Nikolai
Rosalind is staring at me with murder in her eyes. I’m used to fear, so this is refreshing.
Still, this pretty, innocent little bird’s going to be taught a whole bunch of fucking lessons. If I’m lucky, she just might like some of them. Behind the hate and want to see me hurt in her eyes is desire, a confused burn of heat, something I’m going to have a wonderful time building, twisting, molding.
She’ll never be able to look at another man without wanting me. She’ll never want another man after me. After she’s mine, after I’ve destroyed her, I’ll decide what to do with her, whether she lives or dies. To be honest, though, I don’t really give a shit.
All I want is to see her father’s worst nightmare up close and personal. His daughter, defiled by me. His daughter, desperate for me. His daughter, ready to spread her legs for me. I want him to know I’ve had every hole. I want him to know she’s marked mine-or worse, that she wants to be mine.
Then, and only then, will I decide what to do with her.
Right now, the look on her face is riotous, a pouty little glare that should be fucking ridiculous but instead, is all kinds of hot. I wait, because I can tell she wants to say something. What’s more, though, is that she knows she wants to kill me and touch me. She’s confused, and it infuriates her.
This isn’t my ego. It’s just what I know to be true. The dilated pupils in those blue eyes, the way her tongue touches her dark red lips, the rise and fall of her sweet tits beneath the thin satin slip I put her in. No underwear- I want her to know I touched her. She remembers the kisses and damn if she doesn’t want more. It was in the way she lifted her face, the way her breath caught, the erratic pulse in her throat.
I’m not touching her now, though. Right now, I’m standing, because she’s still sitting, and my height intimidates. Emotions dart over her face, and finally she clasps her hands as she says, “I don’t know you, so you’re wasting my time.”
I don’t answer.
A small frown appears when I stay silent, intelligence bright in her eyes as she fights her emotions. She’s not going to win. I’m going to keep her messed up, like the sweet virgin she is. Funny, I never used to give a shit about virginity. The untouched are more trouble than they’re worth, holding their so-called prize, thinking they’re in love.
But I don’t think this virgin sees it that way.
I’m betting, from her glorified bodyguard to how fucking difficult it was to find her, that she hasn’t really had the chance-on the move, no real connections.
Roles reversed, I’d do that, if I was Steph. Steph wasn’t deadly, no matter what she did. She wasn’t one of us, just like my aunt wasn’t, but Steph’s dead now, and not by my hands, so its just left my sweet Rose.
“You said revenge. We’ve never met, so I don’t see-”
“Rose.” There’s a flash in her gaze, next to all that heat and confusion, and it spikes up her hate. She doesn’t like the name; fucking Rose it is. I smile slowly, the kind that makes people recoil. She wants to flinch; her hands bunch, but she doesn’t move. Breaking her is going to be the highlight of my year, almost as delicious as my revenge.
“Steph never told you who your father was? Who your dead… uncle was?”
She moves from the bed, taking half a step forward, and I can tell fire is boiling her blood at my question. “Who?”
I sneer as I answer. “Mommy dearest? That’s her real name. Your father is a piece of shit. You’re the revenge.”
I move now, slow and deliberate. Her gaze clashes into mine, and it’s pure fucking heat that makes my cock twitch. I can see her nipples under the thin slip, the line of her lower lips where she’s waxed smooth. When she moved, the mid-thigh slip caught a little between her legs and… I lift my eyes. I move closer, trailing a hand down her side to her hip.
“You are mine, Rose. Mine, and if you want to keep breathing…” I slip my fingers down over her hip, her thigh, to the hem of the slip to slowly pull it up. “You’ll do every single fucking thing I say.”
Her breasts heave as she draws in a deep breath, having that fortunate- or unfortunate, depending on how you look at it-effect of brushing my shirt as they rise. A tiny little sound that might be a moan breaks free from her lips. “And then you’ll let me go?”
I lean in, skimming my lips against the warm soft skin of her throat. “Then I’ll think about letting you live.” I bite down, just hard enough for her to spasm against me and gasp. The slip is at her waist now, and she wrenches back as I brush my knuckles on her abdomen.
I grab her face hard between my fingers and narrow my eyes. “Do not ever fucking pull away from me again.”
