XXX - 145 Enslave: The Taming of the Beast (4 page)

She was staring around the kitchen, trying to make sense of what had happened, when her eyes lit on an object on the counter that he’d forgotten to put away.
There, on the cutting board, was a small, sharp knife.

Chapter Three
Several hours later Dominic walked toward the guest suite, nerves jangling. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman. He paused, his hand on the doorknob.
Before
last
night, he corrected, it had been a while since he’d been with a woman.
He hadn’t meant to sleep with her when he brought her home. He was surprised that he’d even gotten her into his car, and he’d berated himself the whole way back, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and return her and extract his vengeance—probably because it would have been in front of her.
She really believed it, the whole nine yards: she was a noble sacrifice. She was saving her family. She was embracing the beast in order to rescue the ones she loved. In the old Greek plays, she’d be Iphigenia, the daughter of the king, going bravely to her death to save the world.
He hated that fucking play.
But once she’d gotten naked, his body had reacted. She was perfection. Not the plastic, Las Vegas fabricated version of perfection: she was beautiful, subtle, innocent. She wasn’t acting out the drama. She had a job to do: she was doing it.
Part of him wanted to break her for it, he knew that. But that wasn’t the part that had been released when he’d touched her. When he’d touched her, he felt a sort of reverence he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.
She was genuinely good, and he had no rights to her.
So why are you doing this?
He pulled away from the door, frowning at himself. Second-guesses weren’t in his repertoire. Neither were regrets, come to that. And then there was his little seduction scene in the kitchen. He knew that she was going to try and play him—act like a coy mistress, drive him crazy. But he wasn’t always this misshapen monster. He hadn’t used those skills in years. It was amazing that they’d come back at all, much less as easily—he found himself falling into the old role.
Why was he doing this anyway?
Because he wanted her. Because she’d made this deal, not he. If you made a bargain, you paid for it with your soul. One way or another.
He stepped inside the room.
It was dark already, and from the light spilling in from the hallway, he could see that she was already in bed. Was she that eager, he wondered? Even as a touch of smug satisfaction pulsed through him, his subconscious was already sensing something amiss.
He took her for more of a fighter than that. Even if she did like having sex with him—and he got the feeling she’d had precious little enjoyable sex in her life—would she really be waiting for him like this?
He took off his clothes, quickly, methodically, trying to temper his impatience. He slid between the cool sheets, reaching for her. His hands grazed over the silky softness of her bare skin. For a moment, he explored her with his fingertips, enjoying the curves and plains of her body with a silent sigh. She felt incredible. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were round and high, full enough to meet his cupped palms. Her waist was small, flaring out into delightfully curved hips and that sweet ass that begged for the touch of his hands. Even her limbs were long and lithe, dancer’s limbs. His cock tightened painfully.
“Let’s consider this dinner,” he murmured, pressing hot, random kisses across her torso. She didn’t answer. Her body was tense, but it wasn’t the tension he was expecting.
Immediately, his mind went on alert.
She’s up to something
.
He felt what should have been a coaxing smile tug at the scar tissue crossing his cheek. “Come on, Nadia,” he whispered, trying to trick her, get her guard down. “Tell me what you want.”
Her body was stiff as a plank, and her breathing was fast. Too fast.
She wasn’t turned on.
She was scared
.
He pulled away from her, and she murmured some incoherent sound of protest as she drew him closer.
She had never been frightened of him, not really, and he wouldn’t see why that would have changed in the few hours since lunch, when she looked like she wanted to slip his cock inside her herself. Unless…
Unless she were a better actress than he’d given her credit for. Unless he had grossly misjudged her. Maybe now she was finally letting her fear catch up with her, and she could no longer hide her repugnance for what she was being forced to do.
Pain lanced through him.
How many times are you going to let some beautiful woman play you?
He growled, reaching for the light, turning it on. She was pale, her eyes huge. Her hands were under the pillow, behind her head. She stared at him with obvious fear.
