Priceless (Ruthless Doms 1)

Erik tells me about the plans we have when we return. We’ll arrive in Boston tomorrow evening, meet Tomas and the others at the wharf, and return to the compound for our induction. Marissa looks at me in panic when she hears the plans, but I shake my head sharply at her. She looks quickly back to the floor.

“You seen the dungeon?” Erik asks. “Our emcee introduced me to it last night.”

The dungeon? As if I’d entertain the thought of taking her anywhere near anyone else.

“No,” I tell him. I tug a lock of Marissa’s hair. I pull her closer to me so she’s nestled right into my crotch. Fuck, I love how she feels sitting here like this.

“Keep your hands in your lap, while I feed you,” I instruct. Some masters prefer feeding their slaves themselves, while others feed their slaves on the floor, still others out of bowls suitable for pets. But I like to control every single thing that she does, and eating is no exception.

I break off a piece of a muffin and gently place it between her lips. She captures it eagerly, licking a crumb and swallowing. I feed her a ripe strawberry next, then offer her a sip of water. She eagerly takes the food from my fingers, and when I think she’s eaten enough, I push the plate away.

“The job of a master is to see to the needs of his slave,” I tell Marissa. “To anticipate her needs before they rise.” I lift the napkin off the table and dab the corner of her mouth. “The job of a slave is to become subservient to her master, her utmost focus on serving and pleasing him.”

She nods her head meekly. “Yes, master.”

Erik yanks the chain on his slave’s collar. God, he’s an asshole. “Did you hear that?”

I don’t miss the flash of her eyes before she sobers. There she is. There’s my girl.

“Yes, master. I heard.”

But Yakov only runs his hand down his woman’s shoulder, his thumb gliding along her naked skin. He raises his brow questioningly, and she nods. Tomorrow, we offer our women in tribute. I don’t think I’ll be the only one reluctant to let her go.Chapter 15Marissa

The more time I spend with Nicolai, the more I remember, like excavating in a mine and revealing hidden diamonds. The memories are covered in darkness, but every once in a while a ray of light reflects their brilliance. But it’s hard work. Not all of my memories are ones I wish to keep. Some I wish to keep hidden below the surface, never again to see the light of day.

But the memories I have with Nicolai… those I treasure.

When I sit on his lap and he feeds me, I remember the way he used to oversee every moment of my day. So much older than I am, he had an almost paternal air about him. Making sure I got enough sleep. Making sure I ate my dinner and didn’t spend all night studying or out with friends and subsisting on noodles and french fries. He would remind me to stay safe, to take my cell phone with me, and though he gave me some freedom, he was always there. Caring for my every need.

And though our circumstance is now wildly different, who he is hasn’t changed. I sit on his lap while he feeds me, and though he’s attentive, his eyes don’t miss a single detail. We both know those who took and trained me still pose a deadly threat. And I know he’s ready to kill anyone who comes near me.

It’s strange, how the past few months of my training seem to dovetail now with the circumstance I find myself in. My will was bent, broken, shattered. And though a part of me still remembers autonomy and freedom, it’s natural for me to bend to him. When he gives me an order, I follow it without question. I have to. It’s what I was taught and it’s what will save me now.

There are two other men and two other women with him, and I’ve surmised from our brief encounters that we’re all going to the same destination. I’m not allowed to interact with anyone, so I can’t talk to them, and I’m not sure they would even speak to me if allowed. They are familiar, and we underwent the same rigorous, brutal training, but we’ve never talked. A part of me longs for a sisterly connection. A friend who understands. But I don’t dare to try to even look at them. Not now.

One of the men mentioned a “dungeon.” It sounds ominous, and Nicolai’s stern face grew cold when they spoke of it, but I know he has a role to play.

“Come with us, brother?” Yakov asks. “When we arrive in Boston, we won’t have the playtime we have here.”