I hesitantly take his hand, frustration and need eating away at me as he pulls me to my feet. Without a word, he guides me through the doorway, down the hall, and to the far side of the house I've never been in.

He pushes open a door, leading me into an obnoxiously enormous room. The roaring fire in the fireplace bathes the walls with a copper glow. Wisps of gold in the wallpaper, and seemingly on every fitting and fixture, glint in the light. A massive four poster bed covered with red satin sheets sits in the middle of the room in all its gaudy glory.

I'm in his bedroom. Suddenly, I feel uneasy, very much like the lamb that wandered into the lion's den. Oh, how I hate that he can make me so very unsure of myself so easily. I've been in his house for weeks, but this is different. A little voice in my head tells me that this is good, that he trusts me, that I'm being pulled ever closer to Ronan Cole's inner circle, a place rife with opportunity. The vulnerable part of me fears being in Ronan's orbit because I'm terrified I'll crash and burn.

"This is your room," I say quietly.

He glances over his shoulder and smiles. "It is. How very observant."

I roll my eyes and fold my arms over my chest. "If you wanted to fuck me, the couch was fine. Or the desk...pool table..."

His eyes narrow as he slips out of his shirt, folding it just so and laying it on the dresser. I have to force myself to look away from the perfection of his body.

"You should change for bed," he says, nodding toward the closet. I frown and walk over to the closet, running my fingers over the rows of expensive dresses that were in my room. Shit. I'm in his orbit alright, hook line and sinker. I swallow heavily and take a deep breath. The problem with this... I have spent so long hating him that its instinctive, but I have to constantly fight the urge to like him, his strange little ways, his odd sense of humor, his utter ruthlessness. I'm inexplicably drawn to his sick and twisted nature. I respect it. The closer I get to Ronan the harder it is to remember all the reasons I hate him. Distance is what has allowed me to survive this long and apparently, I'm about to lose it. Turning around, I walk back into the huge room and watch him for a second.

He strips down to his underwear—every bit of clothing folded. He throws the thick comforter back and climbs in, watching me. Does he expect me to sleep with him?

"Come to bed, little kitty," he says.

"You want me to sleep...with you?"

One eyebrow arches. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed before standing and stalking toward me. Without a word, he grabs my hair, fisting it and pulling me to the bed. He throws me down and climbs in beside me, yanking the covers over us both.

I lie here, rigid tense, unmoving. "Well, this is cozy." For a moment, nothing but silence stretches between us. Finally, I snap and sit up. "Okay, why am I in your bed, Russian?" I hate not knowing his little game plans.

"Because it's time to go to sleep."

I sigh and throw my leg over his body, straddling him as I lightly wrap my fingers around his throat. His eyes lock with mine, amusement dancing within them. "Ronan. Why?"

His gaze drags over my face. "Because you're mine."

For all the times that he has told me I'm his captive, that I mean nothing... and now he wants to claim me. Not as a captor claims his captive, yet still a prize of sorts. It bothers me as much as it thrills me. I frown and drop my gaze to my fingers at his throat. They look wrong. A lover's caress rather than an enemy's choking grip. I'm not sure which Ronan is, perhaps both.

"Just like that?"

"You've belonged to me ever since I took you. What don't you understand?"

He lifts his hand and brushes the curtain of hair away from my face. "I don't belong to you," I say quietly.

"Come now, you're smarter than this. Surely?" He grins like the devil. "Soon enough, everything will belong to me."

"Then call me your captive and we'll both know where we truly stand."

"But you aren't." His smile deepens, his hands gliding along my sides.

I groan and dig my nails into his throat. "Know this...if I didn't know you'd stop me for whatever reason, I'd walk out of this house and never look back."

"So you are too afraid to leave?" He sweeps a tendril of hair from my face. "Not so brave now, little kitty?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to stem my temper. "How far would I get, Ronan? The front door? The gate? Moscow?"

He twirls the piece of hair around his finger, his eyes flickering. "I won't know until it happens." He sighs. "And isn't that exciting?"

I shouldn't like this push and pull, the insane workings of his mind, but I do. We are still at war, and I haven't completely lost yet. "I'm glad my captivity amuses you so much." I sit up, glancing down at him beneath me. "How tragic that you have to imprison a girl to get her to fuck you."

One side of his lips twitch up before he grabs my arms and rolls me over, pinning me beneath him. He places both my wrists in one hand, using the other to hike up my dress. "I'm certain if I touched you right now, you'd be wet for me, Camilla." He smirks. "You always are."

I say nothing and he presses his hand between my legs, slipping a finger beneath my underwear. A satisfied grin pulls at his lips. "Stockholm Syndrome," I say, fighting the lust he induces far too easily.

"Doubtful." He rams his finger inside me so hard I gasp. I close my eyes as he ruthlessly fucks me with his hand. Every time I think I've had my fill of him, he makes me want more. No, need more.

I feel him shift and there's the slide of a drawer opening, the rustling of him fumbling in the dark. And then the cool tip of a blade presses against my throat. Butterflies swarm in my stomach and my pulse picks up.

His finger swipes over my clit, the sensation sending my stomach into clenching fits. And then, he stops. The blade drags over my breasts, my stomach. "Do you want me to fuck you, Camilla?" he whispers against my skin. I bite my lip as my skin erupts in goose bumps. His weight settling over me as he shoves my legs apart. "Do you?" He spits on my pussy, rubbing it in. "You're so wet for me. My power. My control." The blade of the knife caresses the crease of my thigh. "I could cut you...what would your pussy look like covered in blood?" He sucks in a breath as though he can't contain himself. The blade scratches down the inside of my thigh and I tremble, fighting back a moan. My entire body shakes with anticipation. I want to feel the slice of the blade on my skin, the scent of my blood in the air, and mostly I want to watch Ronan lose control at the sight of the crimson liquid coating my skin. Because he will, it's his sole weakness and in turn, it has become mine.

"Why don't you find out?" I breathe.

The burn of the blade as he cuts my thigh sears through me. I grit my teeth on a moan as he wipes his hand from my thigh to my pussy, smearing the blood. "So very pretty, Krasivaya."

"I want the taste of my blood on your tongue, Ronan," I tease.

With a smirk, he leans between my legs, his hot tongue sweeping over me. My back bows and my fingers dive into his hair. Ronan groans, his fingers digging into my thighs so hard I know he'll leave bruises. He fucks me with his tongue until I'm on the edge and then, he's gone and his mouth presses to my lips, coating them in my pussy and my blood. "Do you like the way it tastes?" He asks.

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him to me, kissing him hard. "There's nothing like the taste of blood and sex," I say before biting his lip. My teeth break his skin, and I swipe my tongue over it. I know I'm falling into him, sacrificing all sense of pride as I do, but I'm too far gone and drowning in lust to care.

Like a woman possessed, my nails rake over his abs, tugging at the elastic of his boxers until his cock springs free. Gripping my thighs, he wrenches them apart and slams inside me in one thrust. A choked breath slips past my lips at the intrusion. Ronan laughs, dropping his head to my chest.

"Krasivaya," he groans as he pulls out and forces himself back in. It's brutal, completely uninhibited and primal. He fucks me like he's laying claim to everything that I am. My body breaks for him, and I scream his name as that intoxicating rush of pleasure sweeps over me. Ronan growls, his body stiffening and his fingers tightening on my thighs hard enough that his short nails break the skin.

His lips press against mine, hard breaths washing over my face before he falls to his back on the bed next to me.

Yes, Ronan Cole has laid claim to me. The devil wants my soul, and maybe I want him to have it. The power he has over me terrifies me. I'm not sure I can do this.