Blyad, he was fool for allowing the woman back into his head. Yet, he could not tear his eyes from her as she danced her way through the small mountain town. She smiled at every fuck that passed her by, easily giving them the pieces of herself he had to sneak in like a thief and steal. He wanted to put bullets in all of them and he might have too, except they were supposed to be blending in. And for some reason he didn’t want to ruin her good time. So instead, he trailed along behind her, like a lovesick idiot, picking up the scraps she tossed his way and hoping he was doing the right thing by letting her off the leash.

She had earned this bit of freedom. She had taken his anger those first few weeks at the cabin, submitting to his every command without complaint. She had become a shadow, jumping at every noise, taking his cock whenever he demanded and silently putting up with every vile name he’d called her. Finally, it had been her silence, the bruises on her fair skin and the absence of her laughter that had broken him. He would never tell her, but he simply could not go on punishing her. He wanted his wife back, not the pale, jumpy wraith he was turning her into.

It had been the last vicious fuck that had finally broken him. About two weeks ago, right before he’d shown her the dance studio. She’d been having a bath and he’d been silently brooding, watching the snow fall on the branches of the trees beyond, struggling for life in a harsh environment that wouldn’t release its endless death grip. So much like the country of his birth, yet also different. He thought about all the complications of having Natasha back in his life.

How was he supposed to drag her around the world to his various jobs? Especially now that she knew about him? The danger to both their lives would be exponentially worse if she didn’t obey his every command. And would she? He knew for a fact she didn’t approve of him and his choice of career. If she made one wrong move, she could so easily fuck them both. Hell, she could have tipped the mark in Versailles if she’d been noisier that night that she’d followed him. If she’d distracted David while he was working and the mark had gotten away somehow, the fallout would have been disastrous. Word would have gotten back to David’s contractor and likely ended in both their deaths at the hand of another assassin.

The thought of Natasha, dead from the bullet of a rival, had driven David to exert a form of cold domination on his young wife in the hopes of breaking her until she would never think to disobey him. He’d dragged her dripping from the tub and forced her to kneel shivering and frightened in the middle of the cabin. When she’d tried to speak, he had demanded silence and proceeded to give her a series of instructions intended to demean and dominate. She had pleaded and begged with her eyes, but terrified of his icy demeanor and painful retaliations, given him everything he wanted.

He had punished her for every perceived defiance or flinch until she had lain naked at his feet, unmoving in the face of his grim torment. He had attempted and nearly succeeded in breaking his wife that night, brutally fucking her into submission until she was a quivering mess. It was only in looking down at her bowed head and shaking shoulders, her tiny dancer’s feet, tucked under her pale butt as she hid cowering from him, arms wrapped around her knees, that his eyes had slid for a split second toward the door and his thoughts to the room beyond and the gift he had yet to give to her. Shame had hovered at the edge of his consciousness, warring with the deep-seated need to keep her safe in his world. He knew without a doubt that a broken doll was safer in his world than a tempestuous ballerina.

His eyes had snapped back to her, tracing the single tear that had dared to escape her eye, watching as it rolled off her chin. He should slap her for allowing it to fall freely, punish her for having a feeling he didn’t allow her to feel. He was supposed to be training her for the life they would be living together, darkness dogging their every footstep. But he couldn’t fucking do it. He didn’t want a broken doll. He wanted his wife back, he wanted Natasha, heart-whole and laughing. So, he’d bent down, ignored the way she flinched away from him and scooped her into his arms. He’d carried her into the bedroom, laid her on the bed and turned away.

Now, it amazed him watching her skip down the aisles of one of the homeliest most rustic stores he’d ever had the misfortune of entering, that after experiencing such humiliation at his hands, she could still look at him with a smile. She rushed toward him with a stuffed moose in one hand and a book entitled “Toilet Humour” in the other.

“May I please, David?” she asked breathlessly.

How could he deny such a request? His chest ached when she said his fucking name that way, a plea in her lilting voice. The only response he could possibly give her, “Of course, my love.” His worshipping gaze tracing the near ethereal beauty of her features surrounded by the waves of dark hair skipping around her shoulders as she moved.

“Spasibo!” she yelled excitedly, forgetting her English in a moment of shining excitement.

He flinched and glanced around. He didn’t have the heart to tell her she must never speak her birth language in public. The odds of an assassin lurking nearby were astronomically slim, but men of his profession could never be too careful. He watched indulgently as she put her moose and book down long enough to start trying on a series of hats. She whirled around and posed for him, making a new face with each one. He was beginning to realize what a treasure his little wife truly was. He’d known two years ago that she was exceptional. His body and mind had told him so. But now that he had her once more under his power, without the trappings and influence of the money he’d showered upon her, he was seeing a new side of her. A side of her personality that he liked very much. Too damn much.

