Chapter Fifteen
Day twelve, morning…
WILLOW
We are in a coastal city called Marslov, on the southwest shore of Sweden, and it’s bright, clean and beautiful. I didn’t realize how heavy the very air felt in Pevlovagrad until we arrived here. How it was never really light there, even in the middle of the day. How the grinding poverty and hopelessness suffused the bricks and mortar, seeped into the food until you could taste it with every bite. It saps the strength from people who live there, so that they shuffle and hunch as they move wearily throughout their long, gritty days.
Here, the air is clear and tastes like sunshine. People move happily and with purpose through the winding streets of a city built in the thirteen hundreds but still vibrant with life today.
It’s obviously good for Lukas, who has grown like a weed since I last saw him eight months ago. We’re at a beautiful house on a small, private island, which would be swimming distance to the city’s shoreline if the water wasn’t so cold, and Lukas is bouncing with joy this morning. Sunlight floods through floor-to-ceiling windows in the enormous family room with a spectacular view of the city. The furniture is light-colored wood, angular, classic Nordic design, with pillows and accessories in tones of blue and white. The floors are whitewashed wooden planks, the walls adorned with framed mirrors and sconces.
Sergei and I arrived at midnight and slept in a large bedroom on the second floor. The view from the bedroom window is indescribably beautiful, with the windswept bay and the city right beyond it, twinkling with a million lights at night.
Now we’re joining Kris, Marya and Lukas for breakfast.
Lukas, wearing blue pajamas splashed with zoo animal pictures, crushes me in a surprisingly strong hug around the waist. I hug him back fiercely, a swell of emotion almost making me weep. My brother. I have family.
I’ll tell him when the time is right.
“Willow! My friend Willow!” Lukas cries, bouncing on his bare feet. “I am going to be the ring bearer for the wedding!”
“Oh my goodness, really?” I say, sounding excited, but I shoot Sergei a dirty look.
“Yes, I will have a special suit,” Lukas says happily. “Today they will measure me for it, and I will look very handsome. I am going to make you a wedding present that is a picture. Oh,” he says, looking concerned. “Should it be a surprise?”
“No, it doesn’t need to be a surprise,” I assure him.
As we sit down to eat, I can’t stop staring at him, trying to see our birth mother’s face in his.
After a breakfast of fermented milk, muesli and fresh fruit, Lukas insists on taking me on a tour of the house, which has several wings and takes up a good part of the island. His artwork is everywhere, and it is amazingly good. An entire art studio is set up in a corner of his enormous bedroom. He favors colored pencils as a medium. He has a light, swirling touch, and everything he draws seems to glow from within.
He pouts and complains when Kris and Marya come to take him into town to get fitted for his suit, and makes me promise not to leave today.
Sergei re-emerges from the room he’s using as an office there. He’s wearing black slacks and loafers and a button-down white shirt. All his shirts must be custom tailored; that’s the only way they’d fit his broad shoulders and massive biceps so well.
I am snug and comfortable in my blue yoga pants and T-shirt, but only because we’re inside, toasty warm on this cold spring day.
He sits down with me on the sofa in the family room. He’s settled into a pool of golden sunlight, lit like a Greek god. Even when he’s casually sprawled on furniture, he’s a lethal force. I can feel the tension coiling just under the surface; he’s a lion sprawled on the branch of a tree, looking all loose and relaxed, but ready to pounce and devour.
A thrum of arousal warms my belly. The man is like walking Viagra for women.
“Word is, Cataha left the region for now,” he informs me, his thick brows drawing together. “Headed northwest, in the direct of Moscow. But it could just be misdirection. I think the information came a little too easily.”
I’m pricked by that little jolt of nausea and rage I feel every time I hear Cataha’s name. “Do you think Darya is safe?”
He nods. “It would be much harder for him to get to her in St. Petersburg, and my men there are keeping an eye on her. Ludmilla’s asking around, tapping all her sources, trying to figure out why he might be looking for you in particular. Who he thinks you are.”
“Well, I guess that’s all we can do right now.” I lean back in my seat, casually sliding away from him. “Change of subject. Why did you tell Lukas that he’s going to be the ring bearer at our wedding?” I demand.
His fierce grin holds a challenge. He’s begging me to fight him on this. “Oh, don’t you want him to be the ring bearer? He’ll be so disappointed.”
I glare at him. “I will agree not to try to leave your protection, or work with any anti-trafficking groups. At least until Cataha’s dead. But I have not agreed that I will marry you. And there will be no wedding until I agree to it.”
“How adorable that you think that.”
He lunges and grabs me and pulls me onto his lap. He wraps his arms around me and pins me up against him. He’s rock hard, and as I squirm and fight, I can practically feel his cock rising to meet me.
