"Filthy Pride"- Social Response

The butler pours two glasses of merlot before leaving the room. I raise the glass below my nose, breathing in the hearty tannins just as Igor steps inside the room, dragging a very angry Camilla behind him. My gaze follows her feminine curves. "I see the dress fits you very nicely," I smirk into my glass while Igor shoves Camilla into a chair.

She shoots daggers at me and snatches her arm away from Igor. I study her as she subtly glances around the room, and her eyes lock on the large, stained glass window behind the table. There's a slight flicker in her turquoise eyes, as though she thinks she may possibly escape. I'll let her think what she wants for now. At the very least, it should be entertaining.

"So," her gaze slowly drifts to me, "you like to dress women like dolls?" The words roll from her tongue, and I won't lie, her accent is quite alluring. "I had no idea you and Jésus have so much in common," she says before lifting her glass to her lips.

"You wound me, Krasivaya," I say, placing my hand over my heart. "He and I have nothing in common."

"Enough of the shit. What do you want, Russian?"

"Such language," I tsk before placing my glass on the table. Do I tell her that I know who she really is? No, I think I'll save that. "You're collateral."

"Collateral for what? Jésus?"

I smile. "You ask too many questions."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'd like to know why you've dragged me to this hell hole, how rude of me." She rolls her eyes.

I release an exasperated sigh. "Your brother's cooperation is needed for a short time."

"Is that so? What could a Russian possibly want with my brother?"

"It's of no concern to you."

"Maybe you just wanted a new whore?" She tilts her head and a wave of ebony hair pours over her shoulder. "You're such a charming individual, I can't see why you'd have to force a girl."

My jaw ticks from her insult. "Do they raise everyone in Mexico without the slightest hint of respect?"

"I'm Colombian. I was raised to respect few things. Power. Money. And blood." She taps one nail over the stem of her wine glass. "The kind that would stain that designer suit of yours."

"How very dramatic."

The butler steps back into the room, placing our plates in front of us before exiting again. A small plume of steam rises from the filet mignon. I open my linen napkin, laying it delicately across my lap before taking my fork and knife in hand. Just as I cut into the steak, something whistles past my ear followed by a muted thud behind me. I look up slowly to find Camilla standing with her palms flat on the table, glaring at me like an angry jungle cat. "Shit," she says with a growl.

I glance over my shoulder. There’s a steak knife now embedded in the wall. How savage. I knew she was volatile, but, I'll admit, I may have underestimated her. Most people fear me like death itself. However, Camilla does not fear me, and I'd be lying if I said the idea of teaching her to doesn't utterly excite me.

On a sigh, I drop my fork to my plate and scoot my chair back. When I stand, I see her brace against the table, her eyes boring into me as I approach. She arches a single brow in a dare, and I do so like a dare... I grab her by the throat, digging my fingers into her jawline as I lift her up. Dishes and glasses break when I throw her to the table and pin her down by the neck. Most women would scream and claw at my hand, but I barely feel her pulse pick up.

Shoving my knee between her thighs, I force them apart and step between them. With a smile, I lean over her and place my lips right by her ear. The sweet scent of her skin makes every bit of man in me bristle with tension. "It would not be wise to test me," I whisper against her warm throat.

Her leg wraps around my waist without warning, the heel of her shoe digging into me when she pulls me against her. My grip on her throat tightens while she fights to lift her neck from the table. I allow her an inch, and she places her lips at the shell of my ear. Her heated breath fans across my skin like a fire, and my fingers twitch over her throat. Camilla is the type of woman any man would love to fuck, and I'm certain she's reduced many men of power to blubbering messes by techniques such as this, but it takes more than beauty and curves to sway me.

"I've tested men far worse than you," she says.

"There are no worse men than me,” I whisper.

I keep waiting for her heartbeat to quicken beneath my fingertips, for the fear to set in, but her pulse remains steady. And when I tighten my hold again, she groans. I close my eyes and swallow. Survival instincts tend to be engrained deep, but this woman's absence of fear nearly makes me drunk with excitement. I open my eyes and grab a knife from the table, immediately dragging the blade along the inside of her thigh, waiting. Waiting for her pulse to beat fast and hard, and while it does pound faster, this is not the pace of fear. This is want. Basic lust. This is the dark side of humanity calling to be tamed. I drag the blade higher and higher until my knuckles brush the lace of her underwear.

Her legs fall shamelessly open. Now this, this is dangerous because it beckons my depravity in a way I've never experienced. Fear is one thing...this is much more intoxicating, because I can almost imagine cutting her while I fuck her. My dick swells, and I drop my chin to my chest fighting to maintain myself.

"I will kill you, Russian," she says before her teeth rake the side of my throat. I can't help but fight a groan at her sweet promise.

"And I will hurt you, Krasivaya..." I pull back and nip at her bottom lip before skirting my tongue along its curve. I'm so tempted to bite harder and draw blood. "In ways you can't possibly imagine," I whisper.

"Promises, promises." She smiles against my mouth.

"Well, I do always make good on my promises." I press the blade into her thigh, piercing her skin as I slowly drag it over her leg. She gasps and bites her lip on a moan. Oh, dear god... A trickle of warm blood rolls over my knuckles, and I have to close my eyes to control myself because if I see that blood... Inhaling, I shove against her and push away from the table with the knife still clutched in my hand.

I snap my fingers as I walk out of the room, and two men immediately brush past me. I hear her swear at them. Dishes break. My cock strains against my pants as I storm down the hallway to the living room and slam the door closed behind me. I assumed she would be a challenge, but I never believed she would be without fear. She is worthy prey, for what greater thrill is there than that of the hunt? The kill is merely a result.

I glance down at the knife. The specks of blood on the blade cause my pulse to hammer in my chest. My mind jumbles with thoughts of her lips, of how volatile it would be to fuck her, cut her...I pace the room, dragging my hand down my face.

She is one, I know, will be so beautiful when she bleeds.