XXX - 145 Enslave: The Taming of the Beast (3 page)

He breathed harder, growling against her. It was like holding a wolf, huge and untamed. But she didn’t care. The wildness that was building inside her answered the animal call.
The orgasm finally exploded inside her, and she cried out, her body hugging his penis in hard, drawing waves. Suddenly he was slamming against her rippling body, his cock surging inside her, his hips rolling against her in quick, pumping bursts. He snarled in defiance, a loud shout as his cock jerked and erupted in her. She could feel every jolt of his release, a hard push against the secret spot inside her. Her orgasm, which had been rippling softly into aftershocks, burst back into glowing life, and she screamed in pleasure, her pussy clenching around him like a fist.
Afterward, he rolled to the side, still buried inside her. She felt dazed, as if the whole thing were too surreal to have actually happened. She turned to look at him. His face looked more placid than she would have imagined, his eyes closed. She reached for him, her fingertips just brushing the side of his face.
His eyes flew open, and he jerked back, his body disengaging from hers. He moved off the bed, glaring at her, magnificent and huge in his nudity. Even his scars, though menacing, only seemed to add to the overall impression: fierce. Warrior. Dangerous.
Impressive.
His voice was loud, harsh. “You said I can do whatever I want with you,” he snapped. “You brokered this deal. This is your life now. This house is your prison.” He scooped up the clothes on the floor, hers as well as his. “You’ll be naked. I will see you whenever I want.
Touch
you whenever I want. You’ll do whatever I say.”
“Y-Yes,” she stammered.
He leaned over her, moving close, and she could feel the heat of his breath, warming her jaw, her neck.
“You’ll regret the day you told me to take you.” His voice was like broken glass. “God help you, we both will.”
With one last searing look, he got up, leaving the room, slamming the door behind him.
She lay back on the bed, stunned. Why was he so angry, she panicked. What had she done wrong?
And what was she going to do now?

Chapter Two
Twelve-thirty that night, Jelena’s husband, Henry, still wasn’t home yet. That wasn’t unusual; he often socialized without her, and she never complained. Instead, she waited, ready to fix the bedtime Scotch-and-soda that he liked, the bed turned down, wearing her prettiest smile. So far, it had all worked beautifully. She knew it didn’t pay to rock the boat. It was why she was still his wife, even after six years since he’d requested her from the bride catalog. He could easily find a replacement for her in those same pages—just as Irina’s husband had, presumably.
Oh, but I’ll be rocking the boat tonight with this news
.
Her family had sacrificed a lot to get her in this position. English lessons, special diet, special clothes and makeup. She’d even gone to one of those classes in Moscow, the one that taught you how to please a rich husband, with everything from how to stand to how to increase the pressure between your thighs. Since getting married, she’d learned how to be on committees and how to socialize with his high-powered associates and their wives. She’d never questioned Henry, never embarrassed him, never did anything she thought might remotely anger him. In return, he’d given her a generous spending account, and he’d given her family a healthy stipend to live on once he’d brought them over from Moscow. He showed her off, and she’d done her best to compliment him. He’d even shown her some tenderness.
She heard his footsteps, coming down the hallway, and she smoothed down the sexy white lingerie he’d bought her for Valentine’s Day.
Sex usually helped when she needed something. She needed all the help she could get.
She smiled as best she could as he walked through the door of the bedroom suite. “Henry,” she murmured, pouring his drink.
“That’s my girl,” he said, barely looking at her as he took the drink. He started taking off his tie, looking tired. Old.
This was a bad time to ask. Were it anything else, she’d table the issue until the morning. But it was too important. It couldn’t wait.
He seemed to sense her unease, finally, looking at her quizzically. “Jelena?”
“How was your day?” she hedged.
“The same.” He took a long pull from the square-cut glass. “Knocking around assholes at work, getting things done. And a business meeting tonight, so I have to act happy while those young jackals get plowed on my expense account.”
She wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was he did at work, but it seemed he was crucial. She knew he dealt with a lot of stress. “Did you want me to give you a massage?”
“Not tonight, Lena,” he said. “I just want to go to bed.”
She took a deep breath, her heart beating rapidly. “I need to talk to you.”
He’d been heading for the closet, his shirt halfway off his shoulders. His hands paused, glancing at her. “About what?”
“My family,” she said slowly. “My sister. She’s in trouble.”
