Defiance, p.10
Defiance, page 10
I’m trying to figure out how to do it right, when fire flares across my ass. My mouth drops open, and I gasp in shock. “What was that for?”
“You’re taking too long.”
“You didn’t specify a time limit.”
“Well, I am now.” His blue eyes narrow. “You have ten minutes.”
Ten minutes doesn’t seem feasible but I’m not about to argue. I fold one sleeve in toward the center of the blouse, and then repeat the action with the other. Then I draw the hemline up to the neck, so it’s folded in half. Niko looks over my shoulder as I put it in the case. “It’ll do.”
Since that met with his lordship’s satisfaction, I take another, similar top and arrange it the same way. The swish of the tawse on the air is the only warning I get before it cracks across my left butt cheek, making me squeal. It’s not the initial smack that gets me, but the way the leather strips pinch the skin as they’re pulled back. “Unfold it and try again.”
“Niko, that’s not fair!” I whine.
“Fairness doesn’t come into it, lapochka. I set the rules. You follow them or suffer the consequences.”
I take the blouse and bundle it up as neatly as I can. As I place it in the case, Niko spanks me again. The sound of the leather hitting my flesh is startlingly loud but it’s nothing compared with the wail I emit. My hands fly to my poor, tender bottom and I try to soothe away the ache. Niko acts swiftly. He grabs my hands and brings them around to my front. With a piece of rope I didn’t even know he had, he binds my wrists together. He pulls tightly, no doubt because he’s aware I’m an expert at freeing myself from restraints. “Try to get out of that.”
I attempt to tug my wrists apart. When that doesn’t work, I see if there’s room to twist them from side to side, another technique I use. There’s no give to the rope at all. If I had an hour to get out of this, I could probably manage it, but for now, I’ll have to put up with my hands being bound. “I can’t get out of it.”
“Good. Now, keep folding.”
The task is now a lot harder and I regret my impetuousness in trying to alleviate the pain in my bottom. I buy myself a moment or two of respite from the lash of the tawse by putting my underwear back in the case. It only needs to be folded over once and Niko seems happy enough with the job I do. When I pick up a slinky silk camisole, things get difficult again. The fabric is slippery and, with my hands bound, I can’t get it folded properly. Growling in frustration, I toss it into the case.
“Little brat.” Niko’s tone is stern, with an underlying hint of amusement. “Bend over.”
I do as he commands and, a moment later, there’s a whistle in the air. The leather straps land across the full width of my ass, sending a zap of pain right through me as my skin is pinched. I shriek and clench my fists. I don’t get why this hurts so much. I’m usually tougher than this. Perhaps it’s my head that’s the problem. It’s because Niko is the one spanking me, I think. It makes me feel more exposed. This man has been in my life for a long time. He has my brothers’ trust. I’m not going to be able to ditch him the way I have the other men in my life. Plus, if I’m being honest with myself, I like Niko. There’s a risk of more than my ass getting hurt here. It makes me vulnerable. If I concentrate, breathe properly, and let go of the emotional stuff that’s messing with me, I’ll cope much better.
Straightening up, I get back to my task. After three attempts to fold a dress, which should have been put in a garment bag in the first place, I snap. Screaming in frustration, I pick up a handful of clothes and throw them into the case. Then I grab some more garments, and more, until there’s nothing left on the bed. I close the lid of the suitcase over, grab it by the handle, and fling it across the room, so it bounces off the wall opposite. The case springs open, spilling all of its contents onto the floor.
Tears prick my eyes, and I swipe them away with my bound hands. How can I have been undone by such a simple task? I breathe heavily, bringing myself back under control. When I dare a glance at Niko, the expression on his face doesn’t convey the anger I expected, but concern. “Are you done now?”
“Yes, Niko.”
“Want to tell me what that was all about?”
I shrug. How can I explain it to him, when I have no clue what got into me?
“Right, then.” He points the tawse at the mattress. “Get on the bed, head down and ass raised.”
