Novak (7 page)

Katrina

“Well, where in the world do you get your ideas for your romance novels, Katrina?” the Mayor’s wife’s voice rings out.

“Yes, Katrina, please do tell,” Carl says as he slyly eyes me.

If Carl Sims thinks he is going to put me on the spot and I’m not going to be able to deal with it, he has me pegged wrong. This is right up my alley.

“Well, I draw my inspiration from various sources. Sometimes it just falls into my lap,” I taunt him.

At that point I direct my attention back to the Mayor’s wife. “Many times I get ideas working out. One thing is for sure, my imagination stays in overdrive.”

That is enough to pacify the table and they go back to chattering amongst themselves.

“Yes, Katrina, we will have to put that imagination of yours to use later,” Novak leans in to whisper.

I really try to ignore the man next to me and it would be much easier if it didn’t feel like I’m sitting next to an electrical surge. The man literally radiates intensity.

I’m silent as we ride in the car while the man sitting next me speaks Russian to his driver.

I can hear the rocks beneath the tires as he pulls into an alley and Novak makes his way up to three men, one of whom is being held against the wall by the other two.

I can hear the man begging Novak; something about
more time
is all that I can make out.

He swiftly turns on the heel of his Italian leather shoes and makes his way back to the car.

As we slowly make our way back out of the alley, he rolls his window down and speaks to the two men, “I said the hospital, not dead.”

At that point, he pins me into the seat and grabs a handful of hair at the nape of my neck, “I want my diary back, Katrina, and if you ever reveal anything about me to anyone, you will not live to regret it. Yes, Katrina, I said that correctly!”

I squirm as my voice screeches out, “You can’t just leave that man back there. They’ll kill him!”

“No, Katrina, they won’t. Some people understand how to follow instructions… unlike you,” he growls in my ear.

I inch my hand towards the door handle. Bad neighborhoods don’t scare me. I had grown up all over the world and there isn’t a whole lot that I have not witnessed in my lifetime. Right now, getting out of this car is my number one priority.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he growls as he wraps his fist tighter in my hair.

I don’t know why I said it, but it came out of my mouth, “I’ll be good.”

“Good girl,” he swoons, “that’s a good girl.”

Novak

I look down at my prey lying spread eagle before me. I tied her up that way for a reason.

I sit at the edge of the bed and I begin to read a passage from Katrina’s book:

“I eyed my helpless, little victim who lied in my bed, vulnerable and restrained. I subdued her with rope and placed a large ball gag between her pristine, red lips.

I toyed with that girl well into the night, driving her to the brink of insanity.

She was so beautiful, begging and pleading with her eyes, as she emitted those unintelligible moans from behind that gag.

I left her restrained, with just enough give to allow her body to thrash around so that I could watch her aimlessly struggle for my pleasure.

You see… this is one of my favorite things to do. To take an uptight woman and turn her into my slut is exhilarating.

My most favorite thing to do, though, is to take a defiant, little brat and break her down.

I love taking a woman who is independent, confident, and doesn’t submit to any other man, and turning her into a devoted slave.

Yes… I love knowing that a confident, self-made woman submits to no other man, yet she bows at my feet, wearing my collar and hooked to my leash.

I close the book and look into Katrina’s face as I ask her, “Do you know what plagiarism is, Katrina? Do you think you can steal from me and it is okay?” I raise my brow as if I’m awaiting an answer.

I make my way to the end of the bed and slyly eye her as I ask one more question. “What do you taste like Katrina?”

Katrina

My mind loses focus and I begin to struggle against the ropes. I can’t let this happen. I have to get away from this man who is invading my life.

He runs his tongue lightly up the inside of my thigh. He continues to taunt me until I suddenly find myself trying to move my body so that his tongue will land where I need it the most. It isn’t taking long for me to learn that it will be Novak’s way or no way, especially in his bedroom.

It isn’t only in his bedroom either; it is in every area of his life. For the life of me, I can’t understand why the chemistry between us is so intense.

I begin to struggle harder because everything in me wants to run my hands through that closely cropped, blonde hair of his. I want to grab his head, shove my opening into his face, and force him to lick me.

He’s making me crazy by licking me everywhere but on my clit. I need contact, I need it badly, and I need it now. “Give me what I want. Please stop tormenting me. I will do anything, anything at all. What do you want from me? What, what, what?”

My body is moving as if it is doing a dance in the ropes that bind it. It’s like I’ve lost all control over my own movement.

He is fucking driving me crazy, toying with me, and ignoring my whines that have now turned into begging.

“Please, why are you are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing what, Katrina?”

“You know what you are doing!” I shriek.

He runs his tongue lightly up and down my inner thigh, stops, and then eyes me. “I want my diary, Katrina.”

He goes back to slowly and methodically running his tongue up and down my now trembling thigh and then around my folds, systematically torturing me with pleasure.

The bastard brings me right to the edge of orgasm and then stops.

“I want my diary, Katrina,” he repeats. “If you were a man, I would have Sergei torture you. He is a sadistic man and he enjoys inflicting pain on others. Because you are a woman, I will use pleasure to extract that which I desire from you.”

“I don’t have the fucking diary!”

The fear of being at the mercy of a man as dangerous as Carl Sims, who can order my death with only a phone call, is much stronger than my lust will ever be.

He and I both know that I have that diary but it will be a cold day in hell before I give it to him just so he can have me killed. It’s my insurance policy and without it, I have nothing to guarantee my safety.

Novak

I eye my little subdued victim as I undress and I really can’t help but chuckle to myself. I will say one thing; this girl has definitely got tenacity. I’m actually shocked she hasn’t given in and told me where my diary is yet.

What she doesn’t realize is the more she holds out on me, the more convinced I become that she is a woman I want in my corner. I have to say that with the abilities she has shown to endure my unique brand of torture and not reveal the information I want, I respect this lady. Normally a woman would have given into me and just considered all of this as some game. This is not a game; I don’t play.

I stare at her as I untie her legs. I’m debating just how I want to deal with her.

“You look like you want me to fuck you, girl,” I state as I mount her. I lock eyes with her, memorizing every intricate detail of her face.

“I need you so fucking bad,” she moans as a tear streams down her cheek. I have seen it before—women teased to the point of tears. I have worked her over, bringing her right to point of release only to stop. It becomes a form of torture at a certain point.

I reach down and lick the tear from her cheek and then I slowly push into her. I have all the time in the world because I plan on fucking her well into the night.

I will worry about the diary tomorrow. Right now, there is only me and her…