Page 15

“Do you?”

I shake my head once.

“That’s right. It’s not. So now, we need to fix that behavior problem of yours.”

He reaches into the nightstand, and the sound is heightened by the unbearable silence coated with thick tension.

It’s crazy how hyperaware I am of all my senses. My nostrils fill with Kirill’s cedar and woodsy scent but also with my elevated pheromones until I can almost taste them.

I’m fully clothed, but I can still feel the covers and the mattress as if they’re rubbing against my bare skin.

Not only that, but ever since he grabbed me by my throat, my nipples have been hard and achy, and they’ve been pushing against my bandages.

Instead of being merely uncomfortable, the sensation is downright painful.

My lips part when Kirill retrieves a military knife, but before I can focus properly, he grips a handful of my collar and lifts me partially off the bed.

I’m surprised my heart doesn’t leap out of its confines and melt in his hands.

His dangerous gaze studies the length of me in a slow rhythm that leaves me hyperventilating. “I should’ve done this a long time ago, and not only for the foolish move you pulled today, but for every-fucking-thing.”

“I…didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Is that so?” He wrenches my shirt out of my pants and cuts it down the middle, using the knife with staggering ease. It’s as if it’s made of butter. “How do you explain your involvement with that band of mercenaries back in Russia?”

“I…really didn’t know, Kirill. I swear—”

My words get stuck in the back of my throat when he cuts off my chest bandages as easily as the shirt. My breasts gently bounce free, but that offers little to no reprieve to my overstimulated nipples.

The fact that I’m bound and unable to do anything adds a perverse pleasure to my throbbing core.

“Whether you knew or not isn’t the fucking problem here.

” He lets the knife hover over my heaving breasts, then down to my stomach before he cuts right through the center of my pants and boxer briefs, his hand hovering too close to my pussy.

“The problem is that you not only went back to your lover, but also colluded with him against me.”

I shake my head, but I can’t find the right words to say. It’s impossible when he’s shredding my pants and boxer briefs to pieces and throwing them to the side.

I’m lying completely naked in front of him, short of the sleeves of my jacket and my torn shirt beneath me.

“Was that him earlier?”

“W-what?”

He runs the dull end of the knife up my thigh and to my stomach, leaving shivers in its wake. “The man who cleverly plotted tonight’s attack and held me at gunpoint. Is he your lover?”

“N-no! I’ve never seen him in my life. Besides, would I have shot him if I had any relationship with him?”

“I wouldn’t know. You didn’t really hurt him, so maybe that was part of an elaborate plan to make me trust you again.”

“You think I’d put you in danger again? Me ?” I can’t help the sadness that clings to my words.

I thought we were making progress after tonight, but maybe that was all smoke and mirrors. This is Kirill, after all. He wouldn’t simply erase his suspicions, even if I’d died for him.

He’d probably think that I was playing with him in that sense, too.

“I don’t know, Sasha. You did it before.”

My lips tremble, and I turn my head to the side. If I keep looking at his face, I’ll see that he’ll probably never give me a chance, and I’ll probably cry.

I seem to do that a lot around him. It’s ironic that this coldhearted man is the only one who can trigger the emotional part of me.

He places the dull part of the blade beneath my chin and forces me to focus back on him.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

I clamp my lips shut in a hopeless attempt to stop them from shaking, then whisper, “Will you ever trust me again?”

“I never trusted you fully, so the again is irrelevant.”

“Then would you at least trust that I’m loyal to you, like before I went to Russia?”

“Give me the name of the fucker who was standing beside you that day, and I will forget about the Russia episode.”

“I told you that…I can’t.”

His eyes rage to a frightening blue that stiffens my muscles, but that soon morphs into hot-red desire when he slides his knife down my throat, pauses at my pulse point before continuing his path to the slope of my breast, and then turns the sharp side on my engorged nipple.

I feel no pain, but a trail of blood trickles down my breast and stomach and then pools in my navel.

The sight should be appalling, but pure fascination forbids me from looking away.

“Here’s how it’ll go, Sasha.” He continues the knife’s path over my stomach, hips, and then to the sensitive spot between my legs.

“I’m going to keep torturing you until you tell me a name.

So unless you give me what I need, you’ll stay here all day…

” he trails off, a wolfish smirk tugging on his lips. “What do we have here?”

His fingers slide between my thighs, and a dark look fills his eyes. “Are you wet at the prospect of being tortured?”

“N-no.”

“Your pussy doesn’t sing the same tune your mouth does.” He strokes my opening and teases my clit. “Look how it’s soaking my fucking fingers.”