“Going back on your word, are you?” Anger and self-recrimination made his words acidic. “Anything I want, whenever I want. Your fucking bargain.”
“You can have me,” she protested weakly. Her pulse was beating like a hummingbird’s wings against the ivory skin in the column of her neck.
“Last night, you were a much better actress,” he mocked. “Lose your motivation?”
She stiffened as if he’d slapped her. She didn’t meet his gaze. “I enjoyed last night. I wasn’t pretending.”
“Obviously.” He started to roll away from her. “You don’t seem to care about your family very much, if this is…”
She stopped him by grabbing his hand. Before he could tug it away, she spread her legs, guiding his hand there, pressing his fingers into her pussy.
He stared at her, confused. She was already wet.
“What have you been doing?”
“Waiting for you.” She still didn’t look at him. She sounded miserable.
Just waiting for him had gotten her like this? He wanted to believe her, desperately. He stroked his fingers, feeling her slick skin, watching as she bit her lower lip, her hips moving incrementally to better accommodate him. “Then why, Nadia? Why do you seem so scared?”
“If I do anything wrong…if I don’t
please
you…then you’ll kill me, and them. Right?” She finally met his gaze. There was still something wrong. Well, obviously wrong, but there was something
off
about her anger. “So why shouldn’t I be scared?”
He leaned forward, his fingers tracing her delicate skin, finding the erect triangular bump of her clit. “Then what about this?” He stroked it firmly, circling it and the flesh around it.
Her eyes closed and her head tilted back helplessly. “That’s…just…oh, God…”
He smiled, relief flooding his system. It wasn’t that she was scared of him. She was scared of how he was making her feel.
He wanted to roar. He suddenly felt like a god, lust and power and a sense of invincibility roaring through him like a drug. “Tell me if you still feel scared after this,” he murmured, moving between her thighs. His head dipped down, his hands splaying her cunt, leaving her displayed like a banquet. Eagerly, he devoured her.
She let out a short shriek of surprise, then a long, low moan as his mouth closed over her clit, grazing it with his teeth, his tongue exploring her salty flesh thoroughly and insistently. He felt her hips rise from the bed, felt her swivel to change the pressure of his intimate kiss. He angled his head, his tongue lapping at her, moving lower to the well of her folds, her very entrance. He tasted a rush of wetness.
Citrus
, he thought,
mixed with the spicy tang that was purely her
. His tongue delved deeper, penetrating her. He felt her thighs clamped against his head, and another wave of wetness bathed his senses.
“Dominic,” she gasped, her hips moving spasmodically. “Oh, Dominic.”
He gripped her clenched buttocks, pulling her hard against him, fucking her with his tongue as his cock clenched and ached with jealous need. He switched back to her clit, this time pressing a finger inside her damp well, spreading her. Her cunt was tight, the corrugated muscles rippling against his finger, massaging it in delicious waves.
“That’s it,” he all but purred as he lifted his head. She was breathing in short, sharp gasps. He plunged a second finger in, and she writhed against the invasion, moving her head back and forth on the pillow, her eyes closed. “Come for me, Nadia.”
He went back down, nibbling on her, then closing his mouth on her clit and sucking hard, massaging the taut nubbin with his tongue.
Her scream was piercing, and he felt the flood of her release douse his fingers as his mouth kept working, drawing out the orgasm. She clenched like a clamp around his fingers, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her hot, tight pussy. Still, the feeling of triumph, knowing that she was still experiencing the aftershocks of the orgasm he’d given her, knowing that every single shared moment made her more his. That knowledge was more intoxicating than thirty-year-old Scotch. He drank every drop of her.
Her flesh was still feverish when he slid up on top of her, his cock nuzzling between her thighs, blunt tip nudging at her wet entrance. “Nadia,” he breathed. “Don’t be frightened of me.”
He paused at the brink of her cunt, frowning. He hadn’t meant to say that.