He grimaced, removing his shirt the rest of the way and throwing it on the floor, even though the hamper was a mere foot away. “Your family’s in trouble. I might’ve guessed,” he said, and for a second she hated him. Hated to ask for his help. Hated having him there at all. “What, is Irina pregnant?”
“No.”
“Nadia, then?” He looked like he’d eaten a lemon.
“Yes,” she said carefully, her palms sweating. “I mean, she’s not pregnant. It’s…”
“Don’t tell me. She’s finally met somebody, and they need money for a wedding?”
“No.” How was she going to broach this? Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth.
His eyes narrowed as he loosened his pants, letting them fall to the floor as well. “Wait a minute. Is this related in any way to your father’s little sideline
business
ventures? The kind that landed him in the Gulag back in the old country?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
“No. Absolutely not.” She could see the tension coil through his body. “I told you when we got married, Jelena. I’ll give them money every month, but I don’t want to have anything to do with your Dad’s criminal activities. I can’t afford to have that kind of shit attached to me. You
know
that.”
She cringed. “But…but Nadia…”
“I don’t care if they’re calling it import-export, I’ll bet that she helps him steal those fucking cars,” he muttered. “You’d have been better off leaving the bunch of ’em back in Moscow.”
“They’re family,” she lashed out, with more venom than she’d ever displayed. “My father made sure we survived. Without family loyalty,
we have nothing
.”
Henry started to say something, then obviously thought the better of it, looking at her face.
“Look, Jelena, I know how much your family means to you, but I’m not going to dig them out of a hole I’m sure they got themselves into,” he said, and he was so patronizing about it—she wanted to slap his face. “Maybe, I’ll increase their stipend, okay? Another hundred bucks, yeah. Okay, two. But I can’t do more than that, and I don’t want you to ask me to. Not ever again.” His voice was firm.
“It’s more serious than that,” she said. “Nadia’s with this man, this horrible man…”
“What, did he drag her off?” Henry said, looking skeptical.
She bit her lip. “Sort of…”
Henry’s cruel laugh cut her off. “Jesus. Another deal. Hey, it worked fine for you, right? You’re lucky you got me. Don’t worry. He’ll probably trade her in after a few years. She’s a tough kid.”
“You know people. You’ve got connections,” she pleaded, desperation clawing at her. “You could help her!”
He frowned, as if he couldn’t believe she’d continued talking, against his express wishes. “I said
no
, Jelena. That’s final.”
With that, he retreated into the bedroom.
I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked me. I’m the perfect wife. I would be the perfect mother if you’d let me have children
.
Anger, dark and viscous, bubbled through her.
I
earned
my family’s money
.
She followed him silently into the bedroom. He was down to just boxers and socks. He still had a nice physique, considering being somewhere in his fifties and having a high-stress desk job. He still had his hair. He put his glasses down on the nightstand, finishing the last of his Scotch with a flourish. She floated beside him, barely dipping the mattress as she got on her side of the bed.
He shut the light out, plunging her into darkness.
She’d learned to love him, strangely enough. At least, she’d thought she loved him. But she’d married him because he promised her he’d get her family out of Russia, away from the theft, and the dogs, and the crushing poverty. She’d done what her family required, and she continued to go through with it.
For my family
…
She felt Henry’s hand on her shoulder, stroking it perfunctorily before reaching down to cup her breast.
“Come on,” he murmured, and the scent of alcohol permeated him. “You wore my favorite lingerie. No sense wasting it, right?”
Instead, she turned away from him.
He growled. “Like that, huh? You don’t get what you want, you think you can cut me off?”
She never had before. She felt her stomach knot.
“Well, then,
fuck you
Miss High-and-Mighty!” His voice was disembodied in the darkness, like an angry ghost. “If this is the way you’re going to be, maybe I need to rethink
our
little
contract
, huh?”
And with that parting shot, she felt the bed creak as he turned his back on her.
She swallowed hard, feeling tears edge out from the corners of her eyes. She knew that he didn’t love her, not the way she’d read about in romance novels. But she thought he’d at least be someone she could turn to for help. Someone who might understand. But no, now he was acting like a spoiled child. Or, worse, treating
her
like a spoiled child.
In the meantime, her sister was in the hands of a madman who might be torturing her as Jelena lay there, on her thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets, next to the man she’d been sold to.
