20. Elira

20

ELIRA

N ikita smells like evil.

Every time his hand smooths across the back of my neck as he leads me down the hall, I inhale the scent of his cologne sharply, and every time I think it must be custom made. They couldn't be selling Nikita's scent commercially; no way.

Then again, maybe it isn't the scent that's evil. Maybe it's just when it's on him.

"This way," he coos, guiding me toward voices with his hand curving around my hip. His cane clicks on the tile insidiously with each step, but he walks at a surprisingly brisk pace. Whatever happened to him hasn't slowed him down.

People appear as we enter a large, impressive room dotted with leather couches and chairs. At first, I think nothing of the people, noticing the gigantic white rug Nikita must have a thing for and the glass wall revealing a rectangular pool on the other side of it so large it extends out of sight.

But then I hear more than a voice, it's a moan, and my eyes glue to a fully nude woman swaying her hips to the instrumental music. My eyes dart around, finding couples, groups , naked, their bodies melding together.

Not everyone is like this. Some people are fully dressed, conversing like nothing is happening, and some are half-naked in pieces of lingerie like the woman who was with Nikita before. I can't believe anyone could just stand there talking like nothing is happening.

My face gets impossibly hot, and my eyes naturally find my feet. I try to block out the noise, all of it.

I want to go home.

Now .

I want to watch that dramatic movie Anya chose and plan what to have for dinner tomorrow and pretend Maksim isn't the kind of man who comes to places like this.

That thought is ripped from my mind, it feels like a luxury , when Nikita's hand slips under my dress and runs to my rear, sliding beneath my panties to feel skin felt by only one man before him.

He squeezes and moves us to a wall so he can rest his cane against it. "You fooled me that first night, didn't you?" he asks me, staring down at my chest when he uses the back of his deft fingers to slide my straps off my shoulders, making my summer dress sag and catch on my chest that heaves with each quick breath. "You can understand everything I say."

I stare straight ahead, my hands bunching into fists so they don't shake. My throat is a pinched hose, so I nod.

Nikita rubs his thumb across the top of my dress, leaning in to smile against my face. "Sneaky little bitch."

I feel it when his smile falls and close my eyes, bracing for pain.

"I must admit, I wrongly assessed you. You are … quite a woman."

What?

"I think you and I could have an awful lot of fun together."

His words, along with his breath, sting my face like he bit me, and I clench my eyelids. I try not to consider what he's saying, try not to picture it, but it's hard. He could be talking about sex. He could be talking about torture. He could be talking about anything.

"Open your eyes."

His voice isn't harsh, but I obey the command immediately anyway, opening my eyes wide as if that makes any difference.

"If you could pick anyone in this room, who would it be, and what would it be with?"

Huh?

My wide eyes soften as I turn to search his face for meaning.

He smiles, reading my mind, then he reaches into his inside jacket pocket to reveal a knife. My lungs harden to concrete, and I get the overwhelming urge to flee, having to fight myself to stay still.

I stare at the knife like it'll stay out of my body as long as I don't take my eyes off it.

"Blades are my first choice," he says, turning it over in his hand. "Small ones. Your kill would've lasted much longer if you'd used a less lethal blade, and trust me, you want it to last longer."

I don't grimace. Don't puke. Don't react at all to what he's saying. My heart beats wildly, and blood whooshes in my ears, but I listen and hope like hell I don't look anything like I feel because… Because I don't think he's trying to scare me. I think he's bonding with me. And I'm a smart enough woman to know not to reject him.

He thinks I'm a killer.

Which makes sense because of what happened, but … I'm not. I'm not . I'm… I never would have done that if it wasn't deserved.

I'm not Nikita .

But he wants me to be. For the moment, he wants me to pretend.

Where is Maksim?

"So?" Nikita asks, nodding toward the people. "Who would it be, and what would it be with?"

Wheezing in a breath as quietly as I can, I turn my stiffened neck toward the room.

He wouldn't make me kill someone for real. This is hypothetical. An exercise. A game.

It's fine.

Just say something.

I scan, searching for someone who looks unkind, deserving of this hypothetical fate, until I find the perfect person.

The demon.

Alik .

He's slunk back in a chair by himself in a far corner with a drink resting on his knee. Fully clothed. Merely taking things in like a creepy voyeur.

I don't know him, but I bet he deserves to die.

"Him." I point at the demon.

Nikita follows my finger and chuckles. "Alik?"

I nod. "With a gun. Quick, efficient, middle of the desert."

" No ." I flinch at his disapproving tone. "Don't be a coward. This isn't a kill for work. It's for play."

For play .

This man is as sick as I imagined.

I nod like I now understand the rules, but I'm regretting my choice. I'm still sure this is just an exercise, but on the off chance he chooses to tell Alik about this or push me to act this out, Alik could break my neck as easily as he did the young man's.

"With a fire poker. First to take out the knees, then the genitals. I would wait for his cries to stop before finishing the job on his face."

Nikita inhales a deep, intoxicated breath then lets it out on a sigh. "That's a sight I'd like to see."

Oh no.

Hypothetical.

Hypothetical. Hypothetical. Hypothetical.

