Page 27 of Savage Bratva King

Tamara returns with another tray of food and removes the earlier tray at the same time. Her eyes linger on the open window, but she doesn’t order me to close it, and I wonder if she’ll return with a key to lock it, or if she is praying that I’ll fall and break my neck.

“Tamara?” She hesitates near the door at the sound of her name, her expression giving nothing away. “If I’m not allowed to leave the room, could you please bring me something to read?”

She nods once and leaves. No wonder Leonid is so moody if his conversations are all so one-sided.

Day slides into night, and no one comes back. Not even Tamara.

I remove the dress, hang it up in the wardrobe, and climb beneath the comforter naked. But sleep eludes me. Instead, my brain resorts to tormenting me again with images of me and Leonid, his tongue in my mouth, his hands slowly removing the dress from my grasp.

What had he said? “You wouldn’t have to ask if I’d touched you. You’d be begging me for more.”

My hands instinctively drift down towards my sex and part my folds gently. The tingling between my legs instantly resumes as if it had just been waiting for me to pick up where my captor left off. I slide my legs open across the silk sheets and insert a finger. It comes out slick, and I find my clit, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth, so gently it feels little more than the kiss of a breeze on a summer’s day.

Then, I imagine how the scene would’ve looked to an outsider, me naked, Leonid fully dressed in his expensive tailored suit, towering over me with my head tilted back as he forces his tongue between my lips. With my free hand, I cup my breast the way Leonid did, squeezing my nipple until it hardens. I spread my legs even wider, my finger rubbing my clit harder.

What if someone else had entered the room and found us like this? What would Tamara have thought? Would she have been jealous, disappointed, angry?

How would Leonid have reacted?

In response to the theoretical question, my brain immediately plants an image in my head of Leonid with his face buried between my legs, his tongue deep inside me.

My movements become frantic. My breathing becomes ragged. And my orgasm comes hard and fast, my body jerking, and my thighs clamping around my hand as I curl into the fetal position and fall into a deep contented slumber.

* * *

I’m woken by the aroma of grilled bacon, scrambled eggs, pancakes and freshly brewed coffee. Dammit! I can’t believe that Tamara snuck into the room again while I slept. The woman is like a fucking ninja. Has she never heard of knocking?

I sit up abruptly, the comforter sliding over my naked breasts, at the thought that it might have been Leonid instead. Would he have stood there watching me sleep? It’s ever so slightly creepy if he did, but my pussy doesn’t seem to agree with me.

I stand up and cross the room naked, stuffing a pancake into my mouth with my fingers and filling a cup with steaming black coffee. It isn’t until I’m halfway through my breakfast that I notice the newspaper folded neatly beside the tray. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked Tamara to bring me something to read, but I unfold it and scan the headlines, my stomach lurching when I read the latest news from the White House and a smaller article about a shooting in a residential area.

No mention of me.

Not that I should be surprised. My family would never go to the press—it isn’t the mafia way. My disappearance would imply a weakness in the Sedric camp; it would undermine my father’s position and alert the other mafia families to an impending power struggle. But still, this media silence feels like another barrier to my rescue. I’ve been here for days, and to my knowledge, no one has tried to find me.

My breakfast sits heavily in my stomach.

I shower, wrap myself in a fresh fluffy towel, and wander back into the bedroom to find the tray removed and an oversized T-shirt folded neatly on the end of the bed. I use it to cover my nakedness, towel-dry my hair, and sit down at the desk a second time, scouring the pages simply for something to occupy my mind.

Another two days pass by with the same routine. Three meals a day are brought to the room with clean clothes and fresh towels.

If he’s trying to torture me with lack of human contact, it’s working. Never before has silence sounded so loud and angry like a tiger on the hunt for its next meal. Now, the thought of him cupping my breast in his hand and sticking his tongue down my throat makes me want to rip his limbs from his torso and shove them up his smoking-hot ass.

Then, on day four, Tamara comes in between meals and eyes up the T-shirt I’m wearing and my bare legs. “Here, get dressed.” She holds out a silky chestnut-brown dress and waits for me to take it.

“Nah, I’m good.” I shrug. I’m done playing Leonid’s stupid mind games, dressing for him only to spend the rest of the day imprisoned within these four walls. “Brown isn’t my color.”

“You don’t want to go for a walk? Fine.”

She turns around to leave, and I blurt out, “Wait! I can go for a walk?”

She eyes me coolly. “I thought you were good.”

I snatch the dress from her, before she can change her mind and go back to my captor with the news that I’m happy in my little prison. Dragging the T-shirt over my head, I don’t even care about Tamara seeing me naked. I pull the dress on and slide my feet into my sneakers.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, printzessa. We’re going outside the house, that is all.”

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