Jelena winced. Dear God, compared to Nadia, her years of marriage were a fantasy of comfort. Nadia, who had never been offered in marriage. Still, she must have been “offered” in the short term, hadn’t she? Nadia didn’t have Jelena’s stunning, angelic beauty, or Irina’s voluptuous sex appeal. Many had said that Nadia was the most unconventionally beautiful, the one that looked the most like their mother, with her mink brown hair and large, dark eyes. Nadia was the one that stayed home, helped the family. Jelena had resented Nadia for her “easy” life.
Looking back, perhaps her sister wasn’t so lucky after all.
Jelena frowned as Henry started to snore loudly. He was going to replace her soon: she wasn’t blind, wasn’t stupid. Another time, this might have filled her with some dread. Would she be able to find another husband, one that would replace her family’s lost income? Would she still fulfill her responsibilities? Or, worse, had she done something so wrong that another man wouldn’t want her?
That wasn’t her fear tonight. Her whole life seemed to focus on one thing: rescuing Nadia. Or punishing the man who had condemned her to her fate.
If Henry wouldn’t help her…then by God, she would find someone who would.

Nadia woke in the darkness with a gasp, her heart hammering as she faced complete disorientation.
What happened? Where am I?
Then her mind filled in the details.
Dominic Luder. The bargain.
Last night…
She must have fallen asleep. She reached blindly for a light, fumbling until she managed to turn on the bedside lamp. The room was as she remembered it: gorgeous, subtly masculine.
Apparently impossible to escape from. She frowned. After he’d left, she’d tried the windows—they were hermetically sealed, some kind of unbreakable glass. At least, it hadn’t managed to shatter based on whatever she’d tried smacking against it. And he’d locked her in for the night, too.
What does he want from me?
He’d been mocking, angry—at himself or her, she couldn’t quite tell. Probably both. But he was honoring the terms of the agreement, so far. He was keeping her. As far as she could tell, he had no further interest in harming her family.
You will regret the day you told me to take you
.
She’d never seen a man so furious. So dangerous. So passionate…
She clenched her hands into fists, feeling a helpless anger overtake her. If only she could figure out what the hell he wanted from her!
She needed to get her bearings, and figure out either how to escape, or how to ensure her family’s safety…whether that meant pleasing him, or killing him and removing the threat. She stepped into the bathroom. It was every bit as sumptuous as the rest of the suite, with a large marble tub and a glass-enclosed stall shower. “If this is the guest room, what is the master bath like?” she whispered, turning on the water. She stepped inside, letting the warm water pulse over her naked flesh. It felt like heaven, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, letting it massage her. There were several nozzles, and it caressed her entirely. The hot, wet pressure reminded her of Dominic.
Suddenly dizzy, she put her palm flat on the wall for balance, resting her forehead against the cool tiles. The way he had looked at her was more profound than ways other men had touched her. And when he’d touched her…
She shivered, remembering.
The men she’d bargained with, in the past, had only cared about their own pleasure. The old doctor was aroused by her revulsion, by the fact that he could force her to his will; the
Bratva
mobster who her father had mistakenly double-crossed had also found her reticence enticing. The international visa agent who helped send her family to the United States had been American, and much more gentle—he’d actually taken some finessing. Still, he’d overlooked her lackluster performance, assuming that he was in fact an excellent lover and that her overdramatic cries of passion were real.
Her few lovers had meant well, but by that time she’d been too used to playing a role to insist on her own enjoyment. She couldn’t get out of her head. They were usually done before she could manage an orgasm of her own, and she didn’t mind. In fact, she encouraged their speed. She frowned. That was probably why no one had touched her in a year.
She smoothed her hands down the wet-slick planes of her body. Remembering his hands on her. His mouth.
Her body tingled, making the hot water seem cool compared to her suddenly feverish flesh. Her stomach clenched, and her hand closed over her breasts, then lower, her finger tips hovering over the sensitive flesh between her thighs. The way he’d stroked her, bringing her to a frenzy…she bit her lip against a silent moan of remembrance.
He threatened to kill your family
.
Her hand dropped away, and she felt a surge of nauseous guilt. She reached out, turning the water’s spray to cold. The icy droplets felt like slaps of punishment for her traitorous thoughts. When she got herself under control, she got out of the shower shivering, and wrapped herself in one of the thick Turkish-cotton towels.
It was as close to clothing as she was going to get. Making a makeshift sarong, she headed for the door, trying the handle gingerly. To her surprise, it was unlocked.
She stepped out into a long hallway. There were doors all around her, including one at the end of the hallway. She needed to find an exit, not another room. She headed for the open end. The lower ceiling opened to a cathedral-vaulted living room, replete with a huge gray-slate fireplace and a latticework of large, sturdy wooden beams. It looked architectural, simple, clean. Masculine, like her suite, yet subtly artistic.
