My yelp echoes in the air when he uses his hold on my throat to drag me to the bed and then unapologetically throws me on top of the mattress.
I prop myself up on my elbows and try, then fail, to control the chaos that’s whirling inside me. It doesn’t help that I’m on this bed that I haven’t been on in ages. The last time was when I fainted outside and he carried me here.
It used to smell like me a few months ago, but now, it’s only him, which is weird since I know for a fact that he barely sleeps.
Kirill stands opposite me and unhurriedly removes his jacket, revealing his white shirt that’s molded against his muscles. Red soaks the collar due to his injury earlier, but that’s the least of my worries when he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls the sleeves to his elbows.
“What’s going on?” My voice comes out shaky despite myself, and I have to clear my throat in order to speak again. “I thought my punishment would be push-ups or physical labor.”
“You thought wrong.” The whip of his words hits me across the skin, and I suppress a gasp.
“But that’s how the others are punished.”
“This isn’t about the others; this is about you.” He unbuckles his belt, and my eyes fly to his large veiny hands as he methodically removes it.
Without realizing it, I’m pushing back on my hands toward the headboard. “What type of punishment is this?”
“I think you know exactly what it is.”
I shake my head even as a frisson travels the length of my body and pools between my legs.
Holy hell.
Am I wet at the prospect of being punished?
No. It’s not about the punishment itself. It’s about the fact that Kirill will be the one conducting it.
He wraps the end of the belt around his strong hand, and I feel myself on the verge of hyperventilating. Gone are my attempts to act or remain strong. Isn’t it unfair that Kirill is the only one who has this inexplicable effect on me?
He's about to punish me, and my body chooses this exact moment to become sexually frustrated.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve told you not to challenge my orders, but you’ve done exactly that again.” He slowly rounds the bed like a predator who’s circling their prey. “And again.”
He reaches over, and I flinch, hitting my back against the headboard.
Shit.
Why am I so jumpy? This isn’t me.
Kirill effortlessly seizes both my hands, and a shock of electricity rolls through me at the contact. It’s been a long time since he touched me this deliberately and this…intimately.
I should probably fight or resist this, but I can’t.
In fact, I don’t want to.
So I remain still as he pulls my hands above my head and expertly ties my wrists to the headboard using his belt. The leather snaps securely, stretching my arms and forbidding me from moving.
“You think it’s fun to challenge my authority, Sasha?” His forefinger slides from my wrist to my arm and then to my cheek.
My lips part, and fire erupts everywhere his skin touches mine.
“Do you?”
I shake my head once.
“That’s right. It’s not. So now, we need to fix that behavior problem of yours.”
He reaches into the nightstand, and the sound is heightened by the unbearable silence coated with thick tension.
It’s crazy how hyperaware I am of all my senses. My nostrils fill with Kirill’s cedar and woodsy scent but also with my elevated pheromones until I can almost taste them.
I’m fully clothed, but I can still feel the covers and the mattress as if they’re rubbing against my bare skin. Not only that, but ever since he grabbed me by my throat, my nipples have been hard and achy, and they’ve been pushing against my bandages. Instead of being merely uncomfortable, the sensation is downright painful.
My lips part when Kirill retrieves a military knife, but before I can focus properly, he grips a handful of my collar and lifts me partially off the bed.
I’m surprised my heart doesn’t leap out of its confines and melt in his hands.
His dangerous gaze studies the length of me in a slow rhythm that leaves me hyperventilating. “I should’ve done this a long time ago, and not only for the foolish move you pulled today, but for every-fucking-thing.”
“I…didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Is that so?” He wrenches my shirt out of my pants and cuts it down the middle, using the knife with staggering ease. It’s as if it’s made of butter. “How do you explain your involvement with that band of mercenaries back in Russia?”
“I…really didn’t know, Kirill. I swear—”
My words get stuck in the back of my throat when he cuts off my chest bandages as easily as the shirt. My breasts gently bounce free, but that offers little to no reprieve to my overstimulated nipples.
The fact that I’m bound and unable to do anything adds a perverse pleasure to my throbbing core.
“Whether you knew or not isn’t the fucking problem here.” He lets the knife hover over my heaving breasts, then down to my stomach before he cuts right through the center of my pants and boxer briefs, his hand hovering too close to my pussy. “The problem is that you not only went back to your lover, but also colluded with him against me.”
I shake my head, but I can’t find the right words to say. It’s impossible when he’s shredding my pants and boxer briefs to pieces and throwing them to the side.
I’m lying completely naked in front of him, short of the sleeves of my jacket and my torn shirt beneath me.
“Was that him earlier?”
“W-what?”
He runs the dull end of the knife up my thigh and to my stomach, leaving shivers in its wake. “The man who cleverly plotted tonight’s attack and held me at gunpoint. Is he your lover?”
“N-no! I’ve never seen him in my life. Besides, would I have shot him if I had any relationship with him?”
“I wouldn’t know. You didn’t really hurt him, so maybe that was part of an elaborate plan to make me trust you again.”
“You think I’d put you in danger again? Me?” I can’t help the sadness that clings to my words.
I thought we were making progress after tonight, but maybe that was all smoke and mirrors. This is Kirill, after all. He wouldn’t simply erase his suspicions, even if I’d died for him.
He’d probably think that I was playing with him in that sense, too.
“I don’t know, Sasha. You did it before.”
My lips tremble, and I turn my head to the side. If I keep looking at his face, I’ll see that he’ll probably never give me a chance, and I’ll probably cry.
I seem to do that a lot around him. It’s ironic that this coldhearted man is the only one who can trigger the emotional part of me.
He places the dull part of the blade beneath my chin and forces me to focus back on him.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
I clamp my lips shut in a hopeless attempt to stop them from shaking, then whisper, “Will you ever trust me again?”
“I never trusted you fully, so the again is irrelevant.”
“Then would you at least trust that I’m loyal to you, like before I went to Russia?”