It was like falling into water that was colder than any ice, a chill that soaked straight through skin and flesh to freeze your bones. I became a lifeless doll in his arms, limp and staring.
He scooped me up and started to carry me towards the bedroom.
I wasted precious seconds thinking this is not happening, this can’t be happening. When I finally started to kick and struggle, we were almost at the door. I flung myself sideways, trying to launch myself from his grip, legs kicking and arms grabbing for the door frame.
He laughed.
I twisted around and tried to claw for his face and he trapped my wrists easily, pulling my arms behind my back until my shoulders burned. Then we were through the door and he threw me on the bed.
I didn’t have time to get my arms in front of me to break my fall, so I landed with my hair in my face and the air knocked out of me. I twisted over onto my side, groaning, watching him approach. I saw his eyes track over my nearly-naked body. I was disgusted to find that there was still a dark tendril of excitement wrapped around my rising fear.
Then he was on me, using his weight to pin my legs and his hands to pin my shoulders, pushing me over onto my back. I began to fight again, thrashing and bucking under him, and that only made him grin. He reached into a drawer beside the bed and brought out something that made me freeze. A pair of shining steel handcuffs.
He wrestled my arms above my head and snapped the cuffs onto my wrists with practiced ease, hooking them around the iron bestead. A horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized I really couldn’t get free. I heaved with my arms, using all my strength, but the handcuff chain just clinked and jingled against the iron. It was like a parody of all the times I’d pushed against his hands during sex, wanting to feel helpless. Except now I actually was. And my body, my traitorous fucking body, refused to acknowledge the difference. Seeing him hulking over me, still fully dressed, feeling myself bound and powerless beneath him in skimpy underwear, it responded. I could feel myself getting wet.
Enraged with myself, with him, with Adam for sending me on the mission in the first place, I lost it. I kicked him as hard as I could, but this wasn’t like the woman at the club. My heel hit him in the stomach but it just glanced off the hard muscle there and he caught my ankle easily and pressed it to the bed. Then he did the same with my other leg and used his weight to pin them. Now I was held fast, stretched out on the bed with my arms above my head.
I stared up at him, my breath coming in panting heaves.
“Did you think I wouldn’t guess?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “An American, all pretty and sweet, suddenly in my life. She acts innocent, so I’m tempted to corrupt her. But really, she’s the one who’s dark inside.”
“I—I’m not CIA,” I panted. “I swear, Luka.” It didn’t sound convincing even to me.
He suddenly lunged down and kissed me, forcing his tongue into my mouth. It was so unexpected I didn’t have time to close my lips. His tongue brutally sought mine out and danced with it and, though I tried to twist my head away, I could feel the hot throb of pleasure go straight down to my groin. What was wrong with me?! Even now, I couldn’t resist him.
He lifted his head and stared down at me. His words were like carefully sculpted weapons. “Don’t lie to me, Arianna. I know you are.”
My heart plummeted down through the bed. When? Had I not fooled his dad after all—had he tipped Luka off? Had it been on the yacht, when I’d mentioned Natalia’s name? Or was it back at the party, when he saw me near his laptop? Had he known right from the start?
“I know you’re CIA, sent to snake your way into my bed. Let’s see you. Let’s see the pretty little tits they sent to tempt me.” His hand bunched in the front of my bra, there was a crack of snapping elastic and it was gone, a wadded ball of silk and ribbons in his hand, and I was topless.
He stared down at my breasts and I writhed, my head spinning. Any second, I knew, the interrogation would start. The brutal violence. Or maybe he wanted to enjoy my body one last time before he killed me.
He lowered his head and licked one breast, leaving the nipple shining, and I couldn’t stop the delicate flesh puckering and hardening. He noticed and laughed. “Even now, your body’s hot for me.” He looked down. “Let’s see how hot.”
He ripped my panties away and cupped my sex, then plunged two fingers into me. I gasped and moaned, eyes wide. I could feel his fingertips sliding on my wetness. He brought them up to show me the glistening evidence of my arousal.
This was nuts. I knew he was going to kill me and I still wanted him. I wanted him no matter what.
“Now,” he said. “What’s your real name?”
“A—Arianna!” I gasped.
He nodded slowly, his eyes gleaming. He cupped one breast and rolled the nipple suggestively between finger and thumb, staring straight into my eyes. I started to huff air through my nostrils, panic-breathing. God, those hands were so powerful….
“What...is your real...name?” he asked again. And this time, he pinched my nipple. Not hard enough for it to be agony, not anywhere near as hard as he could have done. But enough for a white-hot bolt of pain to wrap around the pleasure and arc down to my groin. My back arched off the bed.
“I swear....” I panted. “My real name’s Arianna!”
His eyes grew dark...and gleamed even more. “You want to do it hard way,” he growled. “Well, is fine.” I knew from the way his English was breaking down that he was getting more and more turned on. God, he’s enjoying this!
He grabbed my hips and suddenly flipped me over onto my stomach. With no way to support myself, my breasts and face were mashed against the bedclothes.
“Tell me everything,” he said in a hungry rasp. “Or you will know great pain.”
Images flashed through my head. I knew what the Brotherhood did to traitors. There were a hundred horrible ways to die and many more ways I could be tortured before that. My fingernails could be pulled. My teeth extracted. I could be burned with cigarettes.
