I roll over in bed and stretch my aching limbs, turning my face towards the sunlight streaming through the open curtains. For one brief, blissful moment, everything is right with the world.
Then I remember where I am and why I’m here.
Fuck!
I thought being called back to Chicago to marry Seamus was bad enough but just look at the mess I’ve made of my life now. Seems I didn’t need interference from my family to screw things up; I’ve done a pretty good job of it all by myself.
I wish Mika and Cartier were here. They might not have all the answers, but they would have a bottle of Tequila and strong shoulders for me to lean on.
I sit up and look around the room.
Leonid’s room.
The room where we spent the night exploring each other’s bodies and one of us lost our virginity while sucking on the other’s tongue and whimpering like a wounded animal.
My cheeks are on fire even though there’s no one here to accuse me of letting down the family name. And Seamus.
I can’t marry Seamus now.
I can’t even think about explaining my reasons why I can’t marry Seamus. To anyone. Not even my sister Mel. Although Mel would understand considering she fell in love with Xander Amory when he was still the enemy.
But I’m getting ahead of myself like I always do. There are too many things to think about and if I don’t get my brain organized, I’ll end up lying here all day in a heap of tangled sheets that smell of Leonid and sex and… Oh my God…
I flop backwards onto the silk-covered pillows and pull the comforter over my face.
All I can see is Leonid. His amber eyes peering right through to my soul every time he said, “Tell me what you want, Gianna,” and “You’re mine now, Gianna,” and “Good girl. Make yourself come for me.”
What. The. Fuck. Am. I. Doing.
I cover my face with my hands and wait for my breathing to regulate.
I’m going to have a long wait because my body is reliving last night’s orgasms, and my pussy is already wet. For him. For Leonid Ivanov. The man who had me kidnapped because he’s in the middle of a stupid war with my brother-in-law.
Why couldn’t it have been someone else?
Why didn’t my friends let me have one night of glorious, mind-blowing sex with the adonis in the nightclub, or with the guy from the grocery store (although my pussy never clenched for him), or with Cartier’s brother (who is unabashedly gay).
I could blame it all on Leonid, but that wouldn’t be fair either. I could’ve gone back to my room last night; he gave me the option, and what did I do? I opened my legs wide and begged him to lick me. Multiple times. So, I can’t even pretend that it was a moment of madness from which I came to my senses, grabbed my stuff, and ran like the house was on fire.
I wanted this and now I must deal with the consequences.
But first … food. I’m ravenous.
I sit up again, throw the comforter off my tingling body and stand up woozily. I feel like I either drank a bottle of Tequila on my own or lasted three rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson. My body is sore… I peer down at my swollen nipples, the marks around my belly button, the raised pink flesh from Leonid’s stubble that seems to cover every inch of my body. And I can’t even think about my sex.
But if the door opened right now and he walked back into the room, I would turn around, bend over, spread my legs wide, and beg him to fuck me all over again.
Because, it seems, I have a whole lot of catching up to do.
I cross to Leonid’s dressing room and gape at the racks of designer suits and coordinating shirts and accessories. The guy couldn’t look like a tramp if he bathed in mud and wrapped himself in black sacks. Pulling out a white shirt, I ignore the label stitched inside the collar, shrug it on and button it up to cover my nakedness.
Then, I follow the aroma of bacon, eggs, and coffee back to the bedroom.
He had breakfast sent to his room for me. The thought adds an extra layer of warmth to my already flushed body as I carry the tray to the bed, sit cross-legged on the crumpled sheets, and eat every morsel, washed down with three cups of creamy sweetened coffee. I try not to think while I eat.
Once my hunger is satisfied, I feel armed and ready to face the day.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
Because even with my stomach full, the impact of what happened last night settles on my shoulders like a coat made of thorns.
Not only have I destroyed my planned marriage to Seamus, but I’ve obliterated any potential alliance with the Irish mob and signed Leonid Ivanov’s death warrant at the hands of Xander Amory and my family. He knew the consequences though, didn’t he? He knew and he still wanted me, and I don’t know how to feel about this.
This—whatever this is—will inevitably reach its natural conclusion when Leonid allows me to return to my family. And then what…? I told him that I would forget he even existed, but we both know that’s a lie. What makes my pulse race and leaves me feeling slightly nauseous after the mountain of pancakes I just ate is: will Leonid forget that I exist?
Was last night a pleasant interlude for him?
Maybe he makes a habit of sleeping with his prisoners, especially the ones who are still virgins.
If I stay here, I know I’m going to chase my thoughts round in circles and get myself rattled, and I can’t leave the room wearing Leonid’s shirt. So, I quickly change into the clothes I wore yesterday, toss the shirt into the laundry hamper in the ensuite bathroom, and try the door.
I can’t believe my luck when it opens.
A guard in a black suit with bulges in his pockets, stares as I step outside carrying the breakfast tray. It’s obvious why I’m leaving the pakhan’s room and not the guest room assigned to me, but I’ll give him credit where it’s due, his expression is completely neutral. Leonid’s men are well-trained.
“Can you take me to the kitchen?” I suck on my bottom lip. This feels weird; I’m still the prisoner here, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the freedom to roam the house, even if I do have a guard one step behind me.