She looked at him, her expression one of desperation and helplessness. Her hands were still under the pillow, still behind her head. He stared at her, feeling a sudden sense of unease.
Closing her eyes, she withdrew her hands, and linked them behind his neck. “Dominic,” she murmured softly.
It was an act of submission. “
Nadia
,” he growled, kissing her fiercely. She met his kiss with just as much passion, her tongue reaching for his, tangling with his. She nipped at his lower lip.
His cock wouldn’t be restrained anymore. He plunged into her still-wet passageway with one firm, deep thrust. She screamed against his mouth, one of pain and pleasure inextricably meshed together.
The feel of her tightness constricting against him was almost enough to push him over the edge. He held still, fighting for control. “Did I hurt you?” he muttered before he gave in completely to the mindless monster clawing to be released.
“Fuck me, Dominic,” she said instead. “Make me forget.”
His body strained to the breaking point, but his mind pressed forward with one last question. “Forget what?”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “Forget everything,” she responded, and to his shock, he felt her body
pulse
around him, gripping him in a ripple of muscles that danced and clasped around his cock like nothing he’d ever felt before.
He started moving, his hips arching and pumping into her, and she met him beat for beat. His hands held her hips tight as his cock slid in and out of her snug pussy. Her legs twined around his. She was climbing on him, trying to get closer. He got on his knees, lifting her hips off the bed, straining to get closer. She whimpered with encouragement as he shifted her, moving her ankle over his shoulder, giving him even deeper access to her. He plunged inside of her, his thumb seeking out and finding her clit as he pushed and strained, his cock rubbing the inside walls of her pussy with reckless, random, incredible strokes. He felt the wetness dripping against his balls, and he heard her cry out as another orgasm rippled through her. “
Yes!
” she screamed, gripping his headboard.
“Not…yet…” he growled at his own body, which was screaming for release. Instead, he surprised her by putting her leg back around his waist, then picking her up, holding her tight against his kneeling body. She constricted herself around his waist, meeting his kiss with an animalistic fury. The kiss was like napalm, scorching, all consuming. He felt her tongue twined with his as she impaled herself around his cock, her hips straining against his. He let out a roar as his orgasm tore through him, his cock jerking inside her as his cum spurt viciously from his body. She held him tight, her hips ramming against his as he came.
For a second, he almost blacked out. They tumbled to the bed, sweaty, still enmeshed in each other. His head was buried in the crook of her neck, each frantic, panting breath making him inhale more of her sweet scent.
God. She was incredible.
Concerned he might be crushing her, he rolled her on top of him, settling himself onto her pillow. He felt drained, completely wrung out…and unbelievably light. It was a strange feeling. He felt her heartbeat slowing and evening out with his. He caressed her ass, imagining giving it a light, playful swat.
Later
, he thought. He had plenty of time. And that was an incredibly arousing thought—that he could take his time. That he’d be able to enjoy her for as long as he wanted.
Unconsciously, he stretched a hand behind his head, beneath his pillow…then yelped when his fingertips connected with something sharp.
He sat up, dumping Nadia off his cock unceremoniously. “What…” She protested, then stopped abruptly.
He threw the pillow off the bed, revealing the knife she’d been hiding underneath it. He picked it up, showing it to her.
“Have an explanation for this?”

I shouldn’t be here
.
“He’ll see you now,” an efficient-looking young woman said, standing in the foyer of the modern-looking mansion. It was much larger than her house. She frowned. Rather, it was much larger than Henry’s house—he would no doubt protest calling it “her” house—and this mansion was obviously much more luxurious.
It belonged to Phillipe Wright, owner of a series of high-class restaurants and clubs, a multimillionaire in his own right and heir to a large, old-money European family fortune. He was rich, rumored to be eccentric, and known to be powerful in both legitimate circles and more illicit company.
