CHAPTER 12
Naomi
Three weeks later.
I clung to Gavril’s muscular back—not daring to look up at his face—as he drilled into me. I knew what I would find if I did: a man whose expression remained stone cold, with jaw clenched and eyes fixed on the painting above the bed as he silently used me.
For the last three weeks, this had been our routine.
Sometimes, he took me against the wall or bent over the chair in the corner. I think the only place he hadn’t fucked me was in the shower. But it was probably only a matter of time before he did.
I felt a slight tremor go through his body and knew he was close. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Gavril groaned and I felt a familiar wet warmth flood inside me. I squeezed my eyes shut as he emptied himself to the last drop. Soon he would leave, having accomplished what he had come into my room to do.
It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it. Gavril was a skilled lover, probably one of the best I had ever had. He knew how to hit the right spots. He knew how to make my body respond.
But this was just sex, not lovemaking. There was no foreplay, no giggling in the dark, and whispered words of what he wanted me to do.
Not that I needed it. He could literally walk into the room, and I would grow wet with anticipation.
He’d trained me like a man would train a dog.
“You could never be Sveta,” he growled as he rolled off me, sitting on the side of the bed. “She would never have taken to sex with me like you have.”
And the snide comments. Always there’d be snide comments as he finished. I steeled myself against the sharp barb, not allowing it to take hold in my heart or my soul. Gavril loved to throw out some sort of parting comment before he left, to remind me of what I had gotten him into and the ramifications of my decisions.
I felt his weight shift off the bed and opened my eyes, heart speeding up just a tad as his glorious ass sashayed across the room toward the bathroom. Unwittingly, I bit my lower lip as I focused on his sculpted muscles shifting with each step.
A part of me wanted to bound after him, to touch every part of his body and see if I could find some sort of softness in Gavril. And another part desperately wanted him to do the same to me.
To touch me like he cared for me.
To touch me like his wife, and not just a set of holes.
I watched him until he disappeared before I pulled the sheet over my naked form before the goose bumps came.
I only saw him at night, no matter the hour. On some nights, I wanted to wait on him in the foyer like a good little wife would, but I never did. Instead, every night, I would wait in my bedroom until he opened the door and spread my legs open.
Sometimes he wanted it slow, almost like a strip tease. He’d sit in that chair in the corner, a drink in his hand and those hard eyes, watching me slowly peel away my clothing. Then he’d stand and order me to get in position.
Other times he would rip my clothes off my body, fling onto the floor the expensive dress or lingerie I had donned, and fuck me until I was limp to his touch.
There wasn’t one way I preferred over the other.
I also didn’t know where my life was going or why. I knew what Gavril wanted. He wanted to get me pregnant, but why? I wasn’t Sveta. What if someone got smart and demanded some sort of paternity test on our future child?
Then they would know, and all of this would have been for naught.
I wondered if Gavril was just trying to save face at this point, to not have to turn around and tell everyone he had been fooled all along.
Sighing, I tucked the sheet around myself as I felt the familiar sensation of Gavril’s semen slowly oozing out of me while his scent lingered in my nose.
I stared at the perfect room that had become my prison and wondered. How much longer would I be trapped here? Was Gavril ever going to let me out of this ivory tower, or was he going to wait until I was fat and pregnant so that he could show me around to his enemies, show that he had put his baby inside of Sveta Orlov?
The door to the bathroom opened, and I pushed aside any sort of thoughts as Gavril came out, walking over to grab his pants from the floor.
“Have you eaten?” he asked brusquely.
“I have,” I said. “Have you?”
Gavril ignored me and shoved his legs into his pants. “Are you afraid of me, Sveta?”
Not Naomi. It was never Naomi to him, and that was what hurt the most.
I wanted Gavril to see me as a person. I wanted him to see me as me. Not the person he was forcing me to become. I was an actress stuck in the absolute worst role of my life.
“No,” I forced out, realizing that he was still waiting for me to answer. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”
There was the merest hint of a smile on his gorgeous face before it disappeared and he grabbed his shirt. “One day you will be.”
I didn’t answer as he walked out of my bedroom and closed the door behind him. Only then did I draw in a breath.
I didn’t like that he was probably right. One day I would be scared of him, but it wasn’t going to be today.
Yawning, I threw aside the sheet that smelled faintly of Gavril and sex and walked naked to the bathroom. The tiles in the shower were still slick and warm. I closed my eyes under the hot water. Another night of sex that would just repeat itself tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.
Maybe this was more than just a job. Maybe this was like one of those endless loops that never stopped, and all I was going to do was be used until I served my purpose.
And once I gave him what he wanted, what would happen to me?
***
The next day, I walked down the stairs to the first floor of the mansion. I was tired of staying in my bedroom. The door wasn’t locked, so Gavril wasn’t expecting me to stay inside forever.
Or maybe he did. And if he did, then I had just failed another test. But I was tired of being a prisoner. One way or the other, I was going to live here until I got pregnant and birthed his child. And if that was the case, then I might as well get to know my surroundings.
The mansion was gorgeous, a Spanish-style home that had large vaulted ceilings and exposed beams in the kitchen and dining room. Every room I walked through spoke of the wealth that Gavril apparently had. The furniture was all custom made—rigid, harsh lines that reflected his personality.