“Your name is Willow Volkov. You are the property of Sergei Volkov. I own your body, heart and mind. You are my wife in all but name, and in exactly eighteen days, in the drawing room of this house, with your family in attendance, it will be official.”
I writhe in his grip. “No, it will not!”
His hot breath in my ear is sensual torment. “You’re being a very bad girl.”
“Sergei! I’m serious!” But it comes out as a moan.
“So am I. I am serious about marrying you. I am serious that I love you, and that I will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if you don’t want me to. And I’ll keep you with me until my dying day.”
I try to be angry about his stalkerish claims on me. I try really hard. But with the feeling of his muscles bunching up as I try to fight my way out of his arms, it’s difficult. “Do you understand how seriously sick that is?” My voice doesn’t sound as stern as it should.
“Of course.” He kisses my ear, and I stifle a whimper of pleasure. “By the way, I sent the kitchen staff away. Nobody here but my security team, and they’re outside. We have the whole house to ourselves. And I told you what would happen if you tried to deny that you’re mine.” There’s a low, rumbling threat in his voice.
I tense up, because I don’t like the nasty gleam in his eyes. I try again to wriggle out of his arms, but he just tightens his grip until I feel like I’m being crushed by bands of steel.
“Sergei, please! You’re hurting me!”
He growls in my ear. “Then sit perfectly still.”
I obey him instantly – out of fear that he’ll dislocate something on me if I don’t.
“It’s been too long since I’ve given you a real punishment.”
I try to bargain. “We could…we could just have sex. It would be good. I love it when you fuck me.”
Once he had to force me to say those words. Now they roll easily off my tongue.
“I know you do.” He leans down and bites my shoulder, hard, and I cry out. “And I love to fuck you too. But I also love to punish you. I love it when you beg. And I told you what would happen every time you try to deny that you’re mine. Didn’t I?”
Despite myself, I’m falling into that quicksand of pleasure that will suck me in no matter how hard I fight. My body is turning soft and tender with desire for him.
“Yes, sir.” It’s the only answer I can give him.
He stands up, dragging me with him. Then, to my shock, he maneuvers me outside onto the deck, which faces the harbor. Immediately, I’m shivering as a cold wind whips off the water. The air reeks of seaweed and fish. I hear the hoarse creak of seagulls wheeling overhead. Boats are chugging by, crowded with bundled-up tourists, close enough that I can see people’s faces.
I know what he’s got in mind.
“No.” There’s anger, pleading and fear in that one word. Not in front of perfect strangers, in public. No. I can’t. I won’t.
I spin around to face him, and he slides one finger under my chin, tipping my face up to look at him. He’s not shivering at all. He’s not a normal man. Heat and cold don’t touch him.
“You know how I love to give you choices, princess.”
“Choices that aren’t real choices,” I protest.
He lets out a low chuckle. “Right now your choice is this. I’ll fuck you out here, with no punishment, with you holding on to the rail as the boats go by. Or I’ll take you inside and whip you twenty times with my belt and shove a butt plug up your ass.”
“Not twenty times! Please!” I cry out, my eyes going wide with fright.
“I warned you. Decide now.” He grabs the waistband of my pants. I’m shivering violently, from fear and anger and cold.
“Inside!” I cry out.
“I thought you’d say that.”
He grabs me by the back of my neck and marches me into the house.
Our bedroom here – am I actually calling it our bedroom? – has a huge four-poster bed, and he hustles me over to it. I stand there, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as he rummages in the nightstand and comes up with a rope, which he loops over the bedframe and uses to tie my hands.
Nervous anticipation curdles in my belly. He’s leaving my shirt and pants on, and that’s a good sign, isn’t it?
The first smack of the belt across my back wrenches a cry from me, and shows me that thin fabric will not shield me from pain.
And then the second blow descends on me, and the third, and the fourth. I’m dancing in place, jerking against the rope.
I can hear Sergei’s heavy breathing right behind me. It’s arousal, not effort, that’s making him breathe harder.
The smack across my butt cheeks makes me shriek. My cheeks quiver and a line of liquid fire runs diagonally across them.
“Stop it!” I plead. He ignores me and follows it up by laying several more stripes across my back. I can feel all of them, glowing as if coals have been rubbed on my skin.
He moves back to my butt, and I wriggle madly, trying to get away from him. I feel a steady throb of arousal between my legs, at war with the fiery pain splayed across my back.
“Please!” I cry out. “Stop it, now!”
Why are my nipples so hard? Why is my pussy so wet?
Crack. Crack.
