Only Pretend (19 page)

Now the fear took hold.

“Please don't cut me,” I whispered, licking my lower lip.

His eyes shifted, no light touching them or his smirk. Wordless, he pressed the tip of his blade under my bra strap; it popped away like a cork. “Lay down.”

Every fiber in me strained, carefully lowering me onto my back. Even if I didn't think he'd slice me, it was a constant battle to tell my subconscious that.

The cool metal tickled, laid between my bare breasts. My ribs squeezed, holding in air; one wrong twitch and he'd cut me to ribbons.

Long fingers turned the knife, sharp side level with my belly button. “Are you afraid of me, sweet girl?”

Too nervous to talk, I gave a sharp, short head shake.

Leonide's face went to stone. “You should be.”

Every word I spoke was a challenge. I felt the blade when I breathed. “You wouldn't... damage me... on purpose.”

Black eyes narrowed, curiosity in his soft voice. “What's to stop me?”

My tongue felt numb. “You.” A simple word. The weight of it gave him pause.

In a quick, deft motion, he hooked the knife under the top of my panties. We both felt how rigid I went. “Don't be so confident,” he said. The silky cloth split, peeled down my thighs like a dying flower's petals. “I've hurt you before.”

“Only when I didn't listen, sir.” I noted him slip the knife away; sighed in relief.

“Only when you didn't listen,” he agreed. “Are you listening now?”

My chin bobbed.

Hooking under my arms, he pushed me up the bed. It was large enough that he could sit at the base between my feet. “Then play with yourself for me.”

Gawking down between my knees, I felt hyper-aware of my nudity. The leash strangled my wrist, thighs pushing together out of modesty. “That...”

“You must know how to. I caught you trying weeks ago.”

Thinking of how he'd burst in on me turned my whole body red. “How did you know I was doing that?”

Tilting his head, he leaned my way a mere inch; it still made me tremble. “If I said I had someone eavesdropping, would you believe me?” I wrinkled my nose at his chuckle. “You won't like the truth. I've had cameras with night vision running in my house for some time.”

“Cameras!” I blurted, shame over taking me. “You've been watching me while I sleep? But—then, why do you need to do
this?
” I rattled the leash.

“I told you.” His hand stroked up my ankle. “It's best to have you near me. Besides, cameras or not, I hardly plan to stay up all night monitoring you on my computer.”

I shot my blue stare towards the device across the room.
I shouldn't be surprised. He clearly has the money and experience to have thought about bugging his home.

Fingers rubbed along the inside of my foot. “No more delaying. Touch yourself, Celeste. You called yourself my personal whore. Prove you aren't bluffing. Show me what you can do, make me believe I'm not wasting my time training you to obey.”

Shaking like a leaf, I spread my knees. He didn't hide how intently he watched. Leonide lacked shame while I fought to keep it from strangling me.

“Good girl,” he said encouragingly. “Show me how you get yourself off.”

Flames ate my cheeks up. Running my fingers down, I tentatively grazed the top of my pussy. Bits of me were disgusted by what he was making me do; the greater whole was being taken over by sweltering desire.

Fondling myself went from humiliating to glorious. If he wanted me to get off like this, then fuck, I'd go for it.
Let him watch.
I dared to meet his glowing eyes.
Let him see what he's done to me.

Or maybe what I always was.

“Mn,” I whimpered, finger tips grinding over my swelling bump. I was already going wild, ready to feel my heat turn into release. Leonide shifted between my feet, his palm gripping his erection. The sight of it jolted my heart.

He smoothed his forehead. “Keep going, Celeste.” The zipper peeled, his rigid shaft bouncing into the light. “Don't slow down. I want to see you moaning.”

His voice ruled my ears; my own lust commanded my body. We masturbated together, pace melding until I wondered if I wanted him to orgasm more than I wanted myself to. I'd never seen him finish, he just teased me or fled before the moment.

Sweat slid down his temple; delicious lips parted as he breathed. The tip of his cock was ruddy, angry and glistening with early juices. I wanted to kiss him and fuck him and do everything or anything to feel him touching me.