She practically spits fire at my face in return. “Or what?”
“You don’t want to know.” I let her go with a rough push and walk to the door. “I’ll see you soon, Rose.”
Downstairs, I sit, tapping my fingers on my armrests as I sit at my desk.
I wanted to touch her all over when I changed her clothes, as she lay there, unconscious. I wanted to fucking slide my fingers into her pussy, see if she felt as good as she looked. I wanted to lick and kiss and bite and mark her everywhere.
Of course, I didn’t.
Not because I’m not a monster. I am.
No, when I touch her, I want her to know what’s happening. I want her to want it, want me. I have to say, violating a non-consenting woman has never been my jam.
Begging for me against all better judgment? Now, that holds so many delicious opportunities. If the woman in question is the delicate rose upstairs, the opportunities are endless.
“Boss?” I don’t look up at the voice; it’s one of my trusted men.
“News?” He knows I won’t be happy if he interrupted me
“They’ll all be attending tomorrow night.”
I smile as footsteps approach and pause at the door. This time, I glance his way. Rush pushes past, looking around curiously. “Who’s coming?” “Anders?” I ask Tommy, ignoring Rush for the moment.
“Everyone,” he confirms. When he does, Rush pulls out the chair opposite me and sprawls into it, legs splayed out in front of him.
“So, Nikolai. Let me ask you a question.”
I snort as Rush looks at me, almost expecting a fight. “Can I stop you?”
He cracks a smile at my clear annoyance. “No.”
We’re in one of the affluent areas of Queenstown, a sprawling East coast city, one that holds a multitude of opportunities for the debauchery Rush loves. That’s the problem-he’s here instead.
“Don’t,” he spits. “Don’t look at me like that. My evening’s shot. So, here I am.”
I snort again at Rush’s annoyance. “You don’t even head to the first club until now.”
He flashes a smile. “Excitement quota filled.”
“I’m busy.” I give him a pointed look as he continues to sit, even at my obvious attempt to wave him off. “You had a question?”
Rush chuckles. “Oh, yeah. Are you fucking insane? Anders? As in Harvey of the Anders gang? Our rivals, chummy with Derek Finnegan?
Who spawned the princess you took?”
He’s not concerned about her, I know. He’s loyal to me and his heritage, would follow me to the grave, but this revenge isn’t in him, not the way it’s in me. It’s seared into my soul. “This is for your parents. You. My family, Rush.”
He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Hey, I know and I’m not interfering. But du-” He stops, taking in my raised eyebrow. “Nikolai, it’s dangerous. What if he sees her?”
I smile slowly. “I’m counting on it.”
Rush just groans. “He’ll leverage it, I promise. He’ll tell Finnegan, or at least someone will.”
“Finnegan’s an arrogant, heartless bastard, but I’m smarter. He can’t get to me, not without starting a war. Why the fuck do you think he hasn’t been taken out already?” I tap my fingers on the desk. “I want the message sent that I have her and she’s mine.”
Rush shakes his head at my declaration. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I sigh internally, thinking of that sweet, hot mouth-so do I.
The next evening, everything is ready. I’ve left her alone, had her meals sent up by a maid. With her first two, I left a blood-red rose on the tray, hand cut, exquisitely perfumed. Both times, the maid trembled as she showed me the bite or two my Rose took and the utterly destroyed roses. I’m not sure whether to laugh or be impressed-Rosalind has no fucking clue what I’m capable of.
Dinner came back untouched, three roses drowned in her water. That unexpected element carries a charged tone that tempts me, but I have a plan to follow. Moving the garment bag carrying her dress to my other arm, I unlock her door and step in.
She’s on the bed, an absolute mess and yes, even with the smeared heavy makeup, tangled hair, and tear tracks, I’d do her. Instead, I barely spare her a glance as I lay her things on the armchair. “I’d have sent these up earlier, but considering your… defilement of my gifts, I didn’t want to take the chance.”
She sneers at me. “Fuck you and your sick gifts.”
I unzip the bag and pull out the shimmery scrap of material, trying to hide a smile. “Language. I don’t tolerate impropriety from my property.
You’re supposed to be a lady, little girl; act like one.”
“Let me go,” she whispers, clearly having the fight knocked out of her sails. “Please.”