I knew I was going to break anyway. I wasn’t some trained field agent like Nancy. I’d tell him everything I knew. Why not just do it fast and avoid some of the pain? Maybe he’d be merciful and kill me quickly.
But then I thought of Adam and how I would let him down. How I’d already let him down, by slipping up somewhere. I gathered up the shreds of strength I had left and took a deep breath. “No,” I whispered.
He made a noise in his throat as if he preferred it that way. I screwed my eyes closed and waited for whatever would come next.
There was a flash of pain across my ass and a cracking sound that reverberated around the room. “Bitch! Tell me name of your CIA handler!”
My ass cheek throbbed and blazed. It sunk in that I’d just been spanked.
Spanked?!
Pain exploded in the other ass cheek, then faded to a dull, hot ache that seemed to soak inward towards my groin, making me writhe.
“Whore! I know you are spy! I find codebook in your suitcase!”
WHAT?! What codebook? I didn’t have any codeboo—
And suddenly the scene reversed itself, black and white swapping over. His words from the yacht came back to me. A sex game I used to play with Natalia. I’d be interrogating her. She used to pretend to be an American spy.
I know game we can play, he’d said. He’d asked me if I wanted to play and, like a fool, I’d nodded.
A wave of relief crashed through me, leaving me breathless. He didn’t know I was CIA at all. He was just playing the same sex game he had with Natalia. He had no idea I actually was a spy.
That’s why it was a turn on, I told myself. That’s why my body had responded the way it had. Somewhere in my subconscious, I must have known it wasn’t real.
And now that I knew it wasn’t real...I felt the heat soaring in my body. I pulled on the cuffs, tried to wriggle my legs from under his weight, but I was trapped. Powerless.
God...powerless.
Wait. I couldn’t really do this. I couldn’t get off on the fantasy of being caught and interrogated, when that was my greatest fear. That was too twisted. I couldn’t. I really couldn’t.
I couldn’t. Right?
I started to pant. “I’ll never talk!”
He gave a low chuckle, slid his hand underneath me and cupped a breast. Relief was still sluicing through me, leaving me weak and heady...and then he pinched my nipple, harder than before. Pain and pleasure mingled together, little white starbursts embedded in thick, dark heat. A sort of pressure was building, one I’d only felt briefly, before, when I’d pressed against his hands as he held me down. I had to let it out. But I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted—
I wanted more.
“You—You Russian bastard!” I suddenly blurted. And it was like a safety valve for the pressure, while still allowing it to build.
Luka chuckled cruelly and suddenly his hand was cracking down across my ass, making the soft flesh bounce and burn. I cried out in a strangled moan.
“That’s right,” said Luka. “Moan like American whore.” His hand came down again: one, two three.
I writhed and twisted under him, grinding my sex against the bed, wishing I could get more friction there. The fear I’d felt before was gone and its sudden departure had left a void. Relief had rushed in to fill it and now I was drunk on it, and that was making the pleasure and pain and lust even better.
Imagine sex on a rollercoaster, right after finding out you don’t have cancer, after all.
He suddenly hauled me to my knees. My wrists were still cuffed to the bedstead, so my upper body had to stay low, my back arched and my breasts skimming the bed. My ass was thrust up into the air.
He shoved his hands between my thighs and opened me. I panted, the blood rushing in my ears. “I—I’ll never talk!”
I heard the metal clink of his belt. The rustle of fabric as his pants fell to his knees. I tugged hard on the cuffs, the metal rubbing my wrists. “D—Do what you like to me!” I wasn’t even aware of what I was saying, anymore. The heat inside me was like a furnace, melting me from the inside out. The words were just releasing the pressure, stopping me from exploding too soon. “I’ll never talk!”
And then I felt the head of his cock splitting my folds and surging up into me and my eyes snapped wide. He drove all the way in with one long thrust and I groaned. I was already at the start of the slope that led to my release, rolling inexorably down towards it. “Never!” I shouted.
He pulled out and thrust into me again, his groin grinding against my ass, and I jerked at the feeling of being so completely filled. One of his hands slid under me and scooped up my breast, pinching the nipple between his fingers. “Beg me to fuck you,” he hissed in my ear. He thrust again, making raw pleasure arc and snap from my quivering walls. Another thrust and another. “Beg!”
I could barely speak. This was beyond sex, now, beyond anything. I was utterly lost, no longer even sure who I was. “Evil Russian b—bastard!” I shrieked.
His thrusts reached a peak, his hard body slapping against my upraised ass. His other hand snaked under me, his fingers finding my clit. I rocketed headlong towards my climax.
“Ah—Please!” I felt myself starting to spasm around him. “I’ll talk! Just please fuck me!”
He rubbed me, playing me like an instrument as he fucked me, and all I could do was cling on as I slammed into my orgasm. I strained at the cuffs, arching my back, my fingers clutching at the bedstead. I’d never felt so completely out of control, or so alive.
The spasms lasted for what felt like minutes as he circled and rubbed at my clit. He drew the pleasure out and out for me as his hips pistoned against my upraised ass. Somewhere in my groaning and writhing, I felt him shudder and reach his own release.
Eventually, I slumped on the bed, spent. I felt him gently unfasten the cuffs and then pull me over onto my side, spooning me as my breathing gradually settled.
“You’d make a lousy spy,” he said with a low chuckle. “Natalia used to hold out for hours.”