"Take off your clothes," Nikita commands, his breath hot, his tone fierce. If he'd said this ten minutes ago, I would have struggled not to break into tears, but now I'm relieved. I'd rather do anything except enact this sick fantasy game we're playing.

I pull my yellow sundress over my head and step out of my white cotton panties, unsure where to put both but dropping them when he slaps my hand.

"Good girl," he growls, caging me in, his eyes hungrily taking in my breasts. I close my eyes as he squeezes both nipples then lowers one hand to what he's famously dubbed my cunt .

I turn my head and swallow a whimper when two fingers invade me, pumping into me like I belong to Nikita. My body burns as his rough touch scratches and rubs an area unaccustomed to this sort of intrusion, and I fight the desire to push him away, to move, to scream.

It was better with James/Daniel. He was not perfect. I didn't orgasm the way I'd read about in books or been told about by friends. But he was slow and fairly kind.

Nikita is not slow nor is he kind.

"Do you want my cock?"

He says it like a question, but there's only one correct answer.

One I can't give.

If I open my mouth, I'm afraid it'll come out as a cry. My lip trembles, and I suck in a sharp breath, tilting my head back so he doesn't see.

A hand weaves into my hair before balling into a tight fist. It jerks my head to the side, sending a shooting pain through my scalp and a gasp soaring past my lips.

It isn't Nikita. The large body of a man crowds the two of us before I can register who it is or what's happening.

"Starting without me, slut?"

Maksim's hot, angry voice seethes in my ear. I don't even try to make sense of it. Relief floods me as I meet his eyes, leaning into him.

He stares back with a hardened expression that would make me cower if Nikita didn't have his hands on me. When his hand wraps around my throat, all I manage is a whimper as he yanks my body roughly away from the predator and pins me against the wall.

Nikita merely laughs coldly and watches as Maksim unbuttons his pants and yanks down his zipper.

My jaw drops.

What are you doing?

He shrugs his pants over his hips, revealing himself as carelessly and confidently as Nikita had.

Just like Nikita.

He's just like Nikita.

No.

No, he isn't.

I clench my jaw and listen to the voice deep down inside of me that trusts Maksim, spreading my legs wide on its command when Maksim presses himself against me and lifts me up against the wall.

When his mouth claims mine, I don't resist. His kiss is rough, brutal , and I can feel myself cringing, but I put my hands on his face and lean into it.

His erection strokes the sensitive flesh Nikita just assaulted, and I clench my eyes shut, waiting for pain.

When he thrusts, I gasp, but he doesn't enter me. He slides between my legs with a grunt while his hands dig into the flesh of my rear.

It's an act.

A show .

He's protecting me.

I rip my mouth from his to tuck my face in the crook of his neck so Nikita doesn't see my face twisting with gut-wrenching relief. I hug Maksim's neck, squeezing hard each time he rocks my body with his thrusts and hope he can sense my gratitude. Hope he knows I know what he's doing.

I kiss his neck, to add to the display at first, but then because I want to. I want his smell, his skin, his arms, the faint taste of his sweat, his roughness, his jokes, his vulnerability, his lewd remarks, his…

His everything. Right now, I want his everything. I just want him to take me home, and I want most of all for him to be nothing like the man watching us.

My heart quickens as I peek at Nikita to see if he's still there, and sure enough, he is. My head whirls the other way in a panic, my mind drifting to the possibilities of what comes next.

Will Nikita wait for this to be finished?

Will he want me next?

Maksim can't continue this forever.

"Look at me, lislchka ."

My eyelashes flutter as I focus on Maksim.

"You are mine."

Those words, those possessive, dehumanizing words, smooth down my back in a sweet, assuring caress. I know what he's saying to me.

I will protect you.

From the organization.

From Nikita.

From everything and everyone.

I hated him. I hated him more than I thought possible to hate a man. I planned to kill him. If I hadn't recognized I needed him to do exactly what he's promising me right now, I probably would've already done it.

A week ago, I would have glared at these words he's speaking.

Tonight, at this moment, the back of my throat feels full.

I close my eyes and press my lips to his, tasting a man I feel I'm meeting for the first time.

His movements falter like he's surprised, but he quickly recovers, kissing me back as he jerks his strong hips against mine.

My lips part as an invitation that he greedily accepts, dipping his tongue into my mouth to stroke me.

I move my hands to his face to feel the roughness of his stubble, the hardness of his jaw, smoothing my thumbs over his cheeks and pulling him in closer.

Desire relaxes my body while simultaneously winding my core. My nipples pebble as they graze Maksim's chest, but I still feel Nikita's hands on me. I feel his prying. His greed.

His phantom touch haunts my insides, and the more warmth Maksim ignites, the more attention is drawn to those areas.

I don't want to feel Nikita. I don't want him to be the last man to be inside of me, to be the hand I feel.

I want Maksim.

The more he kisses me, the more my body undulates to grind with his, craving more than a charade.

Maksim's thrusts gradually transition from rough to rhythmic, angry to passionate, and he must sense the shift as an issue because he breaks our kiss and looks to the side for Nikita.

He's gone.

