Day twenty…

I’ve showered, washed and de-tangled my hair, and I look human again. The view out of my garden window frames a night scene with a slice of crescent moon hovering in a star-spangled sky. I’m sitting in front of my easel sketching a still life of a vase and cut roses, when I hear Sergei’s footsteps in the hall.

The warm arousal that seeps through me whispers that my flesh has come back to life.

I feel his presence even before he enters. He strolls through the door, stopping by the side of my chair. He reaches down and trails his fingers along my jaw with a feather-light touch and then in the gentlest voice he’s ever used, says, “Take off your clothing for me, Willow. Then lie down on the bed, on your back. I just want to look at you.”

Normally when he speaks softly, there’s enormous pain following immediately afterwards, but somehow, tonight, I sense he won’t hurt me.

As if in a dream, I pull my shirt over my head. I unhook my bra. I slide off my pants and panties together in one smooth motion and drop them on the floor.

While I’m doing this, Sergei’s eyes never leave me. His hands glide over his shirt, undoing buttons, then down to his zipper, then slide his pants down, but all his focus is on my body. His gaze sweeps me like a warm caress, and I feel my flesh heating and growing more sensitive.

I look at him through-half lidded eyes. I’ve never really studied his body before. When he took me before, he was mostly dressed, and I was usually dazed with fear and lust. Focused on surviving the pain that he dished out to me, and worse, the agonizing way he teased my body and made me crave him.

Now I’m noticing not just the broad chest and that tapers to the V of his torso, but the patchwork of war wounds on his skin. Bullet holes. Knife slashes. Puckered splatters of burned skin.

He looms over me, and my nipples swell, rising towards him. Then he slides onto the bed, on top of me, and he kisses my mouth with a soft tenderness. He bites my lower lip ever so gently, and I whimper in pleasure.

His long, slow kisses are thorough and searching and gentle, his tongue sliding against mine in an exquisitely erotic caress that has me moaning softly against his mouth. He runs his hands over my body, stroking and teasing, setting up quivers of sensation in my flesh wherever he touches me.

Warily at first, but then with growing confidence, I let my hands explore his body. Big, rugged, the raised flesh of those cruel scars textured beneath my touch. I explore them with my fingers, tracing their edges with feather-light touches. He’s never let me touch him like this before. I know he thinks it makes him weak, vulnerable. But tonight he tolerates it. Wants it, from the way his breath quickens.

He draws back for a moment, breaking the kiss, and I feel bereft, but he holds himself above me with one strong arm, muscles bulging and straining, and with his free hand he fits the head of his cock against my drenched pussy. He’s huge and hard, and I want him inside me so badly it’s a fierce ache.

He groans as he pushes himself inside me, and it’s a haunting sound – raw and vulnerable – and I wrap my arms around him and hold him close as he starts to move inside me, pushing his hips against mine to get as deeply inside me as he can, swearing softly against my neck in Russian.

He thrusts inside me again and again, his cock dragging over my G-spot every time he withdraws, and tension coils between my thighs. I gasp and arch my hips to meet him, shuddering with pleasure. I clutch the muscular globes of his ass, urging him inside me harder and faster, but he continues to fuck me slowly, thoroughly. I reach up to trace the silvery scar that slashes through his eyebrow with my thumb. His eyes are closed, the harsh lines of his face set in an expression of raw, open need that makes me want to weep.

Long, sweet shudders of bliss are running through my body now, and my breathing turns into a series of harsh little gasps as orgasm blooms and unfurls inside me. He gives a strangled groan and his cock kicks inside me, then he muffles his shouts of release against my skin as my pussy spasms around him and we cling to each other, riding out the shocks of bliss that rock through us, leaving us limp and senseless.

He lies down behind me and wraps his arms around me. We’re slick with sweat. Gradually our breathing slows. I can feel every beat of his heart thrumming against my back, and I start to relax more and more. Gradually, sleep rolls in, and for the first night in weeks I don’t toss and turn for hours.

But when I wake up, I instantly sense his absence.

“Sergei?” I call out to him. “Where are you?”

He’s gone. He’s left me again.

* * *

Day twenty-one…

A maid taps on the door in the morning, and tells me that breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. As I climb into the shower, I allow myself to hope.

And to my amazement, he’s actually there, waiting for me in the dining room. The table is spread with the usual amazing feast – mountains of bacon and piles of fluffy eggs and stacks of pancakes dripping with sweetly scented maple syrup. I manage a tiny smile as I sit down and spoon lumps of sugar into my coffee.

I understand now why Sergei’s meals are always an exercise in excess, why after a childhood of starvation, he must pile up the richest, most delicious food at every meal. And I ache at the thought of child-Sergei’s growling stomach.

