Day ten…

Staying away from Willow isn’t working. It’s just making me irritable as fuck and fogging my brain. I need a clear head if I want to stay on top of my game. I need a release for my tension. So I summon her to dinner – alone.

I ensure that she’s wearing a sheer dress that barely covers her tits and ass, and I ensure that Jasha parades her past a group of my men, including Karl and Mikhail, who whoop and holler obscene things at her but don’t dare make a move to touch her.

But when she comes into the dining room, head held high, tears shimmering in her beautiful eyes, I walk over, shut the door and lock it.

She looks around in surprise and confusion, seeing no one else there, then takes her seat at the table where I tell her to. Next to me.

She looks down at her plate. Tonight we’re eating filet mignon tender enough to melt in the mouth, in a rich red wine sauce, with a side of caramelized pears and red onions. There’s a cut crystal wine glass with Cabernet Sauvignon sitting next to the gold-rimmed dish.

“Eat,” I growl at her. “You waiting for a fucking invitation?”

She obeys me, taking a bite. “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know when I should wait for an order or just act on my own, sir.” There’s that sassy bite again. That undercurrent of defiance. I wish she’d do it more, because I love to beat her beautiful ass.

“Sucks to be you,” I say.

A flash of resentment in those beautiful blue eyes. “Yes, it does, sir.”

She takes another bite.

“For this meal, you can dispense with calling me sir,” I say.

She doesn’t thank me, or acknowledge it. She looks down at her plate and keeps eating.

She’s too much in my head these days. I need to get into hers.

“So, Willow,” I say. “What is it that you want out of life? Other than to get away from me? Answer me honestly.”

She looks at me, her expression cool. “Well, that would be priority number one,” she says. “Twenty days left.”

So she’s been counting. Ouch.

“And after that?”

She shoots me a puzzled look. “I will go back home to my uncle.”

“And? Just continue to be a sponge? Another leech drinking the Toporov blood money?” I’m trying to get a rise out of her. I want something to push against.

She scowls at me. There’s my girl. “I am not a leech. I currently help my aunt with my cousins. May I call them, by the way?”

“No, and don’t ask again. You went to college and got a bachelor’s in fine arts. You worked as a teacher’s assistant in college. Why didn’t you get a job?”

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. Good. Anything I can do to keep her off balance, to remind her who has the upper hand.

“My aunt can’t function on her own. My uncle is…hard to deal with. She really needs my help.”

“So your plan is to just stay there as unpaid live-in help until Yuri turns eighteen? You could have gotten work as a teacher and then been with them in the evenings, if it came to that.” Why am I pushing her like this? Why do I care that she’s chosen to sacrifice her life, her happiness, for those filth?

She frowns down at her plate and takes another bite of filet mignon. I watch her slide the fork between her plump, luscious lips and bite down on it, and her eyes half close in appreciation. I was already hard as soon as she came in the room; now I stifle a groan of frustrated desire. “It’s just not done in my family. Single women wait until they meet the right man and get married.”

“So why haven’t you got married?” The thought of her being with someone else makes me murderous.

The conversation is taking a wrong turn.

This is bad. This is dangerous.

She gives a weary, resigned shrug. “My uncle has sort of tried to fix me up with some gross, older men who would have paid him a dowry, but I’ve always managed to get out of it by reminding him how much my aunt needs me to help with the children. And pointing out that he’d need several nannies to replace me, with everything I do. He’s actually pretty cheap, unless he’s spending money on things he can use to show off his status.”

“What is your long-term plan?”

She hesitates. “I…I don’t know. Survive another day, I guess.”

“Perhaps someday you’ll be an art therapist. Or an art teacher.” And I want to punch myself in the face for saying that. I can hear Feodyr’s voice mocking me. That’s so sweet, Sergei. You’re her career counselor now?

“I’d love that,” she sighs. “If I live that long.” The glance she gives me is a little questioning.

“Are you asking me if I’m going to kill you when your uncle fails to repay me?”

Her eyes widen, and she tenses. “We’re being really honest right now.”

“What, don’t you like it?” I taunt her.

“I don’t like much about you.”

“Except when I’m fucking you.”

Her eyes drop to the table. “Yes,” she says, and sets her fork down. “I like that. And I hate that about myself.”

I nod. “I know.”

Anger flashes in her eyes like heat lightning. “Why would you want to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to be with you?”

I give her a devilish smile. “Because, Willow, I never like it to be easy. I love the fight. And I love your tight little pussy, and when I take your tight little asshole, I’m going to love that too. I love how you taste. I love how you scream for me.”

Now she’s blushing red. My sweet little Willow.

I can’t wait anymore.

“Stand up,” I say. She obeys me.

“Bend over.” She bends over the table and her dress rides up, exposing her ass, perfect like a split peach. She’s not wearing any panties, as per my orders.

I kneel down behind her. I spread her cheeks and run my tongue along her plump pink lips.

“Oh.” It comes out as a whimper.

I trace the little rosebud of her asshole with my tongue, and think about fucking it.

All in good time.

She lets out a moan of pleasure that jolts me like a lightning bolt.

“Oh, yes,” she whispers.

Yes. She wants me. Yes. She’s mine.

I bury my face between her cheeks and lave her with my tongue, caressing her, drinking in her sweet honeydew taste. Her moans are driving me mad.

I stand up, and slide my pants down. Roll on the condom that I’ve pulled from my pocket.