I know it’s poking the bear, but I take my sweet time carrying out Niko’s instructions. Obedience doesn’t come naturally to me and I can’t resist reminding him of that at every opportunity. I climb slowly onto the bed and shuffle forward. Then I lower my head to the bedspread, sliding my hands up, so they’re not trapped beneath my body. Finally, as Niko tuts impatiently behind me, I push my bottom up into the air.
“Ten strokes, Mila. Count each one.”
A rush of air heralds the arrival of the first blow. It lands on my right buttock, and I hiss out a breath. I clench my fists. “One.”
The next lash of the tawse falls across my left butt cheek. I grit my teeth. “Two.”
The third, fourth, and fifth strikes come in rapid succession, and I spit out the numbers. My ass is throbbing now, with an uncomfortable heat penetrating deep into my flesh. When Niko spanks me for a sixth time, I screech loudly. Pain flares across my bottom and I wiggle my hips, trying to ease the ache. “Six.”
“Such a good girl,” Niko murmurs. “Only four more to go.”
I steel myself as the tawse slices through the air once more. Already tender, I really feel the sting of this one. Crying out, I clutch the bedcovers beneath me. “Seven.” As Niko hits the top of my thighs, I let out an agonized wail. I shut my eyes tight and try to cope, not just with the pain, but also with the pleasure that’s wreaking havoc with my emotions.
“Mila?”
“Eight,” I whimper.
Niko leans over me, and brushes a lock of hair from my face. “Mila, open your eyes.” I do as he asks and I find him staring at me. There’s a crease at the bridge of his nose. His expression is one of pity. “Do you need me to stop?”
“No!” It’s only two more, and I’m determined to bear them. I’m not some delicate creature he needs to protect. I clench my jaw. “Don’t you dare stop.”
He straightens up, and a moment later harsh leather lashes my butt for the ninth time. Digging my fingers into the mattress, I snarl, “Nine!”
Niko chuckles. “Vot moya svirepaya devushka.”
There’s my fierce girl. Damned right, I am!
As the tawse sears my flesh once more, I yell out, “Ten!”
I roll over onto my back. Breathing heavily, I watch as Niko strips off his clothes. It’s all I can do not to lick my lips as he reveals that insanely gorgeous body bit by bit. I want to examine his tattoos, to read the story of his life all that ink tells, but now is not the time.
As he climbs onto the bed, I part my legs to accommodate him. He kneels there for a moment, looking down at my pussy and I know what he sees. I’m drenched. When he doesn’t move, I draw my knees up toward my chest, offering myself to him. “Finish the punishment.”
“Fuck, Mila!” he grits out. “You are… one of a kind, truly amazing.”
“Are you going to blow smoke up my ass or fuck it?”
Mouth dropping open in surprise, Niko barks out a laugh. He runs his fingers through my soaking wet sex. “Oh, I’m going to fuck it.”
He coats his fingers with my juices and smears the wetness across my anus. Then he glides the head of his cock from the top of my pussy to the bottom, making sure to rub against my clit as he gathers up as much lubrication as he can. When he positions himself at the entrance to my rear channel, I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. Already this is too much and yet, somehow, I need all of him.
“You okay, lapochka?”
Unable to find my voice, I nod. Panting heavily as he presses forward, I do my best to relax. Niko’s hand curves around my breast and his fingers play with my nipple, creating a pleasant distraction that allows him to drive his cock all the way into my ass. He holds still, his eyes scanning my face. He’s looking for permission, even though this is supposed to be part of the punishment. This is what I love about Niko. He wants to dominate, but I’m certain he’d never harm me. He doesn’t want to take what I’m not willing, on some level, to give.
“Fuck me, Niko. Fuck my naughty ass.” The playfulness in my tone doesn’t come easily, but Niko seems to respond to it. A wicked grin spreads across his lips. He draws back slowly, and then plunges back inside me. A twinge of pain makes me moan, but as Niko ruthlessly pumps his hips, driving his rigid cock deep, I start to feel something entirely different. As his length drags along my rear channel, my pussy tingles. My hips lift, almost of their own accord, to meet Niko as his flesh slaps against my poor, punished bottom.