I search over Maksim's shoulder to find Nikita by Alik, his hungry gaze taking in the room. He seems to have moved on.

Maksim finds Nikita as well and goes to set me down, but I stiffen and dig my hands into his shoulders, halting him.

When he narrows his eyes at me, confused, my cheeks heat.

"He could still be paying attention."

My voice squeaks, my face growing even hotter as I hear how uncertain I sound. These people are disgusting, coming here, having sex in a room full of others, probably not all consensual. But… Would it be so terrible if I didn't want this to stop?

Maksim's eyes light up. He nods, lowering his gaze to my lips, my breasts that ache at his attention, down to our hips.

When he puts me on the floor, I deflate, but then he crooks his arm beneath my knee and lifts, making me gasp and almost topple over if not for him grabbing my shoulder to steady me.

Letting go of my shoulder hesitantly, he pushes his tip against my opening that feels slick, welcoming. I close my eyes and relax while he rubs himself over my entrance then glides his shaft over my clit.

My head tips back against the wall, and I sigh at the sensation as he starts to thrust slowly, grinding himself against a magical bundle of nerves I've yet to explore with another person.

Maksim's lips, now tender, find my neck, and he kisses me like he's tasting me, his tongue swiping each time. It's silly, but it makes me want to cry. I didn't think I cared what the pigs thought of me when I was being sold, but being made to sit in filth and constantly being appraised as disgusting must have stuck in my mind somewhere because it feels good that he wants to taste me. That he wants me.

That I'm his.

When his kisses reach my collarbone, I puff out my chest for him. He uses both hands now to lift me up, his arms hooked beneath my thighs while I wrap my legs around his waist.

I watch, mesmerized as he takes my nipple into his mouth to cause a sharp, pleasant sensation that travels inward and down to my swollen clit. When he sucks, I gasp, fisting my hands into his hair and tugging, unsure if I'm pulling him away or closer. Either way, he doesn't stop.

He licks and sucks my nipple until the other screams with deprivation, and then he grants it mercy, causing the same sharp sensations to travel down to my clit that begins to feel so full, it aches.

I catch the sight of people over Maksim's shoulder but don't care. They don't matter. Nikita doesn't matter. The past doesn't matter. My body cares about none of it. It only cares about here, now, replacing the phantom touch in my core and relieving the ache in my clit.

"Touch me," I say, breathless.

A wave of self-consciousness passes through me as his eyes find mine, but I can't regret my words. I need this too badly.

His head tilts. "Am I your whore, lislchka ? Do you command me?"

"Please," I groan, arching my hips toward him.

Take the ache away.

Take his touch away.

Please.

He stares at me a few more seconds, a man unaccustomed to being told what to do by a mere woman like me.

But there's hunger in his eyes. I'm guessing he's hungry enough to listen.

He shifts me so he's holding me with only one arm while my back is pressed against the wall, then with a delicious slide of his hand up my thigh, his fingers find my sex.

Not making me wait another second, he slips one finger inside me and starts to massage my walls, making my eyes heavy and my body sag. Desire builds, but more than that, my body breathes a long sigh, the recent violation no longer as pronounced.

Maksim seems to search for something, and when sparks fly in my core, zapping my arms and legs and making me jerk, I know he found it.

"Mmm," I moan, my back pressing against the wall as he strokes me faster.

When his thumb moves to my clit, I cry out.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, slowing his pace so he can rub teasing circles around my clit.

Yes.

"Hmmm?" He shoves another finger inside me, and I knock my head against the wall.

"Yes!"

I must look ridiculous, and I know he'll be smirking, so I keep my eyes closed as he brings me more pleasure than I've ever felt in my life.

I think of all the times people whispered about my mother behind her back, calling her a whore. She chose an unconventional route of picking a life partner, unheard of in our culture. Sex outside of marriage is shameful. Having children outside of marriage is an abomination.

I vowed to never have either. If for no other reason than to never be looked at the way my mother was. I would not be a whore. I would wait until marriage. And I got close. I waited until my engagement, too afraid that without sex, the marriage would fall through.

But now it seems it was all in vain. I'm in what must be a whorehouse, acting exactly that, with my legs spread wide for a man who claims he owns me.

And the worst part is, I'm not hating it.

My body lifts, my chest rising as Maksim brings me to a precipice, the tension in my core wound so tightly, there's no room for more.

I dig my nails into his shoulders and open my mouth in a strangled cry. I do my best to keep quiet but fail miserably as my body pulses and squeezes around Maksim's finger.

When my hands slip off Maksim's shoulders, I feel the sweat on my neck and notice it beading on my forehead, sticking to my back, moistening the backs of my knees. I'm covered in it.

I'm panting as I come down from my high and terrified that I won't be able to stand, but Maksim must sense this because he doesn't put me down.

My eyelids flutter, finally looking at Maksim again as he picks up my dress and panties then shifts me in his arms. He carries me out of this hell without a word to the demons in it.

He doesn't speak, so neither do I. I wouldn't know what to say.

Thank you?

Does this change things?

Where do we go from here?

I doubt he has the answers, so I let him carry me to safety, snuggling in his arms.

Arms that for the very first time, I feel I can trust.