At the cabin, she never complained about having to cook or clean. They both shared equally in the tasks. But his wife of two years ago had been pampered and indulged to the extreme. Granted, she had never complained back then either. She had simply floated through life with him, acquiescing to his every command, travelling with him, shopping and dining with him. He would never have expected that the young celebrated ballerina, dripping in expensive baubles, would or could be just as happy living in a cabin high up in the Canadian mountains, away from the glittering cities she was used to. He found he admired this bare-faced, carefree, legging-clad young woman even more than the expensive jet-setting princess. Yet, he was forced to admit, both women were products of his own selfish demands. What did she actually want, he wondered?

Uncomfortable with his own thoughts, he instructed her to choose a hat and gather her purchases. She nodded and grabbed a woolen toque with a bobble on the top that looked silly, but comfortable. Between that and the stuffed moose, his girl was definitely going to fit in with the damn locals. He allowed her to drag him through two more stores, explaining to him the importance of supporting local businesses, while she purchased some new clothes and handmade lotions and soaps. It amazed him that she looked even happier to him in some tiny shop sniffing at each scent bottle while the saleslady explained her scent-making process than when he’d taken her to an original Parisian perfumery and chosen a $5000 bottle of perfume for her.

“Thank you, David,” she sighed happily from the passenger seat in the truck as they drove back to the cabin.

Her eyes shone in the darkness, but he could still see the flash of sapphire blue. He didn’t like the way his heart beat harder, like a dog on a leash, when she looked at him like that. It was… uncomfortable. He’d always had feelings for his wife, but convinced himself they were possession and want. Perhaps, when she was younger, more naïve, it was easier to tell himself those things. Hold her at a distance. Now that they’d survived a storm together, he felt the foundations of his world crumbling. The things he once knew for a certainty were no longer as certain and he couldn’t seem to stop these feelings from escaping the cage.

He gritted his teeth and took a breath, exhaling a little. He reached out and took her hand in a firm grip. “You are welcome, Natasha. It… was my pleasure taking you into town today.”

The smile she flashed him was worth every uncertainty he was made to feel. It was worth the future bullet he might have to take from the constant distraction his wife had him under. Fuck, she was worth everything he had to endure to keep her. He was suddenly very glad he had taken the path he chose a few weeks ago. The one that led toward her smiles instead of away from them. He wanted her love, not her subjugation. He might be a cold, selfish bastard, but Natasha was not. He would do whatever it took to keep her happy, just like this, for as long as he could.

He chuckled as she reached into her bag, unable to leave her purchases alone, even for the time it took to get back home, and pulled her new hat on. She grinned at him, tweaking the purple knit bobble on top of her new toque. “I love it!” she announced happily, hugging her moose.

When they arrived at the cabin, David reached for her before Natasha could dash off in her usual whirlwind hurry to accomplish whatever task was paramount in her mind. She gasped as he swung her around and up into his arms before striding purposefully toward the bedroom with her. He shoved the half-closed door open with his shoulder, knocking it against the wall and then tossed her easily on the bed.

“Stay,” he commanded when she landed with a soft bounce.

Instead of following her down onto the mattress he went back into the main area and quickly started the fireplace, filling the room with light and warmth. Then he returned to the bed, his dark eyes gleaming with intent. Natasha stared up at him shyly. They had made love many times over the past month, sometimes stormy and sometimes not. But never like this. Never after spending a wonderful, happy day together. A day that was both a reminder of old times, but at the same time, even better than old times.

David leaned over Natasha, tucking his arms around her and the thick blankets surrounding her. She gasped and reached for his shoulders as he swept both her and the heavy quilts right off the bed.

“David!”

His eyes met hers as he carried her easily into the front room, around the sofa and placed her on the hard floor on top of the fluffy bed of blankets directly in front of the crackling fire. Warmth suffused their limbs, chasing away the chill of the lingering winter air. Snow was now falling thick and fast, easily visible through the many windows of the cabin. The occupants were warm and insulated in their cocoon of blankets, wrapped in each other’s arms.

David placed his lips against Natasha’s, tasting the smile that had teased him all day. The mouth that had drawn him from the first moment he had spied her on stage at the Bolshoi, dancing her heart out, beckoning to every male in the room. Blood surged through his body in remembrance. His lips drifted to her cheeks, her eyes, her ears, jaw, neck. She sighed as he kissed all the parts of her that belonged to him and him alone. No other man had touched this woman. No other man would ever touch her. It amazed him still that such a prize could belong to him, the degenerate deadly killer. He had wanted her and he had taken her. He did not deserve her, but he fucking wanted her. And god help any power on earth that tried to remove this woman from his possession.