Obviously, he’d lavished a lot of time and money on this place. Or someone had.
He’s not going to just let you waltz out of here. He wants something. Find out what he wants
.
He’d enjoyed the sex—then he’d gotten angry. Why? She couldn’t remember doing anything wrong…except maybe enjoying it. She felt a blush blossom over her face, down her throat, across her exposed chest.
She’d touched him, she remembered.
No.
She’d touched his scars
.
Her eyes narrowed. His appearance. He’d made oblique comments about it before. He obviously had problems with it. But he’d enjoyed the sex with her, enough to let his guard down. She’d just have to seduce him—see if she could get him to forget about his disfigurement for a while. Personally, she didn’t think his looks were so horrible, especially once she got used to it.
Of course, he could look like an ogre: the way he’d touched her, kissed her…
“I told you to be naked.”
She gasped, spinning toward the deep voice behind her. She bumped into Dominic. How could he be so damned silent?
He reached out, his knuckles grazing her breasts as he released the tucked end of the towel. The cloth pooled at her feet, and for a moment she fought the urge to cover herself with her hands. Instead, she stared up at him, directly into his eyes. They were more gray than blue this morning. If, presumably, it was morning. Apparently the man did not believe in clocks.
“That’s better,” he said, and his eyes blazed as he surveyed her, starting with her feet and moving slowly upward. She could feel his stare like a velvet glove, smoothing over her flesh. Her nipples tightened as his gaze lingered there for a long moment. His eyes widened in response.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, then bit her lip. She’d meant to ask something more submissive and coaxing—
what can I do for you?
But he’d caught her off guard, and the question came out defensive.
He smiled at her coldly. “What’ve you got?”
He’d been like this last night, she remembered, only less playful. Then, he’d wanted her to convince him. Admittedly, her attempt at seduction had been derailed by her fear and indecision. Nevertheless, he’d responded.
She should try to seduce him now, she realized. See what he did when she had her wits about her.
She stepped forward boldly, arching her back slightly, letting her breasts jut forward. Her eyes never left his as she put one foot forward, then the other, until she was almost touching him. She could feel his warm breath on her face.
Then, without warning, her stomach yowled.
She felt her cheeks flush, and she quickly bit her lip and looked away.
Oh, yeah
. That’s
seductive, you idiot
.
He actually let out a burst of surprised laughter. “Maybe you should show me what you’re capable of after you’ve had something to eat,” he said, amusement lacing every word.
She shrugged, embarrassment broiling her.
“Come on. Let’s get you fed,” he said, gesturing to her to follow him.
She strode next to him, marveling internally at the length of his strides. He really was enormous.
Her mind flashed to the thought of him buried inside her, and she squirmed as an unwelcome bolt of pleasure shot through her.
Enormous
. Her thighs pressed together, and she bit her lip.
He led her to the kitchen. “Have a seat there, at the counter,” he instructed, “and I’ll cook up something.”
“You cook?”
His scar puckered as he sent her a half-smile. “I have a few skills, yes.”
She lifted herself onto the high barstool, embarrassed by the feel of the cold wood against her bare buttocks. After a few moments, she forgot about her wariness and her desire to escape as she watched him fetch ingredients from the refrigerator, assembling them on the countertop. Fresh vegetables with vibrant colors, slices of tissue-thin meat, an assortment of cheeses, nuts, fruits. He assembled a surprisingly artistic tray.
“Nothing fancy, I’m afraid,” he said critically. “We’ll do better at dinner.”
“If I didn’t watch you, I would’ve sworn you had this tray catered.” She bit her lip. “You don’t have a chef, then? Or a personal cook?”
Or someone else that might help me escape?
“I have some people who help on occasion, but you’ll never meet them. They get paid very, very well to insure they don’t invade my privacy. And they know me well enough not to try delving into places they’re not welcome.”
So much for that possibility. She shifted her weight, feeling awkward. There was a kitchen table…maybe that would be a better option, making her feel less on display. She started to get down from the barstool, but he shook his head. “We’ll eat here,” he instructed.
Still, he didn’t sit next to her. He stood by her chair, put ting the tray in front of her. Then he turned the chair slightly, so she was facing him, the tray to her left. The buckle of his leather belt brushed against her knees.
