’ll cringe with embarrassment.” He opened his mouth to reply, so I abruptly rose to go to the bathroom.

The spacious area was bigger than my studio. For as long as I was in Sevastyan’s tower, I’d enjoy free toiletries, unlimited hot water, and all the towels I could possibly use. With
no visits to the laundromat. The life!

I knotted my hair atop my head, then washed my face. I brushed my teeth with another complimentary toothbrush.

I passed him on my way out, not deigning to speak to him. With nothing to do but wait on my gourmet feast, I took one of his business journals to the pool deck, my prison yard. I stretched out
on a sofa directly under a heater.

I noticed that everything had been cleaned—by someone who was not me. For once! Talk about a gilded cage.

When I heard the doorbell, I rushed inside, uncaring what I looked like. Three waiters were pushing laden carts into the living room. They made a valiant effort not to look at my braless breasts
under my T-shirt.

Sevastyan had put on a shirt. He scowled at my chest, then said, “What is this?”

“You didn’t specify what I should order. And don’t we have to feed all of our bodyguards? They can have whatever I don’t eat.
If
there’s anything left
over.”

Once the platters had been spread out and the men had departed, Sevastyan said, “This is ridiculous.”

“Since I lost out on the big bucks, dinner is my consolation prize. Are you going to begrudge me one paltry, very large meal, when you foiled my plan for millions?
Millions!
”
I bit my knuckle theatrically.

“You think this is funny?”

“Someday you’ll see the humor like I do. I only wish I could be around to see the look on your face.” I started hunting for my sandwich. “Ah, there!”

He grudgingly said, “What is that?”

I smelled it. “
Medianoche.
” Midnight sandwich. Eaten after clubbing.

He retrieved one, tasting it. “Good.” He took another bite.

I tried mine. Not as good as I made, but it’d do. “Dibs on anything with lobster.” I grabbed a Coke, opened the bottle. Drink and plate in hand, I headed back out to the
pool.

He could keep me prisoner—ha!—but that didn’t mean I had to spend time with him. I returned to my sofa to eat.

Over my meal, I concluded that I should be thankful for this rift between me and the Russian. I’d liked him so much that I might have done something stupid like
really
trust him. I
would’ve told myself that since he was in the
mafiya
, he could help me with my legal problems—and would never judge me for the blood I’d shed. Now I realized that he could
use my precarious situation to manipulate me.

Sevastyan’s behavior proved that I had the shittiest taste in men. If I started to develop feelings toward a guy, then he should be on an FBI watch list, and I should run the other way.
This was as undeniable as science.

All for the best.

Once I’d finished eating, I lay back and closed my eyes. As I delved into my memories from the night before, more details surfaced of conversations we’d had. On the topic of sex
secrets, I’d told him I’d never deep-throated before or had anal, though both were fantasies of mine.

He’d revealed that he’d been older when he lost his virginity—like older than I was now. He’d told me he’d never had sex without a condom but often wondered what
it’d be like. He’d also admitted to fantasies of having his cum swallowed, which made me shiver (then and now). No wonder my masturbation fantasy at the beginning of the night had
turned him on so much.

He’d said something else about oral sex that had blown my mind. What was—

Sevastyan had never gone down on a woman!

“Why would I have?” he’d asked. “I never gave a damn about another’s pleasure. But I’m ready to make up for lost time. In fact, I have a matter I want to
discuss with you. Come with me to the living room. . . .”

So that was how he’d teed up our discussion. Nice segue,
Ruso.

My eyes went wide. Over the night, he’d gone down on me, three earth-shattering times! I lay back on the sofa, reliving the first time.

He’d nuzzled my thighs, spreading them, pressing openmouthed kisses higher and higher. Right before he licked me, his eyes had been keen with curiosity. With his first taste, his lids had
slid shut. I’d whimpered as he’d muttered to himself, “Never get enough of this.” Then he’d set in, tonguing me greedily. Grinding his cock against the cushion,
he’d groaned, vibrating my sensitive clit. I’d come, wantonly bucking to his mouth. Once it was over, I’d tried to push him away, but he’d captured my wrists. With a low
growl, he’d licked my orgasm clean.

