If I can’t have her love, I’ll settle for her hate.
“Oh, ptichka…” I come toward her, enjoying the glimmer of fear in her eyes as she instinctively moves toward the door. Before she can take more than a step, I stop in front of her, cutting off her retreat. Lifting my hand, I brush her hair back from her face and lean in, inhaling her sweet scent as I dip my head and murmur into her ear, “Haven’t you learned not to play these games with me?”
I hear her swallow, and when I raise my head to look down at her, I see that her chest is rising and falling in a rapid rhythm. She’s scared, my Sara, and for a good reason.
Even I’m not sure how far I’ll go today.
Her lips part, as if to offer a rebuttal, and I bend my head again, possessing that soft, quivering mouth with all the violent hunger she arouses in me. My hands slide into her hair, holding her head still, and I swallow her protesting gasp as her arms come up, her slender fingers curling around my wrists in a futile effort to tug them away.
As usual, she’s delicious, the inside of her mouth like warm wet silk. Her slender body arches against me as I back her up against the dresser, grinding my erection against her flat stomach, and her plush breasts press against me, her nipples pinched into hard little peaks. I can hear her breathing quicken, and I know that if I were to slide my hand into her pants, I’d feel her growing slick for me, wanting me.
Her body, at least, is drawn to me.
It takes all my willpower to lift my head and step back, to release her instead of devouring her on the spot. But I do—because we need to settle this once and for all.
“You want to know what else I can do to you, ptichka?” My words come out low and hoarse, coated with the lust and anger incinerating my insides. “You want to know what will happen if you push me too far?”
Sara’s eyes are wide, her chest heaving as she attempts to catch her breath, and I step closer again, capturing her delicate face between my palms as I gaze down at her. “You want me to explain to you the reality of your situation?” I continue.
She swallows again, and I feel the tremor in her hands as she grips my forearms. “Y-yes.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but there’s still a hint of defiance in her hazel gaze. “Yes, I do.”
My lips curve, and even I can feel the darkness in that smile. “Oh, ptichka, where should I begin?”
10
Sara
* * *
Caught. Trapped.
Even as I hold Peter’s gaze, resisting the urge to look away from the hypnotic silver depths, I can feel my strength fraying, my resolve to fight depleting. I’ve never felt more his prisoner than I do at this moment, have never been so acutely aware of my vulnerability. He’s not hurting me, his big palms cradling my face with exquisite gentleness, but those metallic eyes tell a different story.
I’m at my tormentor’s mercy, and he has none to spare.
“Let’s start with the basics,” he murmurs, and I close my eyes as he lowers his head, brushing his lips across my forehead before raising his head to look at me again. Under normal circumstances, the tender kiss would be disarming, but my nerves vibrate like a finely tuned fork as he lowers his hands to my shoulders and says softly, “Your old life is gone, Sara. I let you live it as long as I could, but it’s over now. You’re going to have to accept that. And the transition can be easy for you… or hard. It’s up to you.”
My pulse jumps violently. “What do you mean?”
“Tonight’s phone call with your parents, for instance.” His hands are gentle on my shoulders, even as his eyes gleam darkly. “It doesn’t have to happen, you know. Nor does any further contact with anyone from your old life. You could just disappear, make a clean break. That might be even better in some ways. You’d adapt faster if you didn’t have constant reminders of what you lost, and—”
“No.” The word bursts out of me as my stomach twists in panic, the sandwich I just ate threatening to come back up as I imploringly grip his shirt. “Please, Peter, don’t do this. I have to talk to my parents. I have to reassure them. They’re too old to worry like this. My dad’s heart can’t take it—you know that.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Do I? I let you speak to them on the plane, and maybe that was a mistake. You insist I kidnapped you, took you against your will. If that’s the case—if you’re my captive and nothing more—why should I take the risk of letting you contact anyone? If you’re just my prisoner, why would I go to the trouble and expense of reassuring your family?”
I stare up at him, my breathing shallow as my hands fall limply to my sides. I understand what he wants now—what he’s always wanted from me—and I know that once more, I have no choice but to comply.
“You said—” My voice breaks as acidic tears burn the back of my eyes. “You said that I’m your woman, that you love me. So I’m not just your prisoner, right?”
Peter’s expression doesn’t change. “I don’t know, Sara. That’s up to you.” He releases my shoulders and steps back. “I will let you think about it as you clean up. The vacuum and the cleaning supplies are in the pantry downstairs.”
And turning, he leaves the room.
* * *
The guest room is spotless by the time I’m done with it, the bed perfectly made up and clear of the tiniest bits of crumbs and broken ceramic. Housework is not something I enjoy, partially because it takes me forever due to my perfectionist tendencies, but the end result is usually a good one.
In another life, I would’ve made a decent housewife.
When I’m satisfied with the cleanliness of the room, I bring the vacuum downstairs and go looking for Peter. It’s strange, but I feel a bit calmer after his ultimatum. We’re back to where we were when his threat to kidnap me was hanging over my head, except it’s even simpler now.
No matter what Peter says, I am his prisoner, and I only have one choice.
Play along and give him what he wants until I can escape.