23. Alena

"What?"

His words don't feel real. Right here, with the heat of his body warming my own as the post-orgasmic heat dies down, there's nothing I want to do other than just lie here. His time spent with me doing sweet, affectionate things like cuddling is barely anything to write home about, so having him next to me on the bed is a moment I want to savor.

But he's talking about my new bedroom, about leaving the basement, and for some strange reason, I almost don't want to.

"Alena?" He quirks a brow as my stunned silence drags on.

I wet my lips and swallow hard. "You're taking me out of the basement?"

"Yes."

"You… trust me?" When I first got here, he told me straight that he didn't have any faith in my assurance that I would have come here if he'd just asked me. I was to prove it to him through actions, not words.

"I trust that you know how things stand," Kristof replies as he sits up.

Immediately, I miss his warmth, so I sit up too, ignoring how my core pulls as my heart picks up in excitement. I've done it. I get my own bedroom. A wide smile pulls at my lips while Kristof rummages in his pocket.

He pulls free a slim, black leather collar attached to a silver chain that pools delicately in his lap.

"I want to show you the house, then I will take you to your bedroom," he says.

Standing, he offers out his hand to me, and I take it, sliding from the bed and facing him on unsteady legs. He leans close and encourages me to bend slightly, replacing the butt plug with practiced ease. Being filled once more makes the ache of loss from his cock less loud in my mind, and a calmness settles over my shoulders despite the hamster wheel spinning in my mind.

Why does my stomach twist? Why am I nervous? Leaving the basement is a good thing because it's one step closer to the relationship I've desired since my crush on Kristof first reared its head. It means he's pleased with me, and the next step of my life can begin. Yet, as exciting as all of that sounds, there's something strange about leaving this room. I'm safe here, and the little bubble of pampering and reading that I've created for myself is a safe haven.

Leaving it feels alien.

"Chin up," he instructs, breaking through my thoughts, and I obey immediately.

The soft leather collar closes around my throat like a whisper. It's made from leather that's so butter-soft that I almost can't even feel it until he picks up the silver chain and tugs me forward slightly.

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Sir," I whisper, and he seals the clasp on the collar with a kiss. Then his lips claim mine in a biting, powerful kiss that fully silences my mind of all running thoughts.

This is good. This is really fucking good.

With light pressure on the chain, Kristof leads me out of the basement and up a set of stone stairs that are chilled underfoot. Just as I consider asking for socks or something, he leads me through a sleek door and my toes press onto a heated wooden floor. It's utter bliss, and a noise of surprise escapes me.

Kristof's attention is on me in an instant. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir. The floor is warm. I just didn't expect it."

His lips twist slightly and a soft, dry laugh escapes him. "Your entire room down there was heated, but heated floors up here are a surprise?"

"Yes, Sir," I shoot back. "After those cold stairs, a girl can be surprised. Besides, central heating and heated floors are two different things."

He tugs sharply on the chain, a slight warning against my tone, but the smile doesn't leave his lips. I like it when he smirks. The muscles of his throat pull and make his neck and jaw more defined.

"This is the lounge. I don't spend much time here, but if there's anything you think it needs, let me know and I will get it for you."

As he points out the various things about the room, such as the wall cabinet filled with liquor and the floor-to-ceiling windows that lead out to an extravagant garden filled with trees stretching sky-high, I'm distracted by one thing.

"You'd let me decorate?"

"Of course," Kristof replies, suggesting it should be obvious. "You are allowed to decorate your home."

My home.

I take in the large maple table in the center flanked by ten high-back chairs, the large ceramic vases in each corner filled to the brim with bright, colorful flowers, and the iron chandelier above lit with synthetic candles. In all my years, I had never given much thought to how Kristof lived. He presents himself as the man doing the dirty work, a little grimy but a far cry from luxury.

Clearly, I've been wrong.

"The kitchen is through there." Kristof points through a doorway, and I glimpse a few black countertops, then he tugs on the chain and guides me back out into the hall. Heated floors give way to a thick carpet that leads the way up a spiral staircase to the upper floor. Here, the peach paint on the walls and cream carpet give a much homier vibe. Hallways stretch in all directions, and Kristof points down the one to the right of the stairs.

"The library is down there. There's a study, an art room, and a dancing studio. Should you decide to pole dance again."

My cheeks warm immediately. "Why do you have a dance studio, Sir?"

"It came with the house," Kristof replies as we take a left at the stairs. "Plus, Nastja can dance. Thought it would be handy for her to have that here."

Ahh, his siblings. That makes sense.

Down the left, we pass two closed white doors, and Kristof opens the third, then indicates for me to pass him and head inside. I do just that, expecting him to follow, but as I step onto a thick, deep red carpet and glance over the massive dark oak four-poster bed draped in emerald silk sheets, he doesn't follow me. He lingers outside, and the chain trails from his fingers as I step further inside.

The door to the closet and the dresser near the large window are both dark oak, as is the dressing table that sits opposite the door. I glimpse my reflection in the crystal clear display, and warmth flushes down my naked body, mirroring the pink blush I can see sweeping over my skin.

I wear his marks all over my body and look nothing like I'm familiar with. It's like my shell has fallen away and this is who I am, naked and honest. Pride warms my heart. I turn back to Kristof, and he smiles tightly once more.

"This is your bedroom. This will be your space and only your space. I will not enter unless you invite me in."

I can't keep the surprise from my face. For a man who revels in control, why is he laying a boundary on the threshold?

"Why?" I ask, clasping my hands together across my abdomen. "I want you with me."

