Page 95

"Admit you like being used by me. That you like the way my cock stretches your tight little body. Tell me you’re mine to protect. And maybe I’ll let you come."

I wanted to cry, to scream, to moan and beg.

I wanted to give in to him, but something held me back.

I couldn't give in to him.

If I admitted what I wanted, what I felt, it would be all over. There would be no going back.

He slipped his hand between my legs and the counter and started flicking my clit. His thrusts became harder, his cock swelled even more.

"Admit it," he whispered in my ear, his voice tight with desire. "Admit that you want to be mine. Mine to keep, mine to play with and mine to protect. Admit that I was the first man to fuck this pretty little face, this tight little cunt, and this perfect little ass. Tell me I was the first man, and that you want me to be the last."

His words made my head swim, and I couldn't help the soft moans that escaped my lips as he pushed harder and harder, that pressure growing in my core faster and faster, as his fingers applied more pressure to my clit.

"Say it," he demanded.

"Yes," I gasped.

"Not good enough."

"Yes," I said louder. "I want you to be the last man to ever touch me. I want to be yours, and nobody else's. Take me back to the hotel, keep me there, I don't care, I just?—"

My words cut off with a cry of ecstasy as I came hard.

A few thrusts later he was following me over the edge into bliss.

It took me a few moments to recover. When I did, he pulled away from me to gently wipe his come from my body with the shirt I'd been wearing.

His fingers brushed over my skin as he checked me over. I could almost fool myself into thinking he was doing it out of genuine concern for me, as if there was something more hidden beneath the dominance.

But I knew the truth.

This wasn’t care. It was control.

My freedom was an illusion, a cruel joke, and the moment I stepped into this apartment I had walked straight back into his trap.

By the time we got back to the penthouse, there was no pretense left.

No more illusions of escape, no more thoughts of running.

He didn't even bother putting the hood or handcuffs on me.

He knew the truth as well as I did.

As we rode the elevator up, he kept his arm around me, holding me close—not just possessively, although that was undeniable, but with what might have been protectiveness, so I couldn’t disappear into danger again.

He was proving in no uncertain terms that there was no life for me beyond him.

Worst of all, some dark, treacherous part of me wondered if I ever truly had a life beyond him to begin with. And did I even want one anymore?

CHAPTER 22

ALINA

Pale oranges and pinks danced across the city as I watched the sun set on my sixth day in this prison. The city outside these glass walls looked peaceful, but that was an illusion—it was a gleaming cesspool of greed and malevolence, just like the gilded cage I now occupied.

Anyone looking at me would see some semblance of a Cinderella story. A poor girl plucked from squalor and dropped into a lavish penthouse with everything she could want. For the first time in years, I was clean, warm, and fed. My clothes—what little Pavel allowed me to wear—were soft silk and lace instead of threadbare Goodwill finds.