I trail my fingers over the perfectly round globe of her left ass cheek, and she shivers.

“I like that,” she whispers.

There it is. I’m coaxing it out of her. Cracking that prim good-girl shell, until it shatters and I unleash the wild woman within.

Do I really want that? She already drives me mad with desire.

I can’t stop myself.

I slide inside her tight pussy, just an inch. Her hands are braced on the table. She moans and thrusts back against me, and I slide in a couple more inches.

“Please,” she begs. “I want you. Please.”

I tease her, moving in slowly, an inch at a time, as I grip her hips firmly and hold her in place. I slide out a little bit, just to hear her gasp of protest, just to know she wants me. Then I thrust in again, hard, and I am buried to the hilt.

Her pussy grips me, a tight, slick sheath squeezing my cock.

When I’m inside her, the world falls away. The darkness recedes and I’m living in the moment, with no pain and no guilt, nothing but pure animal lust. It’s never been like this for me before.

I grip her hips and piston into her, in, out, in, out. Her moans of pleasure sound like sobs now. “Yes…yes…like that…harder…”

She likes it hard. So do I. I ram into her so hard that the table shakes with each thrust. The dishes rattle, the wine glasses tip over and spill lakes of red onto the white lace tablecloth.

I keep pumping into her until finally she arches her back and cries out, a pure wordless cry of pleasure.

I feel her tight channel convulse and clench my cock, and then I explode. It’s like a supernova. I see red and blue stars exploding behind my eyes. I’m coming, and coming, and coming. It’s the best yet.

I pull out slowly, reluctantly, and roll the condom off.

She turns and looks at me, her eyes enormous. Her chest is heaving, her cheeks are flushed. Sweat mats her hair to her forehead. She’s a million times prettier than those made-up prostitutes at El Diamonte.

“I do love it when you f-fuck me,” she stammers.

She is shy and looking up through the thick fringe of her lashes. She didn’t want to say those words, but she made herself do it, pushed through the discomfort, just for me. The rush of tenderness that fills me is met with an answering wave of fury.

Feodyr’s warning echoes in my head. If he can see it, others can see it too. I’m jeopardizing everything I’ve worked so hard for.

Years ago, I promised Pyotr I’d avenge his death. I still promise him daily that I will destroy every last person responsible. I am so close now.

“When I f-fuck you?” I mock her, and self-hatred coils inside my gut. I’ve never, in my life, regretted hurting someone. Every single person I’ve hurt has been a means to an end. But right now all I want to do is take her in my arms and kiss her soft lips, kiss the hurt away.

How fucking special.

Instead of flinching or crying, she looks at me, her gaze steady.

“I know you’re not all bad,” she whispers. “I know you’ve had terrible things happen to you, and I’m sorry about that. But I know that you have a heart. You’re taking care of that little boy. Your son.” She looks at me for confirmation, and I let out a harsh laugh.

Anger burns through me. “You don’t know shit about me. And he’s not my son, and I had reasons for saving him that have nothing to do with my soft, tender heart.” That is true, but I’ll never tell her the reasons. I’ll never tell her why I brought the little boy to live here.

She bites her lip, and her gaze drops. “I liked it when you talked to me at d-d-dinner.” She’s terrified of me, but she’s forcing herself to keep talking.

Fuck. I’m getting hard again.

“At d-d-dinner?”

A flicker of hurt and frustration crosses her face. “Does that make you feel strong, bullying people who are weaker than you?”

I take a step toward her, my eyes flashing a warning signal. “Careful.”

“Because you don’t have to do it. You already know that you’re stronger than me, stronger than everybody. I’m not fighting you. I’m not a threat to you. So why do you do it?”

Because it’s fun. Because I’m a textbook sadist and I enjoy hurting people. Because your family took more from me than you can ever know.

“Because I can,” I growl. “That’s all you need to know.” Stop trying to crawl inside my head. Stop making me want things that I shouldn’t.

I reach out and grab her throat, and my hand slowly closes on it until she’s gasping and wheezing, and she claws at my wrist. I hold on for a couple of seconds longer, then let go.

“On your knees,” I say. I’m hard again, and I need to feel her hot, sweet mouth on me. The hell with what she needs.

Gasping, she sinks down, and I want to bury myself in her and die there. God, I love her submission. And I love it when she fights me. I love… No. No, no, a million times no.

“Take me in your mouth.”

She opens her mouth, and I thrust into her, holding her head in place. She sucks and sucks, her tongue caressing me.

When she’s with me, the blackness that waits to claim me, always hovering in the edges of my mind, recedes a little. The blackness hurts me. I need it, to keep my edge. Don’t I?

Her mouth is warm and wet and she swirls her tongue as she sucks me. Without meaning to, I realize that I’m caressing her head with a tender touch. I find myself doing that a lot with her. My body betrays me. My body lies to her. It tells her that I want to lie her down and make love to her, not tear into her with a hot, rough fuck. No wonder she’s so confused.

I finally explode in her mouth, and she swallows all of it, drinking it like it’s the nectar of the gods.

But when I pull out, she avoids my gaze. She’s no longer seeking tenderness or reassurance. She knows better.

I’ve taught her better.

That makes me feel like shit.

“Get dressed,” I snap. “Jasha will take you back to your room.” And I leave, hurrying as if the hounds of hell are snapping at my heels.