Her palms sweated. She tried not to rub them accidentally on the deep crimson of her raw silk business suit. Instead, she gripped the handle of her Hermès bag more tightly, and fought to look controlled. She followed the redheaded woman down a hallway, to what was obviously an office. Light wood paneling, mahogany furniture, discreet and tasteful black and white photos on the walls…and a huge desk that he was sitting behind, like some banker waiting to review her loan application, or a CEO about to conduct an interview.
He knew this wasn’t a social call. And he wanted her to know where she stood.
“Jelena Granville,” he said, his tone cultured, with the slightest hint of an accent. He was in his late forties, good-looking in a rugged sort of way—Robert Redford when he’d started to lose his pretty-boy looks. His eyes were shrewd, twinkling with almost merriment. “When I gave you my home address, I thought that you said you’d never stoop to contacting me, so this is a pleasant surprise.”
Her cheeks flared with heat. The one time she’d met him had been at a party Henry had somehow wrangled an invitation to. Henry was trying too hard to make connections, to network—to get a leg up in the social circle. Everyone there had known it, and Jelena had been horribly embarrassed. When Phillipe had shown an interest in her, Henry had misunderstood, thinking that she could somehow make him more popular with the eccentric millionaire. He’d encouraged her to have a private drink with the man.
“You’re beautiful,” Phillipe had said, once they were alone, giving her an intense visual perusal. “Why waste time with him?”
Him
being her husband.
She’d been younger then, and while she’d felt flattered, she’d also felt insulted. “He is my husband,” she’d informed Phillipe, in frosty tones.
“Of course he is.” Phillipe’s smile had been like cream in rich coffee, rich and seductive. “Come upstairs for a moment. Have sex with me.”
She’d goggled, purely shocked.
“Aren’t you sweet,” he’d said, when she spluttered out a refusal, and she hadn’t thought he’d meant it as a compliment. Then he’d handed her a card with his address written on the back. “If you get tired of your keeper, call me. When you’re not feeling quite so sweet.”
He’d walked away from her. She’d never told Henry.
She’d never thrown away the card, either.
She sat in one of the leather seats opposite Phillipe, her purse in her lap. “I need your help,” she said, her voice quavering slightly. She had not figured out a more graceful way to couch the request, so she simply plunged forward. “My sister has been taken hostage.”
His eyes widened. “I’m sorry?”
“She’s been taken by a man named Dominic Luder,” she said, and noticed the way his face went from shocked to carefully blank. “I think you know him. You know everyone,” she pressed. “I know that you can help me. Please, please help me!”
He still stared at her, the slight cast in his otherwise placid face suggesting distaste. “That’s why you called, set up an appointment to see me? You want my
help?
”
“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking. Tears filled her eyes.
He sighed deeply. Then he got up, walked around the desk, and leaned on the surface of it as he looked at her.
“Do I look like a white knight to you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she breathed. “I just…I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“I’m powerful, I know everything, so you decided to ask me for a favor,” he said, and his expression looked bored.
Jelena looked into her lap to see her hands mangling the strap of her purse. She bit her lip and looked back at him.
“What were you planning to offer, in exchange for this favor?”
“Anything,” she said. “Anything you wanted.”
He quirked one aristocratic eyebrow.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. This, she had on some level expected.
She lowered her eyes to the floor, then her hands went to the buttons on her blouse. She unbuttoned them slowly, starting at her neckline and moving lower.
She felt his broad hands closing over hers, stopping her.
“I see,” he said, with a hint of a chuckle. Obviously, he could—the lace of her bra and still-bountiful breasts were clearly evident. Her heart raced, and she looked up.
There was a hint of a smile. No, the hint of a
smirk
, etched in his handsome, weathered face.
“So brave,” he murmured. “So willing.”
She tensed. His words did not sound complimentary.
“I’ve done some research on you, Jelena,” he said, releasing her hands as his knuckles barely brushed over the slopes of her breasts. Involuntarily, her nipples tightened. “Your marriage was an arrangement, wasn’t it? Your family is from Russia?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “Yes, to both.”