The guy doesn’t speak. He gestures for me to walk with him, and I carry the tray feeling suddenly self-conscious, down another staircase that I haven’t used before and into the kitchen where the gray-haired woman who looks after Marvel is scrubbing an already spotless marble counter that I can see her reflection in from the doorway.
She eyes up the tray when we enter, stuffs the cloth into a pocket in her apron, and hurries around the breakfast island like I left a trail of muddy footprints on her gleaming floor. “You shouldn’t have carried the tray.” She takes it from me and shoots a look at the guard like this is all his fault.
“It was no bother.” I mean, jeez, if her boss wasn’t holding me hostage, I’d be quite capable of preparing my own meals.
A whine reaches me from the far side of the room, and I look around to find Marvel trying to chew his way out of a gigantic crate. “Marvel!” His ears prick up at his name. “Can I?” I ask the housekeeper.
“It isn’t time for his walk.” The woman is bent over the dishwasher, loading my used plates and cutlery into the tray.
“I only want to stroke him.”
I feel sorry for Marvel if he’s only allowed out of the crate to be walked. It isn’t fair for him to be confined behind metal bars like this; he might be safe, but this is no life. For an animal or human. I should know.
“It’s fine, Olga. I’ll watch her.” The female voice belongs to Tamara. I never heard her enter the room; I swear the woman is a predator, prowling around the house and trying to catch people in the act of doing something they shouldn’t.
She has obviously never heard that no one likes a snitch.
Or perhaps Leonid does. Who knows? My knowledge of my captor is limited to his love of dogs and torture and what he can do with his tongue.
She dismisses the guard, and Olga the housekeeper goes back to polishing the marble work surface to within an inch of its life. I don’t thank Tamara. She isn’t doing this out of the kindness of her heart. She has an ulterior motive, one that will serve her, I just need to figure out what it is.
Instead, I go to the crate and set Marvel free. He bounds out and places his heavy paws on my shoulders, licking my face clean. Maybe he can smell Leonid on me. The mental image of Leonid rubbing the end of his cock over my lips sends a fresh surge of heat to my cheeks.
“Hey, boy,” I mutter into Marvel’s fur. “It’s good to see you too.”
Olga brushes past me and drops a handful of dog treats into my lap. Marvel, sensing a reward, sits his backside down smartly and offers me his paw. I can’t help smiling. Dogs are the most lovable creatures on the planet; all they want is to love and be loved, unconditionally. Even if their human is a ruthless mafia leader with little regard for human life.
“Don’t think this changes anything.” Tamara has come closer and is leaning against the breakfast island watching us.
Marvel takes the treats from me, his eyes firmly fixed on the woman wearing tight black pants, red shirt, and a black bomber jacket. His ears are down, his head streamlined to attack should the situation arise. I stroke the fur behind his ears and nuzzle his neck.
“You are still his prisoner.”
“I didn’t think otherwise.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows slide upwards to meet her bangs. “But you think you can wander into the kitchen and pet the dog.”
“I returned the tray.” Is that like: I carried a watermelon? God help me.
Marvel is on his feet. His eyes never stray from Tamara, but his body language is wary. If I ever find out that she or Ivana have mistreated him when Leonid isn’t around, I’ll torture them both myself and stuff their body parts into a crate, see how they like it.
“You know that this was part of his plan for you, printzessa.”
Her words make the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I straighten and turn around to face her. Marvel presses his body against my legs protectively, letting me know whose side he is on.
“What are you talking about?”
She smiles, but it isn’t designed to put me at ease. “I know you spent the night with the pakhan.” She takes an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and bites into it. “I see it in your eyes. To you, it meant something. It was a big deal. He made you feel special, am I right?”
Deep breath. My pulse is racing, but I need to keep my head clear. “Why don’t you say what you have to say, Tamara, and take me back to my room?”
She takes another bite from the apple, chews it leisurely, and swallows. “His plan wasn’t just to kidnap you. He knew that wouldn’t give him the leverage he needed. His plan was to corrupt you. To do things to you that no one else has ever done before.”
She climbs off the stool and tosses the remains of the apple to Marvel who catches it easily and promptly drops it onto the floor. A growl rumbles in his throat. A warning.
“You see, the pakhan wanted to send you back to your family a different woman. He wanted to know that no one else would touch you, and you played right into his hands.”
She reaches out with her painted talons to stroke my face, and I bat her hand away.
Marvel bares his teeth at her, his lips curled into a ferocious snarl.
“You don’t scare me.” Tamara stares right back at the dog. “I’m the one with the gun.”
“Don’t you dare touch him.” My voice is low. I can be ferocious too when I’m pushed, and right now, I feel more dangerous than Marvel could ever be.
“Or what, printzessa?”
“Or I’ll cut your hand off myself.”
She tips her head back and laughs out loud. “Wow, he really did a good job on you, huh?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She steps closer. “Sure, you do. You can’t fool me, printzessa. I see it in your eyes. You thought that it meant something to him, that he finds you desirable, that he wants you as much as you want him.”
I shake my head, try to keep the tears from welling in my eyes because that will give her exactly what she wants. “That’s where you’re wrong. I know exactly what he is. Why would I want him?”
Because he makes me feel special. Because he makes me feel like I’ve never felt before. Because when he looks at me, my insides quiver, and all I can think about is his cock filling me up. All of the above.
“Fine.” She shrugs. “Have it your way. You won’t need me to help you escape then, will you?”