My foot slipped forward, brushed his thigh then his fist on his manhood. If it was his surprised grunt or how those fallen-star eyes fixed on me, I didn't know. I just knew I was writhing, decimated by the tingling rush that was my orgasm. I came, shuddering and gasping with my toes curling where they touched him.

“Fuck,” he hissed. His accent made the word poetry. My muscles still wriggled as he pushed himself over me. Hands grabbed at the blanket on either side of my head. Without thinking, I leaned up and kissed him. Sin and insanity and a hint of scotch; that was how he tasted.

Leonide pulled away. I started to follow, but he gripped my shoulder, shoved me down. Beneath him, I looked into the raw hunger in his face and felt my lower belly tighten. There was more under his surface, seeping out in how his soft lips kept flexing on the edges.
Does he want to scowl or smile?
Anxious with my need, I slid my hands down to his waist; tried to arch up into him. Leonide dodged me.

“What's wrong, what did I do?” I asked, wishing I could see into his mind.

A sliver of danger moved from his tongue to my ears. “Everything. You did everything.” It was accusatory, but I had no time to dwell. Leonide crashed into me like a comet, an impact that went beyond skin and bone. Hands trapped my jaw, forced me still while he explored every nook of my mouth. A kiss like that, it searched me—judged me—as if I had the answer to what ailed him.

Whatever he found, it didn't cure his fervor. Teeth bit, pulled, taught me that there was some pain worth experiencing. I'd have let him consume me until I was nothing but a faint moan. I'd let him do anything to my body; to my soul. As long as Leonide hungered for me, I felt my fears about my future crumble under his presence.

To be distracted from my demons—my sadness—all because he chewed me to pieces...

I wanted him more than ever.

His limbs crushed me, cock sandwiched between us and fueling my madness. His shirt was rough on my nipples, beard scraping away at my cheek. He wore me down until I was nothing but a wet mess, pleading for him to finally take me.

He growled in my ear, clawed at me not like someone in love—but someone who hated my guts. I didn't care. I didn't fucking care at all. Even hate was better than indifference; more satisfying than the man who had slid on a mask and could walk away from me after his dick had been inside my mouth.

This was the creature who had lashed out at me the time I'd lashed out at him.

I wanted to cling on and never let him return into his emotionless shell.

“Stupid fucking girl,” he said against me. My hairs prickled at his husky tone. “You're going to do it, aren't you?” Nails cut into my ribs. “You're going to
ruin everything
.”

Ruin everything?
It was laughable.
He's the one ruining me.
I didn't get beyond a throaty groan in argument; the head of his cock burrowed along my soaked lips. The second of tension buzzing in me shattered.

Leonide slid his entire length inside to the root. Splotches of color filled my brain, my vision. I knew I was crying out, but only because my lungs were aching from the effort; there was nothing in my ears but the low gong of white noise.

It wasn't right or okay or any fucking logical thing. I could blame the build up, how he'd taunted me for weeks—had it been over a month, now? The reality was that I'd never felt so freed to the pleasure of a man filling me up. I'd never
disliked
the sex with Jones, but to compare that to this was looking for similarities between a river and the sea.

Both were water.

That was where it ended.

“Leonide!” His name fled my lips; I couldn't take it back. His hips gyrated, stealing from me what he craved. It would have been selfish—terrifying—if I hadn't been a ball of delicious pleasure.

He flexed inside of me, breathed steam against my throat. The threads of ecstasy rocked from my core towards my toes, taking my strength as they went. Which of us finished first, I couldn't have said. We were both liquid sex, wound together as our hearts thrummed through our chests.

Leonide bit down on my shoulder as he came; the wave of heat and fire seared into my blood. It was a wonder my orgasm stopped. When he slid out of me, my walls struggled to hold him in.

Casting shadows down on my face, he stared at me with beads of salt slipping down his nose. Hair plastered to his forehead; I thought we must have mirrored each other. Genuine concern wormed into his eyes, took its time considering me where I rested under him.

I spoke first, breath shuddering. “Ruined?”

His mouth coiled, he showed me his back. The ripple of his pants closing had a finality. Standing, he started tucking in his shirt. “Go clean yourself up.”