My cheeks reddened when I recalled my frenzied reaction. I’d shoved at his chest until he’d laid back, then I’d
devoured
his cock. I’d sucked on his balls, licking
everywhere, moaning around his shaft while he’d grunted, “
Fuck, FUCK!
” over and over. He’d told me, “Take my cum into you! Drink it,
dushen’ka
.” Our gazes had been locked as I’d consumed spurt after spurt. Once he’d finished ejaculating, I’d pumped him for more. “
No
más?
” I’d pouted while he gaped.
Máximo shockeado.

“Better than fantasy,” he’d grated between breaths. “And I’ll only need a couple of minutes to give you more. You make me
insatiable
.”

I remembered smoothing leisurely kisses over his dick until he’d swiftly grown rock hard again. Then he’d pushed me back on the lounge chair, looming over me. He’d laid his
cock between my legs, rubbing that unyielding flesh over my clit.

I’d been on the verge of factory shutdown, caring about nothing, thinking about nothing, but coming.

As my head thrashed, he’d told me, “I want to fuck you like this. Everything’s on my table.”

Back arching, I’d begged for his cock, crying out for him to shove it in.

Oh, he had. Without a condom.

I recalled the wonder in his tone: “Your pussy”—thrust—“gets so”—thrust—“hot!” As I’d moaned, he groaned, “It’s like
fucking a little forge.”

So that was how it’d happened. Yes, I should have told him earlier that I wasn’t on the pill. But it wasn’t as if I had lots of experience with this. In fact, I’d only
had that conversation once before, when I was
seventeen.

Sevastyan had sat me down to discuss things between us going forward, but I’d been stupid and drunk—not only on champagne, but on
sex.
I’d been too preoccupied with the
possibility of sucking him to pay attention.

Winds blew over the deck, ruffling my hair and grazing my pebbled nipples through my T-shirt. As if I’d been trained over the night, I immediately thought of Sevastyan’s mouth
sucking them. How could I still desire the man who was holding me prisoner? I
must
be close to ovulating, which meant I was basically in heat.

I would take another shower—and manually take the edge off. When I returned inside, each step made my breasts move against the T-shirt, the material skimming over the hard peaks.

He remained on the couch. Leaning over the coffee table, he rifled through papers. When I entered, he stilled, saying nothing.

Just looking at his gorgeous face made my breath hitch. I traipsed past him, in a daze. Whatever he saw in my expression made his body tense, his nostrils flare.

I gazed away, couldn’t meet his eyes.

A dark laugh. “Now who’s been replaying what we did? It’s gotten you as wet as I was hard. But I warn you now, little girl, do not pleasure yourself—even to thoughts of
me—or there will be consequences.”

To thoughts of him? The nerve!

“You’ll follow two rules when you’re with me. You do not lie, and you do not touch yourself. Unless I’ve commanded you to for my entertainment.”

I whirled around. “Such ego! How do you know I wasn’t imagining another man? My
partner
? Also, be aware that anyone who’s ever tried to ‘command’ me has
failed miserably.” I left him, heading for my room.

In the shower, I kept seeing him in my fantasies. He was right—if I got off, it would be to thoughts of him. I refused! Ignoring all the aching parts of my body, I washed and dried
off.

I stole another T-shirt of his, then climbed up into the guest bed, turning on the TV. Though years had passed since I’d watched it, I stared blankly at the screen as a night’s worth
of memories returned.

The way he’d thrown back his head and roared as he’d ejaculated inside me.

The addictive taste of his cum.

The possessive way he’d licked my pussy, as if someone was about to take his favorite treat away and never give it back.

With a curse, I surrendered to my lust, bunching the shirt to my waist as my hand dipped. I was arching to my fingers when I heard: “You really are in heat, aren’t you?”