“Don’t you want to sit?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly as her heart started to speed up. From this proximity, she could smell the subtle mix of his expensive cologne and the woodsy, masculine scent that was his alone.
He shook his head. “I think I’ll feed you, Nadia.”
“I can feed myself.”
He stared at her, long enough, silently enough to make her shift her weight, crossing her arms in front of her chest again. “Whatever I want, Nadia,” he reminded her, in a low voice.
“If you insist,” she breathed.
“Graciously done,” he said, his voice faintly mocking. He selected a cube of cheese. “I think you’ll like this. It’s a Basque goat cheese, with just a hint of nutty flavor. Can you tell?”
He popped the morsel into her mouth. She chewed slowly, confused. What
was
he playing at? Was he trying to make her feel comfortable, or uncomfortable?
Either way, it was working. The heat from his body reminded her of the pleasures of the previous night. She could feel her nipples puckering, and her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s with every delectable bite. Lust warred with guilt and nerves.
What does he want from me?
She swallowed hard. “It’s good,” she admitted, even though enjoying the food was the furthest thing from her mind.
“Even better with this,” he said, breaking off a piece of rough bread. “This is cabernet walnut bread.”
He fed her slowly, encouraging her to savor every bite. He kept up a running commentary: this was obviously a man who loved food. It seemed as if he was more interested in the descriptions of each course than in whom he was feeding it to. Or at least, it would have seemed that way, if he didn’t stroke her bottom lip as he placed some of the food in her mouth…or the way he made her lean forward, her mouth open, to retrieve some of the bites. He didn’t even let her help with her hands, forcing her to nibble out of his palm on several occasions. When her teeth grazed the pad of his thumb, she thought she saw him shudder slightly.
She was getting damp, between her legs. She shifted her weight on the chair, trying not to think of the fact that all he needed to do was undo his buckle, his fly, and he’d be right there, at practically the right height…
She knew, as a seductress, perhaps she ought to reach for him. Undo his pants herself. But her nerve abandoned her, and she simply found herself eating and second-guessing herself.
By the time he suggested dessert, she felt full, but the promise of something sweet was seductive to her fully-awake taste buds. She’d never been so aware of different flavors and textures as she was at this one “casual” meal.
“You strike me as a woman who appreciates a decadent dessert,” he said. “Have you ever had chocolate-covered cherries?”
“Of course,” she said. Irina loved American candy: her now ex-husband had delivered boxes and boxes of the stuff when they were still negotiating the marriage, all varieties of candies, and Irina had often shared. “I find most of them too sweet, though.”
“You’ll like these, I think,” he said, producing a plate. There were cherries on the stem, so dark they were a plump purplish-black, their color blending into the rich dark chocolate swirled around each end. He held one up by the stem. “Open wide, Nadia.”
She did without thinking, tilting her head back, her tongue darting out to guide the fruit between her lips. She bit down, and the cherry flavor exploded in her mouth, sweet and tart and brilliant, the dark chocolate slowly mingling in a seductive counterpoint. She sighed with pleasure, closing her eyes.
“Another?”
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his expression almost predatory. He held up another cherry. She smiled, tilting her head back.
This time, when she bit down, he leaned forward, his hot lips brushing against the pulsing vein in her neck…at the same time his fingers pressed between her thighs, one fingertip delving inside her moist curls, brushing against her clit.
She almost choked. The vibrancy of the flavors, and the startling heated pleasure of his touch caused her to moan, her senses momentarily overwhelmed.
He smiled, a mysterious wizard’s smile. “Another?” he asked casually, as if he had never touched her.
She blinked at him, unsure of what to do or say. Was he referring to the cherry? Or…the other?
“I…” She felt completely unfocused, helpless.
“Not sure, hmmm?” A tinge of laughter in his voice, even as the heat in his eyes didn’t back down one degree. His finger traced and explored, and she gasped, scooting slightly toward him, making a strangled little cry in her throat.
“Dominic…”
Abruptly, he pulled his hand away. She couldn’t help it: she whimpered.
“Like I said,” he grinned wickedly. “Dinner will be better.”
He left the tray, then walked out of the kitchen. She waited, unsure of what he was going to do.
After five minutes, she realized: he wasn’t coming back.
She rubbed her arms, feeling goose bumps beneath her fingertips. She was supposed to be seducing
him
, not the other way around. And why was he bothering, anyway, when he’d made it quite clear he owned her? And if he wanted to seduce her, why hadn’t he taken it all the way? Why had he turned her on like a blowtorch, then left her to smolder alone?