He pulled her sweater up and over her head, allowing her to lift her arms without him wrenching them. Then he reached around her back to unhook her bra, tracing his fingers underneath it, drawing shivers along her delicate flesh. He pulled it away, revealing her small, perfect breasts. Her eyes danced in the firelight as she looked up at him, begging him to touch her. Of course, he could not deny such a pretty plea.

Dipping his head, a lock of his hair falling forward onto the creamy swell of her breast, he took one pert nipple into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. She exhaled sharply before moaning. Her hand came up behind his head, hovering for a moment, before gently twining in his hair. The feel of her graceful fingers shyly scraping against his scalp was enough to draw the savage out from hiding. He bared his teeth, scraping her nipple just enough to give her the edge of delicious pain he knew she would enjoy. She jumped and gasped, attempting to pull away. He whipped an arm around her back, jerking her back into his hold. He opened his mouth and devoured her breast, teasing her nipple with intense suction until her head lolled back on her shoulders and she was moaning in his arms.

The sounds she made drove him crazy with need. The dark things he wanted to do to this woman flooded his consciousness until his grip on her became more brutal than he intended. He thrust the thoughts aside and gentled his touch enough to give her the pleasure necessary to keep her in the moment with him. It amazed him that she had seen the depths of the beast within and still seemed willing to accept him with such loving grace. They had finally come back together, finally found a delicate harmony and he was loath to shatter the balance of their existence.

He tipped her back onto the blankets, sliding his palms down her back so she wouldn’t hit the hard floor. She tipped her head back giving him access to the perfect arch of her throat. He swooped in with a growl, feasting on the delicate length, nipping at the creamy skin until it was red. She arched up into him, widening her legs, seeking the rough thrust of his cock against the softness of her pelvis. He reached down without stopping the havoc he was wreaking on her throat and tore the thin leggings and panties from her legs, baring her completely to the warming air.

Natasha moaned in his ear and wrapped her legs around his waist, trapping his arm between their bodies. She rocked herself against him, sliding her wet pussy against the skin and hair of his wrist, creating delicious friction for herself. He went rigid over top of her as she writhed underneath him, calling to the monster like an innocent siren seeking something she couldn’t possibly comprehend.

With a growl, David lunged for her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep between the sweetness of his wife’s lips while sliding his hand up to cup her sex in the palm of his hand, feeling her heat and wetness. All mine, the blackness of his mind shouted as he pushed a finger through the silken resistance of her vaginal opening. She moaned into his mouth, tightened her arms around his neck and rocked her hips up to meet the invasion. He massaged her with his finger while circling her clit with his thumb. Her cries became higher pitched as she flew toward the peak of her orgasm, trusting him to keep her safe while she soared free.

David felt her nails scrambling along the back of his neck, desperately tearing at his collar, trying to hold onto something as she reached for the shimmering promise held just within reach. His arm tightened around his wife and he added another finger into her tight, silken passage, thrusting deep with his long fingers until she shattered beneath him, her head falling back and her mouth opening in a long scream that echoed throughout the wooden building. Shadows flickered along the walls and embers fell in a chaotic dance, crashing to the bottom of the fireplace.

Natasha went completely limp onto the blankets as David helped her lay back. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his shoulders, tossing it behind him. Looking at his wife, sprawled underneath him, firelight licking sensuously at every inch of delicious skin, he was helpless against the lure of her open thighs. He wrapped his fingers around her legs, the wetness of her pussy from his earlier exploration smearing across her pristine flesh, and shoved them back so he could have better access to the dripping treasure he craved.

The first touch of his tongue to her heated core sent her reaching instantly upward for more of the blazing orgasms she knew her husband would provide. He growled into her flesh like the beast he felt, consumed by her responsive fire. He held her lithe legs back, high against her body, folding them until she couldn’t move under the lash of his tongue and the forceful thrust of his long fingers in her body as he forced her high once more. The only relief when she arched her back, pressing one palm against the blanket as it slid against the smooth grain of the wood flooring while the other reached for her lover.

“David, nyet!” she screamed while simultaneously begging him to continue.