“You’re feeling better?” Sergei asks, and shoves a forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

I sip my coffee and consider the question before answering. “I don’t feel like I did before, and I don’t think I ever will again. It’s hard to put into words, but…my entire body feels different, because I’m built from different materials then I was led to believe. It’s like I was told I was fashioned from gold, but it was really lead. Everything that I thought was true about myself is a lie. I feel different from the inside out. I’ll start to forget, I’ll start to feel a little better, and then it comes rushing back to me and I feel disgusting all over again.”

“Yes. That happens after a trauma,” Sergei says solemnly. “But you just keep moving forward and doing what needs to be done every day. And it fades, bit by bit. It never goes away, though.”

I can’t let myself think about the kind of traumas that Sergei has endured, and how it must have felt for him to move through endless days and nights.

But I can actually smell the food today, and I’m having breakfast with Sergei, and even if everything is a little duller and uglier, it’s not hideous and painful at the moment.

So I ladle eggs onto my plate and stack up some pancakes. And the food tastes as good as it looks.

Sergei is silent as he eats, but that’s all right. His presence here, with me, speaks volumes. Usually after we’re intimate, he avoids me for days, but we lay together hours ago in the tenderest encounter we’ve ever had, and here he is with me again.

As we sit there, Maks walks up to us, holding my phone, the one that was taken from me when I first arrived at Sergei’s house. There’s a sour look pinching his face. “Anastasia. Wants to speak to Willow.” He spits the words out like lumps of rotten meat. I reach for the phone, but he hands it to Sergei instead.

“Listen, you spoiled little bitch,” Sergei barks into the phone. “If you say one more word to upset Willow, I will hunt you down, and Vilyat’s worst tortures will seem like sweet, sweet mercy.”

“Sergei!” I cry. “Don’t talk to her like that!”

He slaps the phone into my palm, his eyes dark as a stormy sea.

“Anastasia,” I say. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“I just want to say that I am sorry about what I told you,” she says, sounding lost and sad. “I shouldn’t have dragged you down with me.”

“No, you did the right thing telling me. I needed to know.”

“Maybe. But I didn’t tell you from unselfish motivations. I was angry, I was frustrated. And I was on the defensive. I’m not saying that you’re wrong about wanting me to go to the police. I’m just saying that I have to do what is right for my children. They will never grow up knowing the kind of life I led.” There’s an edge of sharp steel to her voice when she says that.

“I understand.” I rub my face with my hands. I’m doing that a lot these days. My flesh feels dirty, and no matter how hard and long I scrub in the shower, an invisible grit clings to me. “And I shouldn’t have said that you were dead to me. When I get angry, I lash out. You’re my family. You always will be.” I sigh. “But I won’t give up on this, Anastasia.”

“Things will change soon, I’m sure.” She’s speaking cryptically, but I am sure she means that Vilyat will die soon enough.

So I reply cryptically. “The change will be too small.”

Logically I know that people are being trafficked all over the world, and it will never stop. But the knowledge that she has information that could save women from torture right now, and she’s choosing not to – it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

“How is Lukas?” She’s not even subtle about changing the subject.

“Fine. I’m sure he misses Helenka and Yuri. How are they?”

“So far everything is all right. Helenka’s being kind of quiet and serious. Not her usual jokey self. We’re staying at a condo complex with very good security. We’re on the first floor, so we never have to get in an elevator or take the stairs. Vilyat signed all the papers I wanted him to sign, and he gave me two million dollars, and he paid my lawyers, and I haven’t heard a word from him. You could come stay with us,” she added hopefully.

“Not until certain things happen.” Like her going to the cops with what she has on Vilyat.

“I see.” That’s all she says. Then she clears her throat.

“Is Jasha okay? Could you tell him I say hi, and the kids miss his lessons?”

“No, I will not. You want to tell him, come and do it yourself. I should go. I love you, Anastasia, but I’m really disappointed in you as well, on a level I can’t even communicate. You are allowing bad things to happen. You could help people, and you choose not to.”

“I love you too. You took care of my children for so long. And me, you took care of me. After I gave up on life. You pulled me back out of the shadows. You told me I was worth saving, and finally I believed you. Take care of yourself, Willow, I hope I can see you soon.”

When I hang up, I look around for Maks, but he’s gone. I try to hand the phone back to Sergei. He shakes his head.

“Keep it,” he says. He takes an enormous swig of his coffee.

I look at him in surprise. “Really? So you’re not worried that I’ll try to call for help?”

“Call who?” he asks. “And not to be a dick, but where would you even go? You’re broke and homeless and completely dependent on me. Unless you want to trade your morals for security, and move in with your aunt after all.”

I scowl at him. “Wow, no, that wasn’t dickish at all.” I set the phone down next to my plate, feeling glum and deflated.

He’s right. And there are seven days left until my thirty days are up. Will he really kick me out? Or give me the house and leave? Or let me stay with him?

I don’t dare ask, so I just jab at my pancakes with my fork and watch them bleed syrup, and imagine it’s Vilyat’s red, red blood.