“You’re absolutely stunning. He’s lucky to have gotten you for such a low price,” Phillipe said, his voice briskly businesslike, and she jolted slightly. “But you lack a certain…spirit, shall we say.”
Despair warred with anger. “Are you going to help me,” she said, in a quiet voice, “or just insult me?”
He cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb framing her jaw and chin. “You have the face of an angel,” he whispered.
She had never slept with anyone but her husband, her vir ginity being yet another bargaining chip in her marriage. But she felt inexorably drawn to this man…his strength, his aura of incredible power.
He leaned close, whispering in her ear like a lover.
“Unfortunately,” he murmured, “I’m not interested in angels.”
She pulled away from the warmth of his touch, getting to her feet. “What is this to you? Some game?” she snarled. “What do you want from me?”
“At the moment, nothing,” he said, and that amusement was in his voice again, derisive. Corrosive. “Beauty is all well and good, but power…now, that is truly alluring. Something I’ve never been able to turn away from.”
She crossed her arms in front of her open blouse. “If I had power,” she said slowly, “you would help me.”
He made a little gesture. “Perhaps.”
She started to button up again, her fingers shaking slightly from both adrenaline and nerves.
If I had power, I wouldn’t need you
.
“And how do you define power, exactly?” she finally asked. “What would it take to prove that I have it?”
Now his smile was catlike. “There aren’t any hard and fast rules to power. You know it when you see it.” He gestured around. “Take me, for example. You knew I was powerful.”
“You’re rich,” she said, trying not to let fury color her voice too much. “Well connected.”
He shrugged. “That’s part of it.”
“I’m rich, too.”
“No,” he corrected. “Your husband is rich. Once he’s gone, how rich will you be?”
She felt a wave of ice wash over her.
Isn’t that what you were just thinking about?
He nodded, seeing that his point was made. “Power is more than money, Jelena. It’s will. Determination.” His eyes glittered like diamonds, bright and cold. “A willingness to do what others will not.”
She gritted her teeth. She had lived her life doing whatever was required of her. Did he really think she was so weak that she would simply cry when asked to do something unpleasant?
“Maybe it’s time to stop playing the good girl, Jelena. Time to take control of your own fate.”
She closed her eyes. It was like he was reading her mind. She didn’t like it, but felt strangely compelled by it as well.
He walked behind her, and whispered at her again. “The marriage is trapping you. Being a good girl has done you no good at all. Perhaps it’s time to break some rules to get what you want.”
She shivered. She couldn’t help it. She leaned back against him, felt his body, hard as granite behind her. He stroked her arms.
Then he nudged her away from him. “I’ve got another appointment,” he murmured. “But please, feel free to get in contact with me if you feel your situation has, ah, changed.”
She blinked. Just like that, she’d been dismissed.
She picked up her purse, feeling bereft—no. Horrified. She stepped out of the office, her heels clicking on the parquet floors.
The red-haired assistant was leading a different woman down the hallway. A tall, stunning woman, with jet black hair. She looked predatory, and the closer Jelena looked, the more unnatural the beauty appeared.
The woman glanced over at Jelena, sending a sneering appraisal with a curl of her plump lips. “What are you looking at?” she said sharply.
Ordinarily, Jelena would have apologized for rudeness. Now she felt anger leap to the fore. She glared at the woman.
The woman took a step away from her, then quickly followed the assistant.
Maybe that was it
, Jelena thought as she got back in her car. She had gone to the devil, expecting him to be merciful, to help her in her time of need. Instead, she had no one to rely on but herself.
Well, she was tired of waiting to be saved. She was tired of being a pawn, and watching her sisters get played on the same chessboard she stood on.
It is time to be queened
, she thought. Have the power to do whatever she wanted.
For that, you’re going to need money
.
Her husband had money. He’d cut her off without a cent, given the chance.
She started the engine, her mind starting to work furiously.
The answer: get money before he gets the chance
.