"Turn."
Gone are the revenant, gentle touches. His fingers are rough as they grip my skin. This is bad. I didn't mean to piss him off. I thought touching myself would make him even hornier. Mr. Ivan yanks on the plug, long done with the teasing movements. My body spasms as the glass stretches me back open. Gripping the tub, I hold on as the myriad of sensations threaten to overwhelm me.
Real shame begins to seep in as warm liquid slides out from me and down my leg. Squeezing my eyes shut, I can only pray that he finds this display appealing and not as disgusting as I feel. Buried deep down, under all the self-recrimination, is a small kernel of desire flickering to life. Master Grigori marked me as his by filling me up with his cum. The uncomfortable sensations of arousal creep into my brain, adding to the confusion swirling about in my head. I shouldn't find any of his caveman behavior desirable. Not in the slightest. I should be appalled and disgusted.
Maybe the day is just finally catching up to me. Exhaustion threatens to buckle my knees as I stand there, letting Mr. Ivan paw at my raw skin. Better to get this over with so I can sleep somewhere my very presence won't be sullied. The labored breathing as it rakes against my skin reminds me that I have a job to do. Twisting my hips about, I feign stretching as I lift my ass higher in the air, hoping to give him a better view. With my movements, the remnants of cum and lube drip down across my lower lips before clinging to my mound, as if even my body is loath to part with any offerings from Master Grigori. Sneering, I bounce about, giving Mr. Ivan a show, but more importantly, divesting myself of any notion to my body about who's in charge.
"You can touch me if you want to, Mr. Ivan." My words come out as a breathless squeak instead of strong and commanding as I intended.
He says nothing. The silence stretches out. My pulse pounds in my ears in an opposite beat of his breathing, creating a dissonance that grates along my flayed nerves. I hold my own breath for as long as my lungs will let me, letting it out in a small hiss as to not add to the cacophony of nothing. In the silence, I feel everything - the passing of air against me as he moves his hands about, touching me with the heat of his skin and nothing more. Every molecule stands on end as we do this dance between us. If I could just get the courage to move even a millimeter, there would be contact. As it is, we're both in a stalemate. Me unable to move and him unwilling to close the gap in between us.
His arm brushes against me, sending my pulse through the roof. It's not until I hear the water pouring into the tub that I realize what he's doing. A mixture of defeat and elation battle it out in my brain. Truthfully, I don't want Mr. Ivan. I don't want Master Grigori either, but that comes with its own land mines to navigate. Yet, here I am, trapped in a twisted rival of my enemy is my friend motif. Problem is, I don't think I can convince Mr. Ivan to be a rival. If I can't convince him, nothing keeps him from turning me in to the devil himself. My vision whites for a moment as the potential consequences pour into me like a sieve - sifting out any desirable outcome and only letting the worst-case scenarios flow through.
Turning to the side, I grip his arm, desperation forcing me into action. The heat of his gaze scalds my insides as his eyes drift from my hand, up to linger on my breast, to finally meet my eyes. The desire is there. I just have to motivate him into action. Until now, he's been rising to my sexual bait, but he's not taking what's being freely offered. Perhaps a different tactic is needed. Snaking my free hand around my back, I find a tender spot and bare down. Barely concealed tears spring back to the surface. Instead of forcing them back, I let them flow. Though the cause is feigned, I don't have to look too deep inside to keep them coming.
Everything pours out of me as I sob my heart out.
Reaching up, I burrow myself into Mr. Ivan, giving him no choice but to either sit like an awkward statue or comfort me. Thankfully, after a few tense moments, his arms close around me, still keeping a bit of distance but finally touching me. I'll take that as a victory! Clawing at his shirt in frantic gestures, I fumble about, teasing at his buttons, then glancing away before he can realize what my fingers are worrying over. Eventually, the dance pays off, and the top half of his shirt lies open, revealing his broad, furry chest. Without hesitating, I bury myself in his coarse hair, letting my tears wet his skin. His movements are hesitant and unsure as he alternates between drawing me in and pushing me away.
"He'll hear. Stop crying."
A sniffle and head shake is the only response I give him. As a defeated sigh escapes his lips, my heart jumps for joy at another small victory. Gripping the edges of his shirt, I pull him even deeper into me, ignoring the twinges of guilt at putting this man in such a dangerous position. Once he runs away with me, it won't matter. We'll both be safe. Glancing up, I note the hard set of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes as he looks everywhere but at me.
"Take me away. Whatever he was going to do to me, I'll let you do and more."
Mr. Ivan looks down at me, his expression so dumbfounded it's almost comical. His fingers flex about my body as he stares down at me, the wheels turning as he gazes into my eyes.
"You want me then, da?"
"Da!" I cry out.
His lips twist up into a half sneer as he leans over to turn the water off. Yanking me to my feet, he keeps a firm grip about my waist as he digs through a nearby linen closet. He lets me go just long enough to pull out a large, fluffy towel and wraps me up so that I'm as decent as possible. Scooping me up into his arms, he elbows his way out of the room and into the hallway. Panic starts to creep in as we navigate the myriad hallways, but I keep myself in check by going over the plan. Everything is going to work out. It has to.