“I’m not above using a cage.”
“You dick!” As soon as we were outside the airport, I launched the toe of one of my pointy heels at his calf, booting him as I had his car back at Berezka.
He didn’t seem to feel it whatsoever. So I kicked his ankle.
Nothing. And then he was tossing me into the back of his limo, signaling for the driver to go.
Apprehension overwhelmed my anger. The privacy window was up; I was at Sevastyan’s mercy.
What was he going to do to me?
As if even a foot was too much distance between us, he yanked me across his lap. He squeezed me against his chest, those massive arm muscles rippling around me.
On the way back from the club, he’d held me like this. Never had I felt more cherished and protected.
Now? I’d never felt more conflicted. Had some traitorous part of me clamored for him when he’d scanned the crowd for his woman? Had some part of me thrilled earlier to hear myself called his fiancée?
What is wrong with me??
As I sputtered protests, he stripped off my messenger bag and coat—still too much between us?—then he clasped me harder, inhaling the scent of my hair, like we’d been parted for ages. In a distant tone, he asked, “Why would you leave?”
“You know why! I didn’t sign on for a one-sided relationship, didn’t sign on to be treated like a thing. You don’t confide in me, you order me around, and you lie to me!”
As if he hadn’t heard me, he grated in Russian, “You’re not to leave me, Natalya. I’ll never let you go.”
“My God, are you hearing me at all? You sound like a freak! You can’t keep me if I don’t want to be kept!” I managed to draw back a couple of inches to glimpse his face—then wished I hadn’t.
A professional hit man had fixated on me, and now seemed to be experiencing some kind of mental break because I’d left him. It was as if he couldn’t make out my words because some bomb blast was repeatedly going off in his head.
Realizing how futile it was to try to communicate with him, I fell silent. But he wasn’t done.
“For now, I’ll discipline you.”
I swallowed. “Putting the D back into BDSM?”
Against my hair, he said, “I told you that if you ran from me again, I’d catch you. I told you I’d spread you over my knees and whip your ass until you knew better.”
His text had said he’d whip it raw. At the thought, I tensed even more in his iron embrace.
“And don’t I always do what I say I will?”
Chapter 42
Sevastyan kept me trapped in his arms as he climbed the steps to our suite. He only let me go to slam the doors behind us.
As his threat replayed in my mind, I wondered if I should make a dash for the safe room. Yet even now I couldn’t manage to be afraid of this man.
“Never run from me again!” He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “The thought of not having you . . .” He punched the wall near the hole from his last show of fury. As his fist made impact, he loosed a short, violent yell. Like an animal in pain.
“Sevastyan, just wait.”
Flexing his hand, he twisted around to face me. “Strip.”
“No, I don’t want to.”
“STRIP!”
I snapped, “Sure thing!” and stepped out of my shoes, scooping them up. “Here we go!” I flung the first one overhand like a dagger. Missed. He batted away the second.
“Why don’t you arm yourself with your shirt next, sweet?”
“Fuck—you!”
“Fuck me?” Though his pupils were still blown, his sexy lips curled. “We’re getting to that.” Underneath all this pain and frenzy, Sevastyan was still Sevastyan.
Seductive. Undeniable.
He prowled closer, running the heel of his palm over the straining bulge in his pants. I’d been conditioned by him; seeing this man’s erection would always make me grow wet to receive it. When he was just before me, his body heat and addictive scent wreaked havoc on my senses.
“You won’t remove your clothes when I command it? I think you don’t want me to discover what you’re hiding.”
Hiding?
He seized my hip with one hand. His other hand was climbing under my skirt. “Will I find you wet? If so, you’re going to get whipped. If not, I won’t touch you.”
Not fair—I couldn’t control my response! I squeezed my thighs together, but he forced them apart.
When he felt my damp panties, he grunted with satisfaction. “I think you want your punishment very much.”
Was I already so lust-stupid that I . . . did ? He rubbed me with his slow, hot fingers, sending my thoughts into chaos.
Maybe I should use him for the pleasure he always gave, then figure out what to do afterward. So what if he was going to spank me? It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before—with a flogger. I could get through this.
Or maybe I was making excuses for him—yet again! I shoved at his wrist and twisted away from him.
He let me get a step away before his hands landed on my shoulders to jerk me back. He leaned down, his mouth descending on mine.
My cry was his access.
His tongue flicked . . . deliberate, sensual. Leveling my resistance. Even as he tore my blouse from me like it was tissue paper, he was giving me his mind-numbing, toe-curling lover’s kiss—as if he couldn’t help himself.
As if his mind was saying Discipline her, while his heart was saying Kiss her.