I laugh a bit, something cold and heartless. “Not on your life. Cheer up, I bought you some pretty things. You’re going to clean up and dress, and then you’ll meet my guests.”
“No.” Her voice turns cold, but there’s a shake to it, behind her attempts to steel herself.
Now, I turn to face her, not in the mood for this bullshit fight. “No?”
“No.” She raises her chin in defiance. “If you want me to go anywhere,
I’ll go dressed like this so your guests can see what a monster you are.” “Very well.” Without warning, I scoop her up and her arm comes around my neck, almost like she can’t help herself. Choosing to ignore the twinge of arousal in my groin, I carry her to the bathroom and drop her roughly onto the counter. I part her thighs and move between them, bending down to press my lips to her ear. “They know I’m a monster, Rose.”
Then, I take her silky negligee in both hands and rip it straight down the middle.
“That’s better,” I say, taking in her nakedness. I turn on the shower, adjust the heat, and go back to her. She’s still sitting there, slightly scared, turned on, not sure what to do.
Exactly how I want her.
I run the water in the sink, using a cloth to gently clean the muck from her face, and it’s like a switch is flipped. The moment I push her thighs apart-thighs she now has pressed together-and put the cloth to her face, she screams.
She’s flailing, fighting me, but like a kitten with brand new claws, she’s no match for me. I may dress like I belong on Wall Street, but I’ve fought dark and dirty with my fists, taken down men bigger than me. I pin her hands easily to her sides.
“Scratch me, draw my blood, and I will make you bleed, Rosalind. Be my guest, scream until you lose your voice; no one will save you.”
Her mouth snaps shut and lets me continue with my ministrations.
When her face is clean, I step back. Her skin is honeyed, pure, soft, with lips so plump, they almost look bruised. She looks like the untouched virgin she is-I wonder what she’ll look like when I finally get my hands on her.
I don’t, of course; instead, I pick her up and get her in the shower. When her legs buckle, I hold her up and wash her, every inch. The soaped sponge slides over her body and her back arches into me, seemingly without meaning to. My clothes are soaked under the spray, but I don’t give a fuck, not with the water sluicing over her breasts, running down between the lips of her cunt.
The temptation to taste and explore is so fucking strong, but I don’t let myself give in. I wash the lushness of her body and those curves, circling her nipples, moving up to her throat and down around her ribs and stomach, then between those soft thighs, those folds hiding my prize. She’s stunning, and I stare at her as I take my time, soaping her head to foot, kneeling and coming face to pussy with her. It physically pains me, my erection straining in my pants, but I’m not going to give in to the temptation. Not yet.
Instead, I tease her, sliding the sponge just over her mound, and her hands grip my shoulders as I wash between her legs. She trembles and gasps, a dirty little moan slipping free. Rosalind feels it, the heat and the power and the need that’s in me-it’s in her, too. She might hate it, but she also loves it, desperately wants more. Her hips start to move under my hands, pushing slightly against me, seeking something, wanting more.
Once she’s clean and smells like fresh cut roses, I stop. It’s a dangerous combination, really-the dichotomy between dirty sex and sophistication, innocence, one I’m not letting myself indulge in yet. I turn off the water, pulling her out onto the heated floor and drying her off with a towel.
“You have a dress, shoes, makeup, and hair products on your armchair. Make yourself presentable and be ready for me in twenty minutes.” I give her a stern glare, almost daring her to defy me.
The slight drugged expression from the shower fades and her eyes narrow. “And if I don’t?” I smile.
She doesn’t take that for what it is-a dare.
Try me, my little Rose.
Instead, she opens her mouth again, a grimace curling on her lips. “I hate roses.”
“Too fucking bad.” I’m still soaked, and I need a shower. I look down at my waterlogged slacks. Maybe a special one, while I’m at it. I’m not in the mood for her bullshit, so I head to the door of the bathroom. “Twenty minutes.”
“If I refuse?”
A cruel smile teases my lips. “Then I hope the last twenty minutes of your life are everything you hoped they would be.”
She swallows, seemingly gathering the courage to respond. “If I do this, dress up, smile, look pretty, will you let me go?”
I look at her for a long moment, and lie as I walk out the door. “I’ll think about it.”