She lets me keep going. We stare, her at me and me at her, our breath caught in our throats and the air around us getting hotter and hotter and Alyssa’s pussy getting wetter and wetter and tighter and tighter around my fingers. Her lips are spreading, her pupils blowing wide open. I can smell her desire and feel every ounce of blood pumping into my cock as we both ride the wave higher and higher and higher still.
I wait until she’s right at the pinnacle of orgasm—before I rip my hand out of those neon green bottoms. Alyssa’s eyes startle open, surprise written all over her face.
“Not today, little narushitel,” I snarl. “You don’t get to win today.”
Then I spin around and walk away before I have to eat my own words.
18
ALYSSA
I’ll give him this: no one does humiliation quite like Uri Bugrov.
I stand there in my bikini and gaze stupidly at the empty space he just vacated a moment ago. I’m trying to catch my breath and get my bearings, while also trying not to feel like a complete fool.
I’m losing on all three counts.
You don’t get to win today, he spat in my face. What does winning or losing have to do with any of this? It figures that Uri would assume that I’m playing some sort of game. That my attempts to comfort and take care of him were misconstrued as a ploy to seduce him. He just isn’t used to people being nice to him without a reason, without some ulterior motive or the other—probably because he doesn’t do nice things without getting something in return.
Then again, I did have an ulterior motive, didn’t I?
But mine was simple.
I just wanted him to look at me.
I pull my robe tighter around my torso and look around to see if anyone saw what just happened. I hate that he’s made me feel so self-conscious about my body, about myself. The neon green bikini that made me feel so sexy and alive this morning looks cheap and trashy in the wake of his scorn.
But right on the heels of that shame comes anger.
Where does he get off not trusting me? He’s the one who locked me in his basement and refused to let me go! I’ve almost certainly lost my freelance gig at the magazine. I’ve definitely missed my best friend’s wedding. My parents are probably either pissed off or scared shitless that they haven’t heard from me in an alarmingly long time.
And after all that, he expects my trust?
Get. Fucking. Real.
I storm off towards the basement. I don’t want the bright sunlight of the pool deck anymore. What I want is a dark, quiet place to lick my wounds and take stock of all my poor life decisions.
Mistake number one was buying those damn sex toys. If I hadn’t gotten so giggly about a purple tentacle dildo, none of this would’ve ever happened.
Mistake number two—thinking that cosplaying as a freaking ninja-slash-Seal-Team-Six-member was a good idea.
I rip off my mesh cover-up the moment I get down to the basement and fling it to the floor like a petulant little brat having a temper tantrum—which, truth be told, isn’t that far off the mark. I’m reaching back to undo my top ties when something strikes me.
What if Uri is watching?
Almost as soon as I have the thought, something inside me snaps. Let him watch. Let him stare at my naked body and lie to himself about wanting it.
I get a delicious sense of satisfaction in imagining Uri sitting at his desk in the office, watching me on the screen. He was hard last night and he was hard this morning when he had his fingers inside of me.
He may get off on torturing me by denying me pleasure…
But two can play at that game.
I peel my bikini top off first. Next goes the bottoms, slow and smooth with a crisp bend at the waist for full effect. Once I’m completely naked, I crawl on all fours onto my bed and lie down flat, making sure to position myself at the optimal angle for the camera. Just enough for him to see my body, to wonder what sights he might be missing by staying stubbornly a whole floor away from me.
I spread my thighs and float my hand down between them.
The more I think about it, the more I decide that Nikolai is right: the only reason Uri’s trying so hard to punish me is because he still cares about me. And he hates that he does. He hates it so much that it eats up at him from the inside, like battery acid in his veins. So he lashes out every chance he gets, just to make me feel what he feels.
Well, I’m done being his punching bag. If I’m forced to stay in this basement, in his house—then I’m going to make sure he can’t ignore me.
I arch my back and start touching myself a little more aggressively. I put on a show for the cameras, letting my moans fly free.
Take that, Uri Bugrov.
I’m just relaxing into things when I hear thundering footsteps just outside the basement door. Well, well, well. Someone is punctual.
Sure enough, he storms in, all indignant rage, his eyes blazing when they land on me. I don’t bother to stop. I don’t even sit up. I just grab a breast and tweak the nipple while my other hand circles my clit slowly.
His face looms over me but I refuse to be embarrassed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.
“If you can’t tell, then you’re even more clueless than I thought,” I murmur through parted lips. “You couldn’t finish the job. So I’m going to.”
“Couldn’t?” he balks. “The word is ‘wouldn’t.’”
I shrug as best as I can manage with my fingers inside me. “Whatever. The point is, I can get off. With or without you.”
He shakes his head. “Bull-fucking-shit. You’re not doing this for yourself; you’re doing this to get my attention.”
“Ahh… fuck, that feels good…”
His jaw clenches. “You want me to fuck you, is that it?” That glint in his eye reminds me of the look an addict gets just before they cave. “You want me to treat you like a slut that I can use whenever the hell I please?”
His words sting—but fuck it, let them; I refuse to let him derail my determination. The fact that he’s here in the first place proves that I still have some power over him. For a man who’s extremely insistent on reminding me that he doesn’t give a shit about me anymore, he spends an awful lot of his free time watching my every move.
Something about that is not adding up.
“I’m not going to try to change your mind about me, Uri. You believe what you believe. In the meantime, I may as well get mine… Ahh, that feels so…”
His eyes are daggers, ready to impale me. It’s entirely possible I’ve overplayed my hand and he’s just going to walk out and slam the door on me. Probably rescind his decision to give me freedom of the house. All a consequence of that neon green bikini.
I’m too worked up to care. My body is piled high with emotion—desire, passion, anger, frustration, the stubborn zeal to give as good as I’ve gotten. Any one of them will do in a pinch.
“Stop it,” he growls in a low voice dipped in desire.
I meet his eyes and curl my lips up in a teasing smirk. “Make me.”
“Blyat’,” he snarls as he practically rips his belt off. Within seconds, he’s naked, too, his body covering mine.