Rosalind
It’s hard to concentrate when you’re in a roomful of men and you’re the only woman. Oh yeah, and naked. I try not to think about it, how it feels as they trail their disgusting gazes over my body. I’m not blind, though; they look to Nikolai and one by one, keep their eyes above my shoulders. There’s an occasional slip, but it doesn’t last long as Nikolai pauses-just a moment-and they look away.
I don’t know what to do. It’s not the nakedness, I realize. It’s the fact that I’m clearly his property. If this man wants me naked or fucking myself in front of others, it’s clear I’ll have to do it. What’s my other option? Death? Torture?
I want to look at each man, see who might feel at least a little bad for me. One must. If I find that one man, should I ask for help? Would I be trading one terrible situation for something infinitely worse? No one’s going to help me. That’s the truth; I know it, Nikolai knows it. He’s the alpha, the leader, the worst of the lot.
The cherry on fucking top? I ache. I ache for him. He brought me right up to the edge, ready to explode, and, right or wrong, I couldn’t think of anything but that release. Then he yanked it away from me.
I hate him. It’s a live thing in me, my hate. I need to do something, anything, take a risk. One guy, the youngest, looks nicer than the rest, but as I lift my gaze to him, Nikolai hooks his arm around me and pulls me close.
“Excuse us a moment, gentlemen.”
Once we’re out of earshot, he brings his face into mine and lands the softest kiss on my lips, one that makes me tremble. Damnit, it only makes me want and hate him more.
Nikolai moves those sinful lips to my ear. “Be fucking quiet, Rose. Don’t look at them, don’t speak to them. No one in here will help you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Keep your fucking mouth shut. Understand?”
I lift my gaze to his and narrow my eyes. “Yes.” The word is barely a breath, but he hears it.
“Good girl.”
Girl. He might be older than me, but I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman-a little sheltered perhaps, but still grown. Fuck. Him.
We’re back to the group, and he continues talking, but I have no idea what he’s saying. Wars and territories. Enemies. Me.
“He knows I have her,” Nikolai says.
That pulls me back into it all and I try and follow. Another man, one toying with a cigar, looks at him. “The whole family was presumed dead. The other night, I thought it could be a relation, but…”
Nikolai sighs. “Birth certificate? One exists, somewhere, but I’ll bet my little pet here doesn’t have her real one. Do you, baby?”
Baby? Gross. I lift my gaze to him, and he strokes a finger along my lips. He looks at them, not me. “She doesn’t know.”
Cigar Man frowns. “He’s aware she’s here?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“And he’s going to make a move?” That’s the youngest speaking, and he doesn’t sound nice at all.
Nikolai gives a non-committal shrug. “He’s thinking on it, planning what to do, but his property has always been important to him. Blame his ego.”
I want to cover up, want the floor to swallow me. I want a big fast forward button to appear so I can get to the end of this.
“He’ll want proof.”
I don’t know who says that, but Nikolai slips off his jacket. “You look cold.” He drapes it over my shoulders, sliding his fingers down the lapels, brushing against my nipples that tingle from his touch. He does it again, stroking them as he lifts his eyes from me. I’m trying not to quiver, not to react, to the disturbing, seductive touch.
“He’ll get it and he’ll fall over himself to pay the ransom for her.” With that, he turns back to me. “You look tired. I think you need a nap.”
Just like that, I’m dismissed. I don’t know where she comes from, but the woman who took me upstairs last time is here, and she leads me out and back up the stairs to my prison. She doesn’t speak to me, but I don’t try to initiate a conversation. There’s something utterly humiliating about it, about this, and I’m not interested in exploring it. When we get to my door, she takes Nikolai’s jacket from my shoulders and I step into the room. The door shuts and locks behind me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in here this time, but the anger is building as I pace. I’m naked. Nikolai left me with nothing. I could get a towel, maybe wrap myself in the quilt, but if I do, will he take those from me, too? I’m his prisoner, plain and simple, and he can do what he wants, when he wants. The fact that I react to him in a way I hate is immaterial. At least here, I’m alone, not in front of an audience.