Once more she exploded under his expert touch, filling his mouth with the delicious taste of her. He would never forget, in this lifetime or the next, what it was to have his wife on his tongue or in his arms. There was no other experience to compare. He crouched over top of her, caging her with his body as she collapsed once more in a panting, helpless heap beneath him while he reached down to unclasp the fine material of his dark pants and shove them down his thighs. Once he’d kicked them out of the way he took her in his arms and clasped her tightly against his chest, taking a handful of her hair, spilling in a dark halo across her pale shoulders. Her beautiful sparkling blue eyes flickered in surprise and alarm as he tugged at the tender strands, forcefully drawing her attention.

He used the hard floor to his advantage, tilting his hips into hers and impaling himself deep within her hot, soaking pussy in one swift thrust before she had time to fully realize his intent. She cried out at the sudden intrusion, stiffening against his body and digging her nails into his shoulders. “David, oh god!” she cried out, her cloudy eyes sharpening in pain and ecstasy as his cock forged through her, battering against her cervix. “Nyet, pozhaluysta, stap!” she begged breathlessly, her teeth sinking into his shoulder.

“Nikogda!” he replied savagely. “I will never stop, love.”

His hold on her was so tight she could do nothing but hang on for the ride. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and cried out with each thrust as he drove her higher, forcing her into yet another orgasm. He knew she was exhausted, her small body damp and limp against his. Her cries grew smaller and hoarser as he fucked her with long brutal strokes. He knew he should be gentler. Hell, he’d meant to bring his wife back and make slow, sweet love to her; prove that he could be civilized. But once he held her in his arms, something snapped, the darkness crept back in. He wanted to own every piece of her, inside and out. Show her exactly who she belonged to. Stamp his ownership on every inch of her body.

She lolled in his arms like a doll, her limbs splayed in abandon over his arms and legs as he fucked into her over and over. Breaths puffed in and out of her, causing her small, round breasts to jiggle with each sharp intake of air. He knew he was a monster, a product of his fucked-up childhood, where it was fuck or be fucked, kill or be killed, but he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. He owned Natasha. For better or worse, she belonged to him. He was her master. Forever.

He could feel his balls tightening. She whimpered as his cock flared within her tight, heated passage. He knew it wasn’t fair to ask more of his precious dancer. He didn’t care. He wanted everything. Every last bit of her. Every ounce of passion she had left to give. It all belonged to him. He tipped her back, reached between their bodies and pressed his fingers against the slippery, engorged over-sensitized bundle of nerves, sending her screaming into another spectacular, shimmering orgasm. Her hands clenched helplessly in his hair as tears escaped her beautiful eyes and she jerked in his arms. David could tell that her final orgasm was both intensely wonderful and painful as she went completely limp, seconds away from passing out from the overwhelming sensations coursing through her small body.

He slammed his cock deep into her tight, silken clasp one last time, grunting his satisfaction as he buried his head in her damp neck and spurted hot semen through her tight cervix as she lay helpless in his arms. He had to force himself to loosen his grip, knowing she would probably have bruises by morning. At least they would be marks of passion this time, instead of anger. He shook his head, forcing back unfamiliar feelings of guilt that threatened to invade the peace that enveloped the two of them. A log fell in the fireplace, drawing his attention to the crackling fire that now burned lower.

He looked down at Natasha, tracing the delicate features that had enthralled entire audiences before she had even finished her teens. She had grown, and would most likely continue to grow, more beautiful with time. The sweep of her dark lashes, the width of her lips, the height of her cheeks and the arch of her brows all came together to create an artistry of features that every man would covet. It made David want to keep her hidden from the world. It brought forth the cruel ache that made him want to shake her awake and demand once more she go over each and every detail of their time apart. He still had trouble believing she spent the entire two years alone, without male companionship. Such beauty as hers called to the opposite sex.

Yet, he knew, without a doubt that she could not lie to him. Her mind was an open book. Every truth was laid bare. It was the beauty that was his Natasha. More so than the physical that she could also lay claim to. She had not strayed from her husband.

His arms tightened fractionally for a second, causing her brow to wrinkle in sleep and a whimper of protest to slip from her lips as she felt the cage trapping her once more. She rolled onto her side, curling a hand underneath her chin. He lightly moved the mahogany hair that had fallen across her face and tucked it behind one pert ear so he could watch her slumber. He could not think of another man holding her; taking what belonged to him. The outcome was devastating. It was possible he might have actually killed his wife if that had been her truth. Yet, how was that possible? He did not have the depth of feeling for such a course of action, did he? It had been beaten out of him years ago in his youth. He did not love his wife. No, what he felt was obsession.

David stood and bent over his wife, gathering both her and the blankets beneath her in his arms. He gently carried her into the bedroom, careful not to wake her as she slept in his arms oblivious of his dark thoughts