Page 50 of Marked By His Touch
A kick to the balls, Ava.I tell myself, remembering Zara’s training. At least she made me stronger before she betrayed me. But I can’t get a good angle. They're too close, too strong.
I find myself bound to the bed, the rough ropes biting into my wrists, drawing blood.
"And her legs," Nikolai commands. His voice carries the weight of a tyrant. “Spread them.”
Two of the men spread my legs and bind them to the bedposts, the ropes cutting into my skin, the pain sharp and undeniable.
"Now leave us," Nikolai says, loosening his tie as he approaches me. His gaze lingers on me with hungry anticipation. My insides scream.
Nikolai leans down over me. He’s close to my ear. "I going to make you want me," he growls. "I make you come again and again, and you—beg more.”
He loosens his belt, his fingers tracing the line of my dress, the movement sending spikes of adrenaline through me. He pushes his body against mine so I can feel all of him.
"Never," I sneer.
He laughs, a low, guttural sound that makes my blood run cold. "I love resistance. I look for a partner, a trophy, and a brain. Not—tool." He reaches for the top of my dress, his fingers brushing against my skin, sending a shock wave through my body.
The scent of his cologne, spice, and musk fills my senses. It’s like a wolf's perfume, primal, feral. My chest heaves, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The rope biting into my wrists burns me. The silk of my dress feels like a foreign substance against my skin. I can feel the pressure of his body against mine, and I know, with a chilling certainty, that I'm losing control.
"I don't want you!"
He laughs again, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. He slowly lowers the straps of my dress, the top of my dress, his touch deliberate and controlled. The silk slides open, revealing my bare shoulder. His thumb traces a lazy circle around mycollarbone, sending involuntarily jolts of electricity through me. He caresses my bare shoulders, his lips moving slowly, sensually, across my skin. He thinks he's winning. He thinks he's breaking me. But he's wrong.
He leans closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "You—beautiful,Anya. So strong. So—resistant. And all mine, to do with what pleases me.” He pulls back, his eyes locking onto mine. "You going to make this interesting."
His hand finds its way to the zipper of my dress, his touch a burning brand against my skin.
I swallow hard. I need to distract him. I need to make him think I'm giving in and enjoying this.Then, I'll strike.
He smiles. "You know you want it." He continues to unfasten the zipper, the silk of my dress sliding open, inch by inch, revealing more of my skin.
His other hand runs up and down my inner thigh, stopping just before it reaches my apex. The heat of his touch makes me shudder, a primal response that I try to control.I have to think of Alexander, of Katerina. I have to stay focused. I can't let him break me. They are coming. I know they are.
I shift my game. I have to. He likes my resistance, so I need to change it up. I arch my back against him, feeling his hard length press against me. He pushes back roughly, a delightful surprise in his voice.
"Oh, fuck,Anya."
I can feel his eyes on me; his gaze is hot and possessive. As his hands run down my side, over my hip, I turn slightly towards him, stretching the rope tight around one of my wrists. The other feels loose, a thread of hope woven into the knot. He's distracted. He's enjoying this. Although I didn’t intend for this, it’s good.
I throw my head back and moan slightly a soft, seductive sound. But I hold back. I don't give away too much. I don't wanthim to know I'm faking it. As I turn, his hand brushes against my breast, making my nipple harden involuntarily.
"That—my girl," he growls, his voice rough. His mouth connects with my nipple through the fabric of my dress, blowing warm air on it. "We don’t want you—get cold," he says in a musky voice, pressing himself against me.
I feel like a bird caught in a spider's web, struggling against the silken threads that bind me.
My wrist, the one in the looser loop, is my focus. I twist and turn it, pulling it towards me. My movements are slow and deliberate. I can feel the blood dripping. Its warmth is a slick lubricant against the rough rope. It’s painful, but I don’t make a sound. The more blood, the more slippery the rope will be, and the easier it will be to get free.
I whisper into his ear, my voice raspy, "You're so—big, oh, Nikolai." My eyes gaze down at his cock behind his pants, a fake admiration filling my gaze. He is big, but that's not the point. Flattery is the point, raising his ego, and making him think he's invincible. And then—strike.
Zara's training, her words echoing in my mind."A kick to the balls, ragdoll."
"Just wait until you feel all of me. You—thank me after. Many women will pay good money to be–-you. I treat you well,slatka. Only the best for you." His voice is seductive. He thinks he's got me.
I let out a low moan, spreading my legs slightly, inviting him in. I try to maintain the illusion of surrender, of desire. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding, his gaze focused on my breasts, then on my face.
Don’t look at my wrists, don’t look, don’t look.
"You know," he says, "you’re more than—pretty face. You have spark eyes."
