Rosalind
I thought I could do it, but I can’t. Terror and desire streak through me in equal measures and I shake. The blatant, empty order rocks me, like he doesn’t want me at all, like he’s just interested in pushing my buttons,
in humiliating me. Yet, here I am, letting him, asking for it, begging.
Maybe, if the words came with a touch, a softness, or even rough desire, I could do it. Even a smile, something other than the empty cold, would be enough, but it’s not, and I can’t.
If I give in now, where does it go? How low will he make me sink?
How long before he destroys me?
Finally, I gather the courage to whisper it. “Can’t.”
“Oh, you can’t? I’ve fucking had my fingers in you, my tongue. I’ve seen every inch of you, Rose, and you come in here, asking me what will keep you alive.” His voice drops a little. “I tell you, and you what? Can’t?”
I suck in a breath, trying not to tremble as I try to speak, but words won’t come.
“You’d rather make me unhappy?” His voice is still flat, almost contemplative, and it scares me more than his rage.
“Nikolai…” I swallow again. “You don’t want me. You just want to see if I’ll do what you want.”
“Fucking little brat. Little tease.” His dark gaze shifts over me. “If I do?
You think you have a say?” “Nikolai-”
“Shut your mouth, Rosalind. You came in here, on your own. You want to make me happy? Make me fucking happy. It’s a simple thing. Right now,
opening your fucking legs, spreading for me, will do just that.” I flinch and he laughs.
“No.” One small word from me. It’s not even defiance; I don’t know what it is. The laughter dies, but I didn’t shut it down; no, it ends and he mutters something about what happens to disobedient brats under his breath before he grabs me, pulling me to face him.
I fight him; it’s instinctual, foolhardy, and right then, as the wings of fear flap and beat against my ribs, I try to get away, to resist him, but he has me. His hands are on my thighs now, gripping hard, and I’m sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow.
“Listen up, little girl. You’ll do what I say, when I say it.”
“No! Not-”
“What? Like this?” Nikolai pries my thighs apart as I twist and kick and fight, but he’s stronger than me. Faster. Meaner. Now he’s on his knees, looming over me, holding me as I struggle, his grip smarting against my skin.
He looms over me, not letting go. “I’m beginning to think you get off on this shit. I’m thinking you fighting, denying me, pretending you don’t want me touching you gets you off. I bet if I touch you, you’ll be so fucking wet.”
“I hate you.”
“I’m right.”
He’s right. I can feel my body change, the want, the need, the desire. I feel the slickness come, and I’m not just fighting him, I’m fighting my base instincts.
I hate those, too. They don’t give a shit about my situation, only the pleasure it knows it’ll get if I give in. For some unknown reason, this horrible, beautiful man is the one who can give me that.
Sweet, glorious pleasure.
“Let me go.”
“Are you going to cry, Rose?”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
He pries my thighs a little wider. “No. The only tears I want from you are from when you come, when I spank you and you moan and buck and offer yourself to me. Then again, I’m not fussed. Tears aren’t going to stop this. Fighting me isn’t, either.”
“I-”
“You asked what will make me happy? Your obedience. Now.” There’s a deadly silkiness to his words, and I stare at the fire burning in the depths of his eyes, that fire I crave.
I stop fighting and he lets me go. Nikolai stares at me with the kind of intensity that should unnerve me, but it doesn’t. No, it turns me on, making breathing difficult in a different way. My heart begins to thump hard and erratic, and I start to keen under his gaze.
Finally, I spread my legs for him.
“Wider.”
I listen to his command.
“More, Rose. I want to see everything.”
I don’t hesitate, my breath coming in short little puffs, and his cock beneath the confines of his jeans grows. He’s so big. I pull my gaze away, no matter how much I want to look, how nervous it makes me, how much it turns me on.
“Good, sweet Rose,” he coos, and he moves a hand thought the air, between my thighs. “Your cunt is so beautiful.”
Heat streaks through me; my nerves leap, and desire burns my veins. I’m not sure what to say or do, so I widen my legs even further. If my life’s going to depend on whatever this is, I’m making damn sure this is worthwhile for him. That wild fight has morphed, bled into something darker, hotter, hinting at pleasure. He likes to look at me, so I’ll let him. If that revs my motor, makes my clit throb, then it’s a bonus, one I’ll gladly take.
“Now, touch yourself.”
The word no sits on my tongue, but I swallow it down. I’ve never in my life masturbated in front of someone. There are a lot of nevers in this arena of my life, and this man is slowly shredding them, collecting the remnants and making them all his. With shaking hands, I do as he asks, staring at him as I slide my fingers down over my belly. I reach my clit and slowly stroke it, before I sink a finger into my wet pussy, watching as his eyes flare.
Nikolai doesn’t say a word. Instead, he sucks in a breath of his own and moves, grabbing the tails of his shirt I’m wearing and ripping it apart, sending buttons flying through the air. It hangs open limply, and my breath catches, a cool rush of air whispering over my nipples as they harden. I don’t know if it’s the exposure or to him that make them ache, but I suspect it’s the latter. He does things to me that make me burn with need. Suddenly, I realize I’m still working my finger inside my channel, rubbing my clit with my thumb.