“Fuck, Mila. You feel incredible.” Beads of sweat form on his brow. “I’m not going to last.”
I clench my muscles around his shaft and he groans in ecstasy. The deep, throaty sound sets off a pulse between my legs. Niko grabs my breast, squeezing it as though he’s trying to find some way to anchor himself as his thrusts grow erratic. The pleasure detonates inside me and I convulse helplessly on the bed as Niko’s cock swells. He comes with a roar as I’m swept up in a whirlpool of sensation. As he collapses onto the bed beside me, Niko pulls me into his arms and holds me as I slowly regain my senses.
When the room comes back into focus, I push myself up and hold my wrists out to Niko. “I need to use the bathroom. Can you…?”
“Of course.” He springs off the bed and grabs his pants. Taking a switchblade from his pocket, he comes and releases me from the bonds. My wrists have angry red marks on them, although I don’t recall struggling while we fucked. It appears my skin is sensitive to the rough material. Noticing me rubbing them, Niko snatches up my hands and kisses each wrist. “Are you okay, lapochka?”
“Never better,” I lie, as I head for the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I sink down onto the edge of the toilet, taking care not to put any weight on my bottom. This whole evening has been so fucking intense, I hardly know how to deal with it. Again, Niamh’s words come back to me—he’s halfway in love with you. I realize now the feeling is mutual.
But what the hell am I going to do about it?
CHAPTER 12
Niko
When I hear the water in the shower running, I know Mila will be some time yet. Perhaps I should be insulted that she’s washing all traces of me from her body, but I doubt she means it as a rejection of what happened between us. She’s just getting cleaned up before bed. I look at the pile of clothes on the floor and sigh. Really, I should make her pick them up, but I hate to leave a mess. Being meticulously neat and tidy is essential in my profession, where all evidence has to be carefully cleared away.
I grab Mila’s suitcase. One of the hinges is broken, but the other should be enough to hold the lid shut for now. I fold her clothes, placing them carefully into the case. Everything she owns is expensive, and I don’t want to damage anything. When I come across the dress that caused her such frustration, I decide to see what the problem was. Placing my wrists together to emulate the way she was bound, I try to fold the garment. The fabric is slippery.
Fuck!
It’s far more difficult than I imagined. No wonder Mila lost her shit over it.
I was shocked when she screamed and started throwing things. It’s out of character for her to lose control of her emotions to that extent. Something about the task really got to her. Hopefully, our enemies will never find out that all it takes to break Mila is to ask her to fold laundry. I shouldn’t make light of it. In fact, I should probably be honored she let her guard down in front of me. Mila maintains a façade to ensure people show her the proper respect. Allowing me a glimpse of what’s behind it must be a sign she trusts me.
When I finish packing her clothes away, I close the lid of the case and tie the leather straps around it. Hopefully, it will hold until we get back to France. I find a fresh pair of blue and white striped boxer shorts from my own overnight bag and put them on before getting into bed. I prefer not to sleep naked, in case anything happens in the middle of the night and I have to get up in a hurry.
The water in the bathroom is still running, so I pick up my cellphone and scroll through my messages. There’s one from Daniil telling me he’s been delayed in Pisa where they had to refuel, and he’ll be here in the morning. Another is from Maxim, informing me his team hasn’t managed to locate Harrington yet. It hardly needs saying, but I send him a reply warning him no one is to rest until that ublyudok is found.
As Mila comes out of the bathroom, I set my phone aside. Wrapped in a fluffy gray towel, she goes to the dressing table and opens the top drawer. Whatever she’s looking for isn’t there, so she tries the next drawer down, and then the final one. She retrieves a hairdryer and plugs it into the outlet beside the dresser. She dries her hair, teasing it out with her fingertips. It’s a mundane thing, but I enjoy sitting here, watching while she readies herself for bed. I like the domesticity of it. So far, we’ve only fucked, but the unexpected intimacy of this makes me feel like we’re a couple. I realize that this is exactly what I want. I crave something… normal.
