“Anything,” I blurt.
“I’ll fuck you against the wall.”
“Fine…” I hesitate for a second, a little apprehensive about his intensity. I saw his size, I know it’ll hurt like hell, and a man like Adrian seems as if he likes it rough.
However, agreeing to that is the better choice. Fucking or being whipped. Yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to decide.
“And you won’t bite your lip. You won’t suffocate your moans as your cunt strangles my dick.”
“No,” I snap.
He tilts his head to the side as if I’m some sort of problem and he’s contemplating whether he wants to solve it or eradicate it once and for all. “No?”
“You just get to fuck me; you don’t get to tell me how I react to it.” My silence is my only defense mechanism against him, my last piece of armor, and if I let him take that, too, then I’m well and truly screwed. My identity will be erased and I’ll merely be a washed-out version of his wife.
“I decline then.”
“W-what?”
“Either you come completely undone or you take your punishment.”
I glare at him, my fists burning with pain from how tightly I’m clenching them. My nails dig so hard into my palms, I’m surprised I don’t draw blood.
Sucking a long gulp into my lungs, I lower myself to my knees.
As I do so, I notice a shadow of disappointment and something else crossing his face.
Fuck him. He won’t break me.
My name is Winter Cavanaugh. I’m not Lia Volkov and I’m no way in hell this madman’s wife.
I chant that in my head in preparation for what’s to come. To say I’m not scared would be a lie, but my dignity keeps me upright.
“It’s unfortunate that you chose the high road with me. Very unfortunate.” The smoothness in his voice sends chills down my spine.
“You have your conditions and I have mine.”
“Holding on to your conditions will only heighten your suffering. Understand this, Lia. I’m not to be crossed or defied. The harder you push me, the more ruthless I become. The greater you challenge me, the harsher I react. You do not want me to react, and you certainly do not want to see my inhuman side. I’ve been showing you mercy, so be grateful for it.”
“Mercy?” I mean to scoff, but my lips tremble due to the assault of his words. “In what world are your actions a show of mercy?”
“Believe me, they are.”
“You might think of them as such, you might consider yourself some sort of a twisted, gracious god, but you’re not. You’re cruel and callous. You’re brutal and sadistic. You’re perverted, too, because you get off on inflicting pain. Your calm and quiet demeanor doesn’t fool me, and neither does your warped sense of benevolence. Your sole purpose is to hurt and take as you see fit. So don’t stand there, holding a fucking belt, and say that you’re showing mercy.”
I’m breathing heavily after my outburst, and I’m fully prepared for the number of punishments to go up, because that’s what sick bastards like Adrian do; they use any chance to turn the circumstances against you.
It’d be worth it.
For the first time since I stepped on his radar, I’ve given him a piece of my mind.
A cold object touches my cheek—the belt. He taps it gently against my skin—dotingly, even—but his expression remains the same, impassive and unreachable.
“If I’m perverted for liking to inflict pain, what does it make you if you enjoy it?”
My cheeks redden, both at his statement and especially at his veiled admittance. That he does enjoy inflicting pain. That I wasn’t wrong for recognizing his need for control. But I push those to the back of my head as I lift my chin. “I do not enjoy it.”
“You came all over my fingers this morning after a mere spanking. What do you think will happen when I whip you?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you truly believe that or are you hoping for it? If it’s the latter, I recommend that you abandon such hopes, because you’ll learn the hard way that I was indeed lenient. That I was giving you leeway and that you lost those privileges by resisting me.”
“Just get it over with.”
“You’ll come to regret your impatience when your skin is red, Lia.”
The coolly-spoken threat covers me with goosebumps and to my doom, not all of them are due to dread.
Adrian picks me up in his arms and I gasp as he carries me to the bed. I’m momentarily distracted by how small I am in his hold, how he could easily crush me into irredeemable pieces without effort.
He drops me on the mattress, face down, and it dips under our weight. Did he change his mind?
I lift myself on all fours, but I don’t get to celebrate the thought before he flattens his palm on the small of my back, keeping me in place. My heart jolts and picks up in speed when his hand leaves my back and brushes against my hair.
Unlike his earlier demeanor, his touch is gentle, or pretending to be, anyway. His fingers sink into my strands, and I realize with horror that I’m leaning into his palm.
I try to buck against him, but he stiffens his fingers in my hair so they’re gripping my skull, communicating without a word that I’m not to fight him.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
I’m frozen in place, caught hook, line, and sinker in the depths of his chilling calm. It’s on the surface, a façade, and I’m learning the hard way that there are multiple layers to him. The more I peel away, the deeper and darker it becomes. Each one is more alarming than the one before.
“Last chance, Lia.” He strokes my hair like a doting lover.
I stare at the metal headboard with its exotic golden motifs, refusing to look at him. “Last chance to allow you to break me? Never.”
“As you wish, Lenochka.”
My muscles lock whenever he calls me that, and I have no idea whether it’s in a good or a bad manner. Just like most things he does to my body, whether it’s the way he touches or handles me. I want to convince myself that I hate them, that I can’t stand them or him. However, a morbid thing inside me beats out of control whenever he puts his hands on me. Whenever he’s anywhere near me. I want to think that I’m drawn in by how different he is, how silent yet lethal, but it runs darker and sharper than I’d like to admit.
Adrian unhurriedly removes the scarf that’s been holding my hair. He then pulls both of my wrists up and ties them to a metal nook near the headboard that seems to be designed for this purpose.
Did he do this to his wife before, too?
Chasing that thought away, I test the knot, but it doesn’t budge. It isn’t tight enough to cause pain or cut off my circulation, but it’ll prevent me from moving or freeing my hands.
A sudden panic expands in my ribcage like wildfire, eating away at everything in its wake. He can hurt me and I won’t be able to defend myself.
“You don’t have to tie me.” The emotion is apparent in my tone, and I hate it. I hate that I’m allowing him to see me like this.
“So will you do as I asked? Will you offer yourself completely?”
“No!”
“Then we will do it my way.”
“Adrian…”