Bratva's Brat (Loftry University Playthings 2)

Chelsea

Pursing my lips,I shuffle into place, feigning a submission I don’t feel. I must have a death wish because there’s no way I’m keeping this off of my face. If he sees it, though, he doesn’t notice or make a comment. That’s probably better for my ass. A wave of loneliness swamps me as I recite back to him like a toddler. At least at the university, I had friends. I had a life. Here, it’s nothing but Master Grigori, Mr. Ivan, and whatever low-lives he has storming around the place.

Why did I have to ruin all of it by pining after Professor Richards? I should have known better than to fool myself into thinking there’d be a future. Maybe my parents were right. There’s nothing special about me, so why would someone special want me? Looking up between my lowered lashes, I stare at Master Grigori. If I were being honest with myself, he’s definitely better looking than the professor in that hot, mercenary kind of way.

He was for sure more built than him. Staring at his forearms, I feel that familiar flutter of arousal low in my hips. I mean, sure, Professor Richards turned me on, but with Grigori, it felt different. Instead of a steady hum, it was a raging inferno. The main problem with being stuck here instead of at the university is that I have no one to talk to and figure out my feelings. Hell, even Bethany would be a kind ear right now. I could talk to them on the phone, but it’s not the same. Nothing will ever be the same.

“Were you listening to me?”

I jump at his words, adrenaline crawling up my throat. Fuck. What did I miss while I was daydreaming? I spasm around the plug, dreading what new, humiliating punishment he’ll have for me.

“Forgive me, Master. My brain was elsewhere.”

He crosses his arms, shirt straining across his pecs.

“That part was obvious. What isn’t is where your brain actually went?”

Should I tell him the truth? What good would it do me? It’s not like he would even care that there was no one here to keep my company. Sighing, I shift in my position, hanging my head further down.

“I’m lonely. That’s all.”

I cringe inside, waiting for him to laugh at me or, worse, tell me that someone like me doesn’t deserve friends. By all rights, he’s probably correct. I was practically handed Melody on a platter, and what did I do? I betrayed her at the onset. My lips curl up in a sneer as I remember her and Professor Richards leaving me strung up and at Master Grigori’s mercy. Was that just the other day? It still guts me every time it replays behind my eyelids. Try as I might, I can’t scrub it out.

“I understand. I can see where it might be lonely for you. I have Ivan and my men. You don’t have a single person to gossip with. Don’t worry, though.” He pauses to lift his knuckle under my chin. “Once your routine starts, you won’t have time to miss anyone.”

I thought as much. I’m doomed to be a prisoner in this wretched castle until I go crazy and launch myself off a balcony or something. Oblivious to my hysterical musings, he reaches past me, brushing his fingers along the ornate swirls in a pattern I can’t even begin to fathom. A second or two later, the entire wall hisses before receding backward, revealing a yawning opening. Fuck me, he must have more money than God!

Unbidden thoughts of money-hungry billionaires and what they can do to women and get away with it flood my brain. Wrapping my arms about my waist on pure instinct, I shuffle to the side, giving an unladylike squeak when Master Grigori grabs my arm and hauls me into the darkened opening.

“I don’t know what goes on in that brain of yours, but you really need to settle down.”

His strong arm wraps around me, flooding me with a heat I didn’t realize I was lacking. Leaning into him for a moment, I let myself get swept away in could be’s and what if’s. Am I really so unlovable that I get no one? I can’t bear the thought of ending up alone, but what chance do I have with a man more like a god? Closing my eyes, I allow my thoughts to drift some more, letting him shoulder me as we walk through the twists and turns before us. Dim lighting, just enough so that we don’t trip, illuminates our paths.

He did claim me. For as much I as pined for Professor Richards, he never gave me as much as a hint that we would be together. I know, logically, that Master Grigori didn’t have to claim me. No one forced him to take me as his. True, he could give me back if we didn’t work out, but then why claim me in the first place? Since I’ve been there, I can only recall one instance of a Dominant returning a submissive, and that was because they were just too incompatible. What she listed as soft limits really should have been classified as hard. No amount of working with her, cajoling her, made a difference.

Last I know, she’s with a much better fit, and both are thriving. Glancing up at Master Grigori, I wonder if we could ever thrive together. With Professor Richards, I thought I knew where I stood. I thought I knew what was accepted of me. But I was wrong, so terribly wrong. Now, here I am with a stranger, betting with my life, hoping one day he’ll actually tolerate me if not love me. I’m so caught up with my thoughts that I don’t even realize the hallway has stopped, and we’re standing at the mouth of a large room.

Still dim, there’s no way to make out where we are. Alien shadows fill the space, monsters all around us, threatening to snatch me up and dispose of me. I’m not sure if I actually said something or just shivered, but Master Grigori pulls me in tighter, chuckling in my ear as he leans over to fiddle with something on the wall. His warm breath washes over the side of my face, and I shiver again, but for a very different reason.