When Mila finishes drying her hair, she turns to me. I throw back the bedcovers and pat the empty space beside me. Dropping her towel, she prowls toward me. She climbs onto the bed, and I pull her in, helping her settle in the crook of my arm, her head against my chest. “Are we snugglers now, Nicky?”
“For tonight.” I stroke her hair. “I want to get to know you.”
“Ten years hasn’t been enough time?”
“I want to know you properly.”
Mila wriggles against me, as she gets into a more comfortable position. “Okay, but I’m not playing twenty questions.”
Although it’s still early, neither of us has had much sleep over the past couple of days, what with the wedding and everything. I’m not much in the mood to come up with a long series of questions, but I do want to start the process of becoming more intimately acquainted with Mila. “How about three?”
She nods. “And I ask you three in return.”
“That’s fair.”
“So, what’s your first question?”
“Is it true you killed the man you lost your virginity to?”
Mila snorts. “No.”
“That’s it? Just no?”
Mila sits up and rearranges herself, sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing me. “If you want to know more, you shouldn’t ask closed questions.” Although she makes a valid point, I say nothing, hoping she’ll decide to give me more detail. She does. “I lost my virginity to Finn Docharty.”
“Irish?”
A cheeky grin quirks Mila’s lips. “Yes, he was. What gave it away?”
“Insolent brat.” I reach over to swat her upper thigh and she pouts adorably.
“Actually, he had an Irish father and a Scottish mother—like Niamh. He was a cousin of hers, although a distant one. He was eighteen—and seriously cute.”
“I can’t imagine you with cute.”
Mila lifts a shapely eyebrow. “Let’s not forget your dimples.”
“If I did have dimples, which I don’t, I thought we agreed they’d be manly, and not cute.”
Sitting here, chatting with Mila like this is better than I imagined. There’s an ease to our back-and-forth that makes me feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. At least, there is until she starts to recount her story again.
“Anyway, Finn was a nice boy. He brought me the prettiest pink roses.”
“You like roses?”
Mila shakes her head. “Not anymore. Not since Finn.”
I sit up a little straighter. “He hurt you?” If he did, I’ll track the bastard down and make him pay.
“Not deliberately. He died. Cancer.”
The sheen of tears glistening in her eyes tells me this is something that had a profound effect on her. “Did you know he was ill when you slept with him?”
I expect her to say no, to tell me the whole thing had come as a complete shock to her, but instead, she nods. “It’s why we had sex. I liked him, and he didn’t want to die a virgin.”
“Your first time was a pity fuck?”
Now Mila slaps me, quite hard, on the shoulder. She looks offended, whether on her own behalf or the boy’s, I’m not certain. “No. I liked him, and he liked me. We went out for several weeks and it was really great until one night he didn’t show up.” She closes her eyes and falls into silence for a moment, as though recalling the details. Then she shakes her head and looks up at me. “They found his body in the River Clyde the next morning. The verdict was accidental death, but I suspect Padraig Donnelly paid people off to keep quiet about what had really happened. Finn was a Catholic and, you know, suicides—a mortal sin and all that.”
“That’s a sad story, lapochka.” She’s shown me a softer side of herself, one I haven’t really seen before.
“And yet it’s one of my happiest memories.” Mila sounds wistful, but she shrugs it off. “Okay, tell me about your first time.”
Knowing she was going to ask me that doesn’t prevent me from grimacing. “Nita was a prostitute who worked the streets near my home. I fucked her. It was not memorable. That’s it.”
Mila screws her face up in an expression of disgust. “Nikolai! That’s horrible. Next question.”
I’m glad she’s willing to move on quickly from that topic. Although I was young and desperate to impress friends with connections to the local Bratva in Yakutsk, I still feel ashamed of my encounter with Nita and my subsequent treatment of her. At the urging of my friends, I insulted her and refused to pay what she was owed. I even roughed her up a little when she complained. It’s not something I’m proud of. Back then, I was a young man, frustrated with life in a remote Siberian town. I consider my next question, opting for what I hope will be a lighter topic, “So, why do you spend so much time baking?”
