Maria
I jolt awake, disoriented by a change in the room. I blink until I can make out the shapes in the dark. The soreness in my throat and between my legs is a reminder of what we just did.
I am alone, yet a part of me wishes that Mikhail was sleeping next to me with his arm draped over my waist. I stare at the door for a moment, wondering if he were here with me, might I be tempted into doing something daring and possibly very foolish?
He’d have no way of defending himself in that state. He’d be entirely at my mercy.
You’re not a killer, Maria, I tell myself.
And with that, I fall back into the pillow and feel myself fade back into a deep sleep.
Each day, I can feel the distance widening between us until days later, we act like strangers who mutually ignore each other. I spend more time downstairs in the living room, if only to eavesdrop, but Mikhail is careful to keep the office door firmly shut. I eye him as he walks out of the office with Pavel, and memories of that night surge back into my brain.
One action easily leads to another before everything we do ends in sex.
Not romance but desire fed by power and hate.
I squirm on the couch, pretending to stare at the newsfeed on my phone, checking for today’s homicides. I look up. Mikhail watches me from the elevator as the doors close, and Pavel disappears.
“We won’t be dining together tonight.” He stops beside me, and I blank the screen on my phone.
“Why? You have something better to do?” My tone is loaded down with sarcasm.
Mikhail’s hand is faster than my reaction. He swipes my phone out of my hands, and the screen illuminates as he scrolls through it.
“Hey!” I jump up to grab it back, but he easily seizes me around the waist with one arm. My body presses against hard muscles, and my need heats up as if I stroked a live wire.
Mikhail looks down at me, his dark lashes framing his intense green eyes as his hand runs possessively over my ass.
I push off him and let him have my phone as I walk away. My face flushes with embarrassment, doubling my shame. After that night, our relationship has felt different, as if I’ve willingly yielded all control to him.
I let my guard down, and now I can’t stop being controlled by my own desires. A wicked connection has formed between us.
I’m not Mikhail’s whore, even if I begged him like one.
My thoughts must show on my face as I glare at him with all the hate I feel.
Mikhail’s confident smile shifts as he stares back at me, and his dangerous side peeks out, pinning me with a cruel, threatening look. His gaze narrows as he steps toward me, and a chill races through me.
Something primal.
As if I’m afraid of what he wants to do to me. Without thinking, my hand rises to clutch at my throat, and I recall his fingers wrapped around them as he used my mouth. Desire bubbles up unprompted, and I remember the brief moment when I thought I might drown if he came down my throat. He held me like a toy in his grip. Used me for whatever his pleasure required.
And God, I wanted it.
My face burns again as I feel the familiar heat pool in my stomach and descend between my legs.
I still want it.
Suddenly, a loud ringing sound slices through the tension. I jump in surprise as Mikhail stops in his tracks, quickly ending the moment. He takes his phone out of his suit pocket and answers in Russian, his voice hushed and low as if to conceal what’s being said.
Slumping down in defeat against the couch, I wish I could make out what he’s saying, and then I recognize one word-meeting. Something about a meeting and a deadline. The conversation is over before I can process what’s happening. Mikhail is walking away, not sparing me another glance.
“Wait!” I shout as he unlocks the elevator. “Where are you going?”
Mikhail smiles, pleased by my frantic reaction. “To pick our rings, Maria.”
And just like that, he exits quickly without any explanation.
I’m left alone as an unyielding feeling of guilt encircles me. It’s like the air has changed into heavy matter, weighing my exhausted body down. To pick up the rings, and then off to kill my dad. Why do I want this terrible man? I should be disgusted with him. But I’m only disgusted with one person-myself.
I lie on the couch, listless, and let the horror of my life sink into my bones. I made one mistake-I ran away, and I’ll be lucky if I’m given the chance to make another.
By seven, Mikhail isn’t back, and I search for dinner. Avoiding the office, I enter the dining room. I rarely go in here, and when I do, my stomach churns from the floating sensation. Dominika says the room makes her feel as if she could soar, but I don’t like it in here. Too much glass, and the openness makes me feel defenseless, as if I could step over the edge if I’m not careful.
“Should I serve you in here?”
I jump as Dominika enters the room. She steps forward, her face beaming as she stares at the glass, ignoring the artwork covering the walls. “This room makes me feel as if I could fly.”
I clamp my hands down on my stomach. “I don’t like it,” I mumble. “I feel like I’m going to fall over the edge. Again.”
Dominika places her hand on my shoulder. “You have to eat,” she whispers, “for the little one. The chef made a fresh pesto and pasta salad with extra basil. No chicken now that you’re eating vegan.”
I smile weakly. “The chicken smell makes me feel sick.” I look into Dominika’s gaze, and kindness reflects back at me. The baby has changed everything between us. Could it change things between me and Mikhail? “Can I eat in the kitchen with you?” I ask.
She looks puzzled for a moment and then nods, a cheerful smile on her poised face. “We will have a good time without the pakhan.”