I have to physically stop myself from humping his fingers and getting off on them. I’ve been in this state of hypersensitivity for so long that I can’t take it anymore.

He glides his fingers through my folds in a torturous rhythm, offering me stimulation but not enough to get me off.

This is a first from him. Kirill was always about getting me off. Whether with his mouth, fingers, or cock. He had the sole purpose of making me come for him and preferably scream his name during it.

But now, he seems to not want me to get off at all.

His middle finger hovers near my opening, and my hips automatically jerk. It’s been such a long time since he touched me, and no matter how much I do it myself, it’s entirely different from when he does it.

I don’t know if it’s the thickness of his fingers, the sheer dominance of his touch, or his delicious intensity, but I’m always left starving for more from him.

Just more .

“You want me to fuck your tight little cunt, Sasha?” There’s harsh amusement behind his words. “Want me to relieve the ache and make you scream?”

I nod once, my cheeks heating, but I couldn’t care less about the embarrassment right now.

“I can do that.” He slides a finger inside, and my back arches off the bed.

Oh, God.

More…more…more…

I need this.

“I can also add another one.” He thrusts the second finger in. “And another. You take three of them like such a good girl. You’re my favorite fuck hole, Sasha.”

When he rams the third finger in, I think I’ll burst. Yes, I used to take three of his fingers, but that was months ago. Being celibate and having only my fingers for company doesn’t help.

“You’re so tight that you’re milking my fingers.” He curls them inside, and my nails dig into the leather belt.

“Kirill…”

“What?”

“Please…”

“You’re going to have to be more specific with your begging. What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck me.” And not only with your fingers.

As much as I love the feeling of them inside me, I need something more.

I need all of him pressed up against me and his muscles crushing me while he gives me the most intense pleasure I’ve ever experienced.

“You can barely take my fingers, and you want my cock?” He thrusts them in a fast rhythm that leaves me gasping. “You’re such a greedy little whore, Solnyshko.”

I’m supposed to feel offended by that, but I’m not. Not one bit. If anything, it makes me wetter, until my arousal drenches his fingers.

“I can do that, too,” he continues in that deep, sexy tone. “I’ll fuck you good. Fuck you hard. I’ll fuck you until you forget about all other cocks and worship only mine. You want that?”

I nod several times, completely delirious from his dirty talk. I want to keep looking at him, to get lost in this moment and have no means of return, but it’s hard to force my eyes open when intense pleasure is building at the base of my stomach with frightening speed.

Still tearing me apart with his fingers, Kirill lowers his head and whispers hot words near my ear, “Tell me his name first.”

My lips tremble, but I murmur, “I can’t…”

One moment, I’m on the verge of an orgasm; the next, it’s gone. Kirill wrenches his fingers from inside me, leaving me hot, bothered, and with a scream bubbling at the back of my throat.

“What…? Why?”

His expression is now closed off, and if I wasn’t so frustrated, I’d be frightened. “This is a punishment. You’re not supposed to come when you haven’t confessed yet.”

“You can’t be serious…?”

He thrusts the knife's handle inside me, and I reel from the renewed pressure. Kirill all but fucks me with the knife, and I don’t know why it feels so hot. Depraved, yes, but it’s so erotic that my earlier intense buildup seems like a joke compared to the wave that’s currently sweeping me under.

“Oh, God…”

“I’m the only god you’ll ever have.” He goes faster, harder, and so out of control that I think I’ll faint from the intensity alone. “What’s his name?”

At the moment, I forget why I shouldn’t be confessing everything. But some brain cells remain functioning and forbid me to.

The moment I shake my head, Kirill pulls out the knife when I’m a second away from coming. This time, I scream with frustration, and tears line my eyes.

“Stop it, please,” I cry out.

Sweat coats my skin, my nipples hurt so bad due to the sexual stimulation, and my core screams for a release that he won’t offer me.

And since my hands are bound, I can’t do it myself either, so I’m completely at his nonexistent mercy.

Kirill’s face turns stone-cold as he teases my clit with his fingers and thrusts the knife’s handle inside again.

“You’re the only one who can stop this by giving me his fucking name.

The more you resist, the more creative I become about denying you one orgasm after the other.

I know your body, Sasha, even better than you do.

I know when you’re about to come. Your breaths are faster, your neck flushes red, and your hips involuntarily jerk.

I’ll let you come close to the peak but never reach it.

I’ll do this again and again and fucking again until you give me what I want. ”

And then he proceeds to do just that.

Until I think I’m going to die.