Rosalind
I want to say last night was a dream, but it wasn’t. Even then, I’m not sure that dream is the right word.
Nikolai was there. In my bed. There’s a fresh mark on my breast and throat from him, and my pussy is still wet. I begged him to touch me.
Sitting up, the realization something is different comes over me. It’s not the fact that I’ve given in a little, admitting I wanted what happened in my bed, in his, not the fact I want it all again.
It’s something else.
It takes a moment.
The blind is pulled up a little, letting more morning light than usual pour in. I haven’t bothered pulling it up because what kind of caged bird really wants to see the outside world it can’t get to?
Not me.
The door? I turn. My heart beats faster. The door is open and draped on the edge of the bed is a red dress. Getting up, I run into the shower, washing off last night before I pull on the dress. It’s another number with buttons all the way down the front, this one is more fitted, shorter than the floral one. Folding his shirt, I think of flinging it to the floor, but all that’s going to do is invite needless trouble. I want to get out of here, not stay his prisoner, no matter how much I seem to crave his touch.
My body. Not my mind. It’s just flesh wanting flesh. That’s all.
I make my way out of my room and down the stairs, and when I get to the large foyer, I can see the alarms on the front door are armed. My room might be unlocked, but I don’t think anything else is. As much as I want to explore and test my new boundaries, Nikolai isn’t an idiot. He’s not going to forget a lock.
The smell of food draws me to the dining room, and my pulse skips at the sight of Nikolai, dark and devastatingly handsome in a suit, sitting in his usual spot at the table’s head, the morning paper folded next to him as he drinks his coffee. He’s bent over his iPad, deep, it seems, in work.
Maybe he has spreadsheets of the murders he conducts. I quickly shut down that line of thinking and the dark humor it brings. The last thing I need is to empathize with him. The lines are already blurred.
No, I don’t need to find ways to connect.
“Sit down, Rosalind. I see you found your freedom.”
I glare at his back and stop. He probably put his murder sheet away and is watching me through the cameras in here. Walking past him, I pull out a chair and park my ass down. “It was hard to miss, since the door was left open.”
“Maybe I didn’t want you sneaking around again.”
There’s still a touch of sensitivity across my ass from when he spanked me. It doesn’t hurt, but it brings back so many memorable little bites. I can’t help but wiggle a little, already growing damp at the memory.
Nikolai slides me a look. “Problem?”
“No.”
“Your ass… bothering you?”
“I’m fine.”
He just smirks, and breakfast with him continues to be a weird mix of surreal and normal. It makes my head spin. Of course, my stomach growls. Almost immediately, Sylvie comes in with a tray of toast, fruit preserves, and butter and sets it down with the same tremble as she moves closer to Nikolai.
He barely notices her, except for a murmured thanks.
I reach for toast, making a show of buttering and slathering it with raspberry preserve that comes in a fancy pot. Suddenly, I stop, because he’s looking at me. “Should I have asked first?”
He’s not just looking. No, he’s staring at me, and I pull my hands back. “Just… observing.” I glance at him and a smug smile I don’t trust blooms on his face. “Pleasant dreams?” he asks.
Now, I pick up my toast and take a vicious little bite, then another bite, just as violent. “I don’t remember.”
He just laughs. “You look like you might have had some very satisfying ones.”
I feel my face go beet red. “I’m not telling you about any of my dreams.”
He nods with a condescending smirk. “Were they? Satisfying?”
Heat hits my face again and I take another bite. The preserves with the creamy butter are divine and not something I’d ever pick. Normally, I’m out the door with a breakfast bar or low-cal cereal. “I don’t remember.”
“Liar,” he says, so soft I just might have imagined it. Without warning, he seems to shift focus back to his iPad. He swipes at the screen; the only way I know it’s on is the changing light hitting his face. He’s got it angled so I can’t see, or maybe that’s just how he likes to hold it. “Got any favorite meals, Rose?”
“Burgers.” It comes out almost immediately and shame washes over me.
Could I sound more like a child? A gauche one?
“Just burgers?” His voice is laced with lazy humor.
I look around, like I’m thinking. I am thinking, but it’s also a good way to get a lay of the land, even though I know there’s no way out. There’s another door at the far end of the large dining room I didn’t see before. It’s shut, the dark wood fitting with the beautiful dining table and the elegant chairs with their coppery-orange velvet seats. It’s all elegant, simple in those same neutral tones that lean towards dark and warmth. It tells me a man lives here, one with taste and power, one who doesn’t need to splash it around. Actually, that’s the vibe I get from everything I’ve seen of this mansion. Understated elegance with just the right amount of gravitas.
He’s looking at me, waiting.
I swallow, wrapping my hand around the glass of water next to my plate. “I like lots of things. I don’t like offal, though.”
“Steak? Pasta? Asian? French?”
I shrug. “All of it, really. I’m… I’m willing to try new things.”
He smirks almost joyfully. “Oh, I know. I was talking about food.”
Pressing my lips together, I don’t say a word. That smug smile grows a little.
“Tell you what, Rose. If you promise to behave, I’ll take you out for lunch today. Would you like that?”
“McDonald’s?” I take my time with my answer, not because I’ve got an urge to visit the golden arches, but because of what I think he’s saying. Even if I loved Big Macs, there’s no way in hell he’d take me there. He’s offering me… what? An outing? A drive-thru? Something public or confined?
“No. Somewhere good.”
I stare at him, my mind whirling with plans of escape. “In public?”
“Yes.” He watches me with his eyebrow raised. “Like an actual restaurant.”
Keeping my hands on the table, I clench them, since I think they might be shaking, and I nod. Oh, God. If I play this right, I can run off, get away, shout for help, find someone to give me a phone and call the police. He can’t do anything in public if I do that, he-
“Little Rose.” Nikolai rises, reaches to get something from the other side and walks over to me, crouching and holding out a rose. He may be a little below me, yet he still seems to tower over me, filling the space around me. Somehow, he invades my cells, and I can’t breathe as he hands me the rose.
“My sweet little Rose.” Nikolai’s voice is soft and low, utterly deadly. “I’m waiting for your shoes and a couple of things to arrive, but I have an outfit you’re to go change into. I want you to look your beauty queen best. Hair up, make up on. I’m taking you to lunch in a special spot in Queenstown city center. Very exclusive.”