The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

"Why not?" She challenges. "Why the hell not?"

I walk toward her, holding her gaze with mine. "Because speaking rudely to me will get you punished." It's obvious.

"I thought things were different between us," she says, lifting her head and meeting my gaze in defiance.

"Did you?" I'm within arm's reach of her now, and she plants her feet on the ground, prepared to meet me head on. "How so, angel?"

"I didn't think you expected me to still obey you, like I'm your captive and you're my master."

"Have I gotten that lax?" I ask, reaching for her to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you truly not know what I expect from you?"

Her voice is tremulous when she replies. "Maybe you need to remind me."

And then I know. The fierceness in her gaze and fury in her voice. The challenge she poses. I've been gentle with her, and there are questions that trouble her.

Perhaps she needs this from me.

I lean in, my mouth to the shell of her ear. "You want a reminder to obey me? Consider it done."

Her eyes give nothing away, but she fidgets with her wrist and bites her lip before she swallows.

She needs me to take control. It will be my pleasure.

"Bedroom," I order. "Strip. Stand in the corner with your hands behind your back. Wait for me there."

"Why?" she tosses back at me, her eyes flashing. "So you can hurt me again?"

My dick grows hard. There's no question now what she needs from me.

"Because I told you to," I say. "And you need this."

"The hell I do," she challenges, her voice wavering.

Shaking my head, I walk to Shepherd, who’s lapping at his bowl of water in the kitchen. I open his crate and point for him to go in. He likes to interfere when I dominate her, and it’s best I have her all to myself right now with nothing coming between us. He lies down.

I look over to her. She’s still standing there, damnit. She hasn’t moved to obey.

"You have ten seconds. If I need to force you, you'll feel my belt, Olena."

I watch her swallow, her eyes darting to the bedroom then back to me. I count in my head, but she doesn't move.

She needs this more than I thought, and the knowledge makes hope surge in my heart. We're the most unconventional couple. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I'd be attracted to the daughter of my enemy. This can't work. There's no way it can. And yet...

"Ten," I say out loud, shaking my head with mock regret, for I don't regret what she's forcing me to do for a moment.

I reach for the clasp of my buckle and slowly unfasten my belt, my eyes going to hers, but her gaze is on my fingers as I work the belt clasp.

"Now we don't have to get hasty," she begins, peddling back toward the bedroom.

"Hasty?" I repeat. With one tug of the buckle, the belt snakes out of my belt loops and into my hand. I double it over, forming a loop, and point with the folded leather to the corner of the room. "Go."

God, I can't wait to stripe her perfect ass, then fuck her with her punished skin up against mine. But I want her fearing this. I want to build up the anticipation until she cries out in pain then pleasure. I know by now the measured pain I give her is exactly what she needs.

"Fine," she says. "Okay, okay." She skips to the corner and begins removing her clothes, shimmying out of her pants so quickly they fall to the floor and she nearly trips over them. Next, she grabs the hem of her top and lifts it up and over her head. My dick throbs painfully at the sight of her beautiful body ready to be punished. I lift my hand back and swing the belt in an arc, the looped end snapping against her ass.

"Oh!" she gasps, scurrying quicker to the corner. I follow behind her, right on her heels, until she's facing the wall the way I told her to.

"Someone needs to remember how to obey," I tell her. I bring my arm back and swing the belt, hard, the leather smacking on her naked skin. She gasps but holds position as I bring the belt down again and again, crisscrossing the stripes on her beautiful body, careful to avoid the delicate area where her kidneys are. Administering punishment like this straddles the line between pleasure and pain. She won't admit it, but I know she craves this.

"I get it," she pants, holding her position. From here I can see her arousal painted on her thighs, as if her parted lips and half-lidded eyes weren't enough evidence.

"Get what?" I ask her, snapping the folded leather to punish her again.