I can’t allow any of the members of my bratva cell to torture her, either.
Which means I have an even bigger problem: how will I get the information I need from her?
Apart from her initial gasp of surprise, she keeps quiet for the spanking, only shifting her hips right and left and dancing on her feet. I keep at it until I’m mollified. It’s not meant to teach her a lesson or anything stupid like that.
It’s for my own satisfaction. A way to release my frustration and reward my libido. To remember what she looked like, writhing beneath me just over an hour ago.
I stop and rub her heated skin, my dick growing against my zipper.
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But because she’s already given herself to me twice, I have this proprietary feeling. Like she belongs to me. Like she’s mine to do with as I wish.
So I let my fingertips stray between her legs.
When I find she’s wet, I have to grind my teeth to keep back the growl of satisfaction.
But no. Neither of us is going to get relief again tonight. She’s my prisoner now.
That thought prompts me to deliver one more sharp slap to her reddened ass.
I push her to sit in one of my straight-backed kitchen chairs where I attach her ankles to the legs. Aw, fuck. Now her knees are parted. That juicy flesh is eye-level, teasing me.
I lift my gaze to hers. Her eyes are wide, those coral lips parted. Her breath trembles in and out at a ragged pace. Of course, she knows what I’m thinking.
Wonders which direction this will go.
I square my shoulders and stand. Nyet. She’s not my plaything. She’s an enemy trying to get past my gates.
I won’t allow her to.
I wind several lengths around her chest to secure her to the back of the chair then check her purse. I find nothing of interest. I examine her phone, since she brought it with her downstairs, checking texts or recent calls, but there aren’t any at all. Almost like the history has been cleared. Then again, maybe she just brought the phone to use the flashlight function.
What was she up to at my desk?
I get an ice pack from the freezer for her head. I wrap it in a towel and bring it to her.
Of course, now I have to hold it because her hands are tied. I place one foot on either side of her knee and press the ice against the puffy lump above her left eye. I use my other hand to catch the opposite side of her head to hold it in place. I tip her face up.
She glares at me from under her pale lashes.
“One twist and I could snap this pretty neck of yours.”
She shifts her gaze to stare through my chest. “You won’t.” She has a stubborn, resolute look.
Blyad.’
She already knows I’m too soft to hurt her.
“What makes you so sure?” I make my tone gruff. Menacing.
Normally, I frighten women and men alike. I’m big, covered in tattoos, and look like I could eat their mothers for breakfast.
Her gaze jogs left and returns. “The ice pack was a big clue.”
Right. I tipped my hand there, didn’t I?
I give her what I hope is an alarming smile. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hurt you.”
She stiffens and strains against her bonds, but her nipples bead up under the t-shirt.
“There are many forms of torture, little warrior. I’ll find ones suited to such a pretty package.” I stroke my thumb down her cheek, then remove the ice and leave her.
I keep the light on in the living room, walk to my bedroom, and for the second time tonight, take off my clothes and climb under the covers.
Kira can simmer there in her chair in a lit room for the rest of the night. We’ll see what a little sleep deprivation does to get my little Valkyrie to talk.
If that doesn’t work, I will have to figure out other ways to make her sing.
Sleep deprivation.
Good start, but it won’t work. I learned to control my mind years ago. I had to crawl out of the hole I was born into. To make something of myself after the bratva killed my father and ruined my sister.
I close my eyes and focus on my breath. Tell myself to fall into a deep and restorative sleep. Sink deeper with each exhale. I tell myself I will awake feeling refreshed and renewed, knowing exactly how to escape.
My eyes flicker back open. Maykl stands in front of me, staring down with a troubled frown on his face.
I don’t know what time it is, but I know I’ve been through at least one sleep cycle, maybe two. It’s not morning yet–no light shines through the blinds on his large windows.
Maykl kneels in front of me and cuts loose the wrap on my ankles and then my chest. He closes his meaty hand around my upper arm and hauls me to my feet.