Page 26 of Savage Bratva King

When Leonid leaves the room,I bend and retrieve the dress, moving on autopilot. I’m not even aware of my breaths sawing in and out. My thoughts are spinning like cotton candy, my pulse speeding like I just ran a few laps around my father’s estate.

Because overriding everything else that my body is experiencing right now, is the memory of his tongue in my mouth. My lips are still parted. I can still taste him, feel him, smell his cologne lingering on my skin.

Should I have pushed him away? Should I have fought his advances and covered my nakedness with the dress or the comforter? I don’t even know what caused me to react the way I did, but what I do know is that he wanted to make me feel vulnerable, and I would rather die than let him succeed.

On trembling legs, I make my way to the bathroom and peer at my reflection in the mirror. My face is blotchy, but that isn’t what catches my attention; it’s the flush on my cheekbones, the glimmer of something unrecognizable in my eyes, the plumpness in my lips. I touch my lips with my fingertip, tracing the feel of his tongue in my mouth. In comparison, my finger is cold and solid, and I quickly withdraw it, trying to erase the memory.

“What am I doing?”

My eyes travel down my naked body, lingering over my full breasts and stopping at my sex. He didn’t even look at me. I gave him the perfect opportunity, but he turned around and walked out of the door without so much as a glance at my pussy, and my face grows hot with embarrassment.

He wasn’t even tempted.

This should make me feel better about my situation—at least there is no chance of him taking advantage of me—but instead, I feel inexplicably … disappointed.

What the fuck was I thinking? Did I think that I could seduce him, blow his mind with the most amazing sex he’d ever had, and then be allowed to walk out of his life leaving behind only a pleasant memory? Me, the twenty-three-year-old virgin whose experience of French kissing was gained from watchingGreaseon repeat as a little girl.

“Jeez…”

But still, I can’t shrug off the feeling of anticlimax settling inside me. I would never confess this to Leonid, but my sex is still tingling from his proximity. I feel like the moth drawn to the glow of a lightbulb. My traitorous pussy, against all the red alerts flashing like beacons inside my head, was drawn to the promise of his touch, and his indifference is a stinging rejection.

I go back to the room, pull the dress on over my head, and sit on the bed, staring at the door, waiting for his return.

Why did he come? I cannot believe that he wanted to check I was okay. Is teasing me part of his game plan? My cheeks grow even hotter at the thought that I played right into his hands.

I replay what happened inside the cold room in my head—it’s the only way for me to suppress the throbbing ache between my legs, focusing on the knot of hatred inside me for that woman.

Time slips slowly by.

My heart literally performs a somersault when I eventually hear the key turning in the lock and then slows to a serious thudding beat when Tamara comes in with a tray of food.

I stand anyway. “You brought food.”

Her eyes slide up and down my body, noting the fit of the seal gray dress. “Pakhan is busy. He asked me to look after you.” She sets the tray down on the desk and turns around to face me.

“I thought…”

I stop myself from telling her that I’d hoped to leave the room. That I’d hoped to get a second chance to eat with Leonid now that I’ve learned my lesson. That I realize that now Leonid is my only chance of escaping this situation in one piece.

“You thought wrong, printzessa.” She narrows her eyes, and I get a fleeting glimpse of her sister that sends a shudder through my body. Tamara might be a little softer around the edges, but if pushed, I’ve no doubts that she is capable of the same levels of cruelty.

Once her footsteps have receded along the corridor outside the room, I go to the tray and check out the food on the silver platter. A spinach and ricotta omelet, perfectly folded in half, a tossed salad in a vinaigrette dressing, and a wedge of cheesecake drizzled in strawberry coulis.

I’m ravenous after the hours spent unconscious and the ordeal of the cold room, so I sit at the desk and clear the plates, washing the meal down with a can of soda.

Satisfied, I go back to the bed and sit down.

I don’t know what to do with all this empty time. I am used to being kept busy, and I make a mental note to ask Tamara to bring me something to read when she comes back to collect the tray.

Time drags. I go to the window and peer outside at the clouds drifting lazily by in the bright blue sky. I watch the birds hopping across the lawn and nestling in the trees. The sparrows, finches, blue jays, and starlings. How I envy them the freedom to fly away when the whim takes them; they have no idea how lucky they are.

There is no one in the extensive gardens. Not a soul. I can’t help thinking what a waste of land and a massive property this is when there are so many families out there without a roof over their heads. Then I remember that my family is just as guilty of amassing wealth and living a life of luxury, so how can I judge?

Subdued, I check out the window and almost cry out loud when it opens. Peering at the door over my shoulder, I open it wider and lean out. It’s a long way down. If I jumped, I would break both my legs at the very least, and I can’t risk being held here as a patient as well as a prisoner. There are no drain pipes near the window either, no ledges that I could potentially use to break my fall, and the ground beneath me is concrete.

Sighing heavily, I go back to the birds but leave the window open so that I can breathe the fresh air. I play a game I used to play as a child, mentally ticking off the different colors as they fly away and seeing which color is the most common. I list all the species I can think of, then, when I run out of ideas, I switch to listing dog breeds instead.

The sky turns a darker shade of blue, and violet starts to seep in from the horizon like spilt ink.

---