Hesitation kept me there. Finally, I padded on bare feet to the bathroom; the leash stretching to its full length. I could wash myself, scrub away the proof of what we had done just minutes ago.

No amount of cleaning could take the memory from my brain.

Even
if
Leonide didn't want me—if he even hated me to my core?—what we'd done was a new form of armor for my fragile state.

In this fucked up situation...

The two of us had managed to make love.

And I was stronger for it.

Celeste

D
eciding to make me sleep in his room—within god damn arm's reach of him—was a new form of torture. I wondered if, when I'd been drugged up and recovering, he'd slept in the chair near me while I took up his giant bed.

It didn't matter if he had. Not as far as getting me used to it was concerned.

That night, curled under the blanket and leashed to the frame, I huddled naked with a foot of space between us. Leonide was wearing nothing but a pair of form-fitting, dark grey boxers. He was essentially as nude as I was, with how I was blushing.

“No trouble tonight,” he said, killing the light and pushing us into blindness. The vague blue from the bathroom illuminated the edges of everything in the room; including Leonide, his spine facing me, shoulder defined so I could note every segment of muscle. In silence we laid there, my gaze bouncing from one thing to the next.

Always, it returned to him.

Sleep ran from me. I didn't bother chasing it. The gentle sound of Leonide's breathing was a simple song.
He must have no trouble sleeping. Lucky.
Carefully I sat up, eyeing him without the pressure of his stare looking back. It was the first time I could fully study him, appreciate his fine features and soft eyelashes.

His profile was refined, lids twitching with whatever he dreamed. Swallowing, I inched my hand towards his. Not so long ago, I would have taken this for an opportunity. A way to hurt him, perhaps strangle him with a pillow or my leash around his throat.

Such ideas cracked away before fully forming.

I didn't want to harm him anymore.

My hand brushed his warm skin; he inhaled sharply. Jerking away, I held my air and waited for him to stir. Instead, he rolled closer, murmured sounds that meant nothing to me. It took me straining to understand he was speaking in Russian. I'd heard the language from him enough to pick it out.

Wishing I understood, I bent close, studied his perfect lips moving. Fragments of English slid in between the nonsense. Even if I didn't speak Russian, I knew what distress sounded like.
What is he doing, having a nightmare?

His eyebrows twisted, he was... arguing with someone. What was going on in that gorgeous head? And then I heard a word, one word, but it was all I needed. “Mother,” he whispered, lips curling harshly.

My heart throbbed. Ignoring my nerves, I slid along the mattress until my chest was against his side. Snaking my hand over his ribs, waiting for him to startle, I finally embraced Leonide without him opening his eyes. Through his skin I heard—felt—his murmuring blood.

Whatever he dreamed about in regards to his mother, it was not fond imagery.

Reveling in his warmth, in my desire to bring him comfort, I snuggled with the man who had ripped me from my world...

And I slept better than I had since arriving.

****

S
omething woke me. I didn't know what.

With my eyes adjusting to the low lights, I first
felt
him under my hand before seeing him. My fingers spread on his chest, nose caressing the nook below his shoulder. Somehow, I'd slid my ankle over his knee, tangling our legs. It was a position meant for intimate lovers, not for a kidnapper and his prey.

It occurred to me to move before he awoke and found us like this. But then he spoke, and I knew he was what had woken me up. “What are you doing?”

My limbs became paralyzed. Lifting my eyes without moving my head, I saw him staring down at me. Those hard irises—I was compelled to speak the truth. “You were having a nightmare.” Under my hand, I sensed his heart quicken. “I think it was about... your mother.”

Leonide rolled away, sat on the edge of the bed.

Clutching the blankets to my chest, I lifted my head. “Are you alright?”

“Of course.”

“You don't look it. Was it a nightmare about her?”

Running a hand through his hair, he narrowed his eyes at me. “Go on, psychoanalyze me some more.”

Guilt rose its ugly head. “Sorry. I wasn't trying to pry.”

“No, you were.” Cracking his back, he stood to his full height. Clicking the lamp on revealed his sculpted hamstrings. “It was just a dream. Forget it.”

I couldn't; not really. I knew that dreams were never
just
dreams. “What happened to her?”
I know his dad is dead, but... what about her?