“I choose neither!” My voice is raised to a shriek. “You can’t make me chose between this and – owww! No! – this and being forced to – owww! No! Let me go!” I can barely catch my breath. “You’re hurting me! Sergei, stop, stop, stop!” I scream, but he keeps cracking the belt across my agonized back and butt. Then he moves down to lash the backs of my thighs while I shriek and curse and sob.
He’s painted liquid flame from my back down past my ass and onto my legs, and I’m panicked now, struggling wildly. I can’t take any more.
I’ve lost track of how many times he’s lashed me, and that makes me panic even more. My back is red agony, and I’m howling with pain.
When he finally lets me down, I collapse face down on the bed, legs hanging over the edge.
I cry into the comforter as he lowers my pants to my ankles. Pain travels down my back in steady waves. Throb, throb, throb.
He’s opening up the nightstand and pulling out the butt plug.
“No more, no more! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” I wail.
“Now, now, you want me to keep all my promises, don’t you?” he croons as he drips icy-cold lube onto my puckered rectum. “I’m a changed man, Willow. You’ve changed me. Every word I say to you is true.”
Then he presses his lubed-up fingers against it, and I sob harder, tensing up in a desperate fight to keep him from invading me. He won’t be denied. He forces two fingers past my resisting ring of muscle, and he’s inside me. I whimper in protest, but of course he ignores it. He spreads his two fingers apart, stretching my rear tunnel uncomfortably. “When I promise to do something, I’ve got to do it, so you see, I really have no choice in the matter.”
My back and butt cheeks are still on fire, and now this?
“You don’t have to punish me any more! The belt hurt, it really hurt!” I’m shaking with heaving sobs.
But he’s merciless. He slides his fingers out and quickly forces the butt plug inside me, stretching me out even more, and I groan in pain at the burning sensation that’s blooming between my cheeks. He withdraws his hand, leaving the plug seated there.
Then he bends down and kisses the burning stripes on my butt, his lips soft and gentle.
“Of course it did. When I punish you, I don’t fuck around.” His fingers slide between my legs, and of course, I’m so wet that there’s moisture dripping onto my thighs.
Then he moves, and his tongue is lapping up the moisture, and my sobs turn to groans of pleasure. “So sweet,” he moans into my pussy. My whole body twitches as lightning bolts of pleasure zap down my nerve endings.
He slides his hand forward, massaging my clitoris, rubbing and rubbing. The comforter bunches in my hands as I clutch it. My breath is coming in pants now, and I spread my legs wide. My body has taken over my mind – it’s opening for him and begging him to plunge in and destroy me.
The throbbing pain of the butt plug fades to a sweet ache. My back and ass are still on fire, but somehow, yet again, pain has melted into pleasure.
He stands up behind me, and when he pushes the thick head of his cock between my wet lips, I don’t even pretend to fight.
“Yes,” I hiss as he inches in bit by bit. He’s stretching me to my limit, and my slick tunnel is clenching him tightly. “Oh…my…God, yes.”
He slides halfway in, grabbing my hips and holding me firmly.
Then he stops, and I strangle on a scream of frustration.
“What’s your name, baby?”
“Sergei, please!” I whine, and thrust myself backward – but the bastard anticipates it and moves back away from me.
He chuckles as I whimper and squirm. “Pretty sure that’s not it.” His voice is low and taunting.
Shamelessly, I wriggle, trying again to push back. To make him push me all the way. A minute ago I was screaming for mercy, and now I can barely stop myself from screaming for more.
The low rumble of his laughter infuriates me. He loves this most of all. He craves proof of how much I need him – and to get it, he tortures me with desire until I’m completely helpless. It’s agonizing. I’d crawl over hot coals for him right now.
Let me come. Please, please, please.
Just barely, I keep myself from shrieking the words out loud. I won’t give in so easily. He’ll win in the end, but at least I’ll make him fight for it.
He moves ever so slowly, too slowly, sliding into me all the way but without the force and friction that I need. Now he’s completely buried inside me and holding me perfectly still. I kick my legs, I squirm my burning, punished bottom, but I won’t get what I need until I give him what he demands.
“I can last all day,” he intones, and I can hear the cruel amusement lacing his voice. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
There’s only one way I’ll get relief from the inferno of need that’s burning me from within. “Willow Volkov!” I scream.
Fuck him, I don’t have to mean it.
It’s good enough for him, and he starts moving again, thrusting hard, rewarding me for being a good girl.
He pumps in and out, and I hear his breath quickening. It doesn’t take more than a minute. I can’t hold back any longer; I spill over the edge, the dam broken, pleasure cascading over me like hot lava. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. I hear screams of pleasure and realize they’re my own.
Sergei is shouting my name, and his body is rocking into mine, and our pleasure twines together until we’re one flesh and his orgasm is my own, and I’m falling into a white-hot netherworld that’s made of agony and ecstasy.