10
Summer
Amuscle quivers at his chiseled jaw as he walks into the room and closes the door.
As I look at him, I’m not sure if I should be more worried about the fact I disobeyed a direct order or the fact that he caught me and just closed the door, closing off my escape route. The only other way out is through the window to my left, which is closed and probably locked.
That I’m staring at him blankly with my mouth open doesn’t exactly bode well for me, but I’m trying to think of what to say, what to do.
I can’t exactly tell him I got lost or I was trying to find the bathroom.
When he walks up to me, my knees turn to water, and my back goes rigid like it might snap under the weight of his endless stare. No longer am I the ballsy woman I wanted to appear to be. No longer do I have any form of ground to stand on, and I have a feeling that something has shifted between us in the worse way.
He glances down at the opened drawer and scans over the condoms, then the restraints on the bed. Lastly, he looks at the memory stick in my hand, and then his vapid gaze flicks up to my eyes.
“Strike three, Summer Reeves. Strike three.” He nods and takes the stick out of my hands.
“I’m sorry I—”
He catches my throat, cutting off my words, and my whole body freezes with the anticipation of what he’s going to do to me.
He gives me an irresistibly devastating grin, and I hate that I think anything of the sort because I also see pure wickedness in that grin—sinful wickedness and darkness. Darkness so dark it makes me think his soul must be as black as coal—obsidian black.
As his smile morphs into that mocking smirk I’ve grown so used to, it’s a tell I’m not wrong. That smile is the kind a predator would exude over its prey just before it’s ready to devour it.
He tightens his grip around my neck and angles toward the shell of my ear.
“Teper' ty moya, kukla,” he whispers, his hot breath caressing my skin.
I don’t know what he said, only that it sounded like Russian.
“What? I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“YA nakazhu za eto tvoyu kisku.” He bares his teeth and glares at me.
I couldn’t be more confused than I am. Since we met, everything about this man has bamboozled me, including my stupid body reacting to him. He could be telling me he’s going to kill me, but my brain thinks he sounds sexy as hell when he speaks in Russian and the way he sounds when he speaks it.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re saying to me. Speak English,” I retort, trying to move against his grasp. And his eyes. I don’t like the desire I see lurking there.
“Don’t worry about me speaking English or Russia, Babydoll. You and I are just getting started.”
“But I’m sorry.” Fear returns to me, snuffing out my arousal.
“No, you don’t get to apologize for something I told you not to do.” He releases me. His smile fades, and his features tighten. “Bend over.”
My eyes fly open. “What? What are you going to do to me?”
I’m so stupid. He already told me. He said he would spank me so hard I wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.
I didn’t disbelieve him when he made the threat, so I’m not sure why I’m having a hard time believing he’s serious now. Because he is. Serious as fuck.
“Bend over and take your punishment.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“That’s five.”
“Five what?”