“My riding instructor…”
“You got access to a phone, and you could’ve called anyone else, but picked Sasha Kasparov? Why is that, love?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I told you the truth. Now give me your word you won’t hurt him.”
“My word—is that something you’d trust?”
No.But what other option do I have?
“Well… can I? Or is that notion completely foreign to men like you?”
He steps forward, gripping my chin between his thumb and index finger. I can smell my arousal on his skin. And the way he looks at me—with amusement dancing in his eyes—tells me he knows.
“Yes, Victoria. When I make a promise to you, you can trust that I won’t go back on it. I told you, I’m your only ally now. The sooner you start believing it, the better it will be for you.”
I nod once, trying to ignore the burn of his touch on my skin. “So promise me, then. Promise me you won’t hurt or kill him.”
“That’s a demand, not a plea.”
“I asked nicely.”
“And I said I’d do it if you begged.”
“Go to hell.”
He waits in silence, tilting his head slightly. He’s not going to let this go, but I won’t let Sasha get hurt over my pride, no matter how much I hate asking this man for anything.
“Please,” I say, closing my eyes. “Please promise me.”
Another moment of silence, of my cortisol going through the roof as he considers it. I open my eyes as he lets go of my chin, watching me. “No, Victoria. I’m afraid that’s not enough. You’ll have to get on your knees.”
My lips part. “You… you really are an asshole.”
“Lose the dress,” he orders.
More heat floods my cheeks. “What?”
“I said… strip. Get on your knees. You want Sasha to live? I want to see what’s mine. Do it, or don’t, but I won’t repeat myself.”
I stand, bewildered, struggling to find a way out of this. In his fucked-up way, this is Wolfgang offering me a choice. My dignity… or Sasha’s life. Only because I was stupid enough to call him. And maybe because I’m desperate to take some of my power back, or because he really is playing me like a violin, I square off my shoulders and forcefully pull the straps of my dress down, one by one. I watch him with a scowl as I do it, wanting him to know it’s me who called this shot, as pathetic as it is. The material slips down my body, and I let it, let it pool around my feet.
Here I am again, facing him with my arms crossed, reminiscent of the day I met him—only now we’re alone, I’m almost naked, and there really isn’t anyone to save me.There never was.He’s still so much taller, and I’m highly aware of the way he’s analyzing me.
“Happy?” I ask.
He shakes his head slowly, extending a hand out to me.
Nostrils flaring, I give him mine in return, because the sooner he leaves me alone, the better. His touch burns, and for a beat, it makes me forget who I am and who he is, as if some sort of spell envelops the moment. And it makes me feel things… things I should be negating, but for some reason I don’t. Shame laps at me.
I don’t realize he’s lifting my arm in the air until I’m suddenly spinning in place, like we’re in the middle of a slow dance with only my loud heartbeat as music.
“Good girl,” he whispers, every syllable drawn out, dripping with satisfaction.
A throb begins somewhere between my legs, mimicking my pulse. It’s wanting. Wanting… I don’t know what, but I know it has everything to do with the man in front of me. When I turn my back to him, he releases my hand, and it falls to my side. I don’t know what to do with it.
“Who do you belong to?” he asks from behind me.
“No one,” I murmur. “I’m not an object or a pet you can own.”