"Believe me." He barks out a laugh. "It was a challenging decision, but you need space for your thoughts. My bedroom is the next door down, and you are welcome there as often as I can have you, but if you need time here, then I will respect it."

My lips part and I'm at a loss for words. For two weeks, maybe longer, he's been in control of every aspect of my life, and now he stands there, telling me that he thinks I need some space for myself. Immediately, I'm alarmed.

Has he tired of me? Have I done something?

I must look worried because Kristof's face immediately darkens and he tsks softly.

"Make no mistake," he says. "Nothing has changed. You still belong to me. I just want you to have a piece of this house that is completely yours."

Emotion crawls up my throat, mingling with the static fuzz of relief in my chest, and I nod. Turning my attention back to the room, the urge to throw myself into Kristof's arms rises when I spot the stack of books on the nightstand. I press my fingertips to my mouth, and when I turn back to the door, Kristof is a foot away, pinning me in place with those silver eyes.

"This is your safe space. I say that with the understanding that this entire place is safe, but here, this is where you can decompress."

"Thank you," I whisper, fighting the sting of tears rising behind my eyes. "Thank you, Sir."

"Of course." Half closing the door, he plucks a pearlescent silk house coat from the back of the door and then drapes it around my shoulders. The silk is cool, like water pouring softly over my skin, and my brow pulls together with my rising confusion. He hasn't given me anything to wear since I came here. If anything, being naked feels more natural than being clothed, but as I part my lips to ask him why he's giving me this, he leans down and kisses me deeply.

My heart skips a beat, and I lift my hands, gripping tightly onto his shirt and giving my all into the kiss.

Suddenly, a door I barely noticed opens and Kristof's sister, Nastja, steps out while drying her hands on a fluffy hand towel. I flinch in fright, my eyes wide, and my heart suddenly pounds in my chest.

I haven't seen another soul since coming here, and now Nastja stands before me, looking completely unsurprised to see me.

"Alena." She smiles in greeting.

"You remember my sister?" Kristof asks as he pulls away from me. "She's here to help you get ready."

"Get… ready?" My gut twists, and my eyes dart back and forth between them. "Ready for what?"

"I'm cooking you dinner." Kristof smiles.

"Attempting to." Nastja snorts, earning a sharp elbow in the ribs from Kristof.

Then, Kristof is gone and I'm left standing awkwardly in front of Nastja.

She's a strikingly beautiful woman with an accent as thick as Kristof's. I know little about her and Ivan other than the fact that Kristof helped raise them, and they travel with him often when he has to return to Russia.

Maybe it isn't a surprise that she knows I am here, and yet, at the same time, a voice rises in the back of my mind. Is this a chance?

A chance to escape, a chance to get help and return to my family?

I bite back an internal scoff.

I should be climbing the walls to escape. I shouldn't be content with being the sex pet of my godfather, and yet this is the freest I have ever been in my entire life. I squint slightly at Nastja as she tosses the towel back into the ensuite.

Is this a test?

"So," Nastja begins. "Are you feeling okay?"

Her question catches me off guard, and I frown. "What?"

"Your body, your health, are you feeling okay? No complaints? Have you had your period?"

She barks at me like a mother hen, walking around me like she's giving some sort of inspection, and I pull the house coat tighter around my body.

"N–No, I haven't had my period," I reply, clutching at the silk. "And I feel… I feel fine. Wait, I don't understand. Why haven't you handed Kristof over to the police or my father?"

Nastja's palm collides with my face in a sudden, sharp slap that shocks the air from my body. My head snaps to the side, and I clutch at my cheek.

"How dare you," Nastja snaps, and her voice takes on a low, dangerous tone similar to Kristof's when he was angry at me in the club. "He tells me you are loyal, yet you stand there asking such things? Have you any idea what he has done for you? What he saved you from?"

I lift my blurry gaze to her as my cheek flares like fire. "Saved me… from?"

"The Kuznetsovs are cruel people. Mikhail would have fucked you bloody and then shared you among every guard and dog he could find until there was nothing left of you." She turns and snarls in disgust, pacing before me at such a pace that I'm surprised her heels don't snag on the carpet. "And your father wanted to give you to them for a better foothold. As if you are a piece of meat and not his daughter."

"I'm sorry," I gasp. "I didn't mean… I just didn't understand if this was a test or something. I?—"

Nastja suddenly stops pacing and nods just once. "Make no mistake, my loyalty is with my brother and no one else."

"I understand."

"I am… sorry." Nastja smiles, and when she takes my hand, her touch is gentle even though her fingertips are a little chilled. "I should not have struck you."

Nastja leads me to the bed and sits me down. I do so delicately, mindful of the toys buried inside me.

"Do you wish to leave?" Nastja asks. "Is that a life you yearn to go back to?"

I meet her gaze steadily, my tears melting away. I'm still slightly in awe that she apologized so quickly. I know what I should say. I should admit that yes, I do. That being kidnapped and turned into Kristof's pleasure whore is not a life, but the words don't come. They slide back down my throat with the bitter taste of a lie.

"No," I say finally. "And sometimes, I don't know."

Nastja smiles suddenly, and her entire thin face lights up with unexpected warmth.

"Life will be good for you, you'll see," she says, patting my hand. "Now, take off the coat and let me take a good look at you. Then we will get you cleaned up and ready for dinner. How does that sound?"

Her sudden attentiveness reminds me painfully of Katja, and I nod slowly.

"That sounds great."

"Excellent." Nastja smiles and brushes down her blouse. "We must make this a good night. These weeks have been hard."