As the dim light grows, the shadows turn into various pieces of equipment, each looming up and overtaking the space. It's overwhelming seeing all these devices of torture. Luckily, they don't look nearly as awful or rough-hewn as the equipment he had me on the other night. Shuddering, I force the piercing out of my brain, not sure I can stomach thinking about it again. Though it doesn't hurt, the memory is uncomfortable.

Instead, I focus on this new space and how it differs from the other. Where there were blank walls and psychotic lighting, this space is warm. The light that's here, though soft, is more romantic as opposed to the murder dungeon. Reaching out, I brush my fingers against a Saint Andrew's cross, marveling at how soft it is. It's even softer than what the school uses. Does that mean Master Grigori is even wealthier than them? No doubt he was at least a benefactor.

Walking on ahead, he crouches down near one of the pieces and begins fiddling with it, the loud metallic clangs the only sounds in the room. I pay him no mind as my gaze darts about, taking in this room. It's clear we're going to spend a lot of time here, so I'm actually glad it looks fairly inviting. It's not at all cold and harsh like the other place. If I had to train there, I'd find some way to contact Dean Anderson and beg him to let me come home. Hell, I'd do any grunt work he asked of me if it meant never visiting that torture chamber again.

Taking in the room he's going to train me in, I trip my fingers over leather and metal. The supple leathers are all the same color, black but trimmed with red. If I could imagine a sensual hell, this would be it. All that it's missing is horns on Master Grigori and fire shooting up from the floor. I glance over at him, a smirk crossing my face as I picture him with a tail. No doubt he'd use that too in some way. Satan wouldn't be beneath putting his whole body into what he was doing. Now that I can truly take in the space, I notice the lighting is warm because it comes from the wall sconces that imitate fire. The whole effect is actually cozy.

Over near the side is an empty space with several long strands of material going from the ceiling down to the floor. My stomach clenches as I take in the ropes dangling from pegs off to the side. Every color you could ever want or imagine lay there. No one ever put me into ropes before, but it was something I always wanted to try. Perhaps if I'm good enough, Master Grigori might tie me up someday? Fat chance. The moment the thought comes in, I shove it right back out. Rope takes trust, and I'm sure he trusts me just as much as I trust him.

"What's that hanging from the ceiling?"

He looks up from what he's doing and stares up at it as if he didn't remember that being there. After a moment, he shakes his head and goes back to his job.

"A former submissive of mine liked to do that, what's the word, you know, that in the air exercise stuff."

"You mean aerial aerobics?" I stifle a grin, happy to know he has moments of imperfection as well.

"That's the one."

"She must have been very beautiful. Whenever I see Cirque du Soleil, I'm always jealous of them high in the air, swaddled in silks, without a care in the world."

His gaze narrows as he watches me, something undefinable passing through his eyes.

"Maybe you will one day, Lastachka. And yes, she was beautiful, but we didn't work out." He stands and dusts his hands on his thighs. "We just weren't compatible."

My heart churns as I think of him with other women. But it's only natural. A guy that good-looking probably had thousands of lovers, and I wasn't exactly lacking in the sex department either. He owes me nothing, and yet, that strange niggle of jealousy worms about in my heart. I really need to figure things out before I run him off like I did Professor Richards. If I've learned anything from being in this house, I'm probably the problem. I thought leaving home would fix whatever curse it was that made people either shun me or use me, but that doesn't seem to be the case.

My fingers fuss about in my hair as my brain reels, remembering every moment, every secret touch. There was never any love. Not from any of them, and sure as hell not from Professor Richards. He used me just like everyone else. But what can I do? If I say I'm done, I'll just end up in jail or worse. They can't have a Society submissive out and about with no one to make sure they're not blabbing their mouths. I'm a liability and a big one. There's no way they're letting me free.

My eyes water a touch as it's brought home just how screwed I am. I'm no longer free to do anything my master doesn't want me to do. I'll never find true love, have babies. I didn't think I wanted them, but now, knowing it will never happen... But how could I bring a child into this? Even if Master Grigori doesn't send me back, the next dominant will be just the same. They won't want a child getting in the way of their fun.

He watches me, his narrowed eyes taking in my every movement. Hopefully, nothing's showing on my face to give away my thoughts. I really should be more careful around him and only break down in my room. At least there, I have some modicum of freedom. Freedom to cry, scream, rant, rave, all without fear of punishment. As long as I'm not loud or throw my stuff around again, I can pour out my heartache without him finding out. I could always use the shower, just like at home. Even if he has cameras there, he won't be able to tell the difference between tears and water cascading down.

His eyes never leave me, and I shuffle about, unease tripping down my spine. Should I show him appreciation that I'm not in the horrid space hidden somewhere in this gilded prison? It doesn't really matter how pretty all of this is; they're not going to be used for my pleasure. He takes so much delight out of making me squirm. He sighs as I fiddle about, and I grip my hands, forcing myself to be still. As a prey, the last thing I want to do is alert the predator in him.

We stand there at this stalemate, him staring at me and me not offering him anything. If he wants something from me, he's going to have to demand it, plain and simple. After the neverending pause, Master Grigori motions for me to come to an odd chair I've never seen before. It looks similar to one of those chairs at the gynecologist, but much shorter and with several more levers and poles sticking out.