A shudder passes through me, fueling that anger. Freaking audience talking about me like I wasn’t there. I don’t even know what they were on about, either. A ransom? For me? Why would a deadbeat father I’ve never met pay money for me? None of this makes sense, and the fury licks higher up my spine.
He doesn’t come to my door. No one does. For that, I’m both glad and I’m furious. Glad, because I have no desire to see him. Furious, because I want an outlet for all this pent-up anger. I want that motherfucker to come here and push buttons so I can push back. I can try my best to provoke and maim and… and…
Shit.
I suddenly stop my pacing. I close my eyes, tears welling as my throat burns. I clench my hands-there’s another reason I’m so angry and frustrated, and it isn’t pretty.
It’s not just that he gets under my skin. No, it’s that Nikolai didn’t finish what he started in the hall. He got me so wet, so hot, so worked up that I was moving, rubbing on him like I craved him, like only he could give me the pleasure, the release my body needed to live.
Still need.
My breath leaves me in a whoosh.
I ache.
Even as I try not to think about it, I’m drawn to it. My breasts are sensitive, the pacing I was doing rubbing my thighs together, and now all I can think about is my pussy, my clit, how much I need to get off. I can’t shake the need. And… what else am I going to do?
A small thrill passes through me as I slide under my covers. I let my hand trail down my chest, sliding across my tight nipples, drawing shapes around my belly button. Once I’m properly riled up, I slip my hand lower, teasing myself with my fingertips against my lips. Finally, I give in, and the slide of my finger feels so good, the pressure sending a cascade of pleasure down my nerve endings.
I throw my head back ever so slightly, and gasp when my eyes find something in the corner of room. It’s so small, I must have missed it, but I’m not stupid. It’s a camera.
“Pervert.”
If he wants a show, he can have one. See, I can get myself off better than he can. Honestly, I don’t know if that’s true, but I don’t really care. I’ll fake it if necessary, just to piss him off.
I throw the quilt off and part my thighs, touching my pussy again, sliding my fingers against my folds, outer lips, inner lips, shivering at the sensations erupting across my body. They’re mild but there, sweet and building, and I move up, rubbing my clit hard with two wet fingers.
“Oh, yes…” I whisper the words and close my eyes, remembering the way he moved over me. I try to mimic his ministrations, falling into something more than just masturbation, a fantasy I don’t let come to focus. Instead, it’s just sensations, my focus on my pussy, my hand moving a little faster, a little harder.
As I work myself, slipping through my wet flesh, over the nub of nerve endings and down, I dip inside, pushing a finger in as I use my thumb on my clit, playing myself to keep that beat he started alive and singing.
My body heat rockets up, little waves of pleasure radiating out to every inch of my skin. It’s like I’m an instrument being played, and each strum brings me closer to hitting that final, perfect note. With each stroke of my thumb, each thrust of my finger, I sink down into the pleasures he started, that the tensions of being naked brought.
Then he’s there, coming into focus. Right there, in my mind.
This is a sudden fantasy made real, but in my head, I’m in charge. He’s got me pinned, naked, touching me just for his pleasure, which brings me unexpected waves of heat. He spreads me out and dips, licking a path down my stomach, showing everyone I’m his goddess and he’s my slave, that I’m chained to him in turn, so finely tuned that- “What the fuck are you doing?”
A wave of horror hits me as the door to my room hits the wall, ricocheting off the frame to show the man crackling with fury standing there. We lock eyes, and Nikolai takes me in, sweeping his gaze over me, spread wide, hand buried between my thighs.
He doesn’t miss a beat, making it to me in three large strides, and wraps his hand around my wrist like a manacle, ripping my hand away from my body. I forgot. Somehow, in my great fuck you to him watching me through the little camera, I forgot and fell into some convoluted, fucked up fantasy.