The thought should make me sick. Should make me question my sanity, my morality—my humanity, even.
But it doesn't. It just feels inevitable. Like this is what everything has been building toward since the moment I met him in Boston.
I wait until the penthouse is quiet, until I'm sure he's in his room. Then I retrieve the diamond choker from the box in the nightstand, where I put it after he left it here when he brought it back to me.
I hold it in one hand, the knife in the other, and I step out of my room and into the silent, dark penthouse.
I move through the penthouse quietly, my bare feet making no sound on the hardwood. My heart is pounding, adrenaline singing through my veins, but my hands are steady. My resolve is firm.
I can do this. I have to do this.
I can’t let him win without taking something in return. I’ll never be happy if I’m nothing but a pet.
He has to belong to me, too.
His bedroom door is unlocked. Ilya doesn't fear anything, doesn't think anyone would dare to hurt him in his own home. He certainly isn’t afraid of me.
He's wrong.
I slip inside, closing the door behind me with barely a sound. The room is dark except for the faint glow of city lights through the windows. I can see the shape of him in the bed, hear his breathing, deep and even.
He's asleep. Vulnerable. Human, for once, instead of the larger than life thing that kidnapped me, brought me here, and bent me to his will.
I move closer, the knife gripped tightly in my right hand, the choker dangling from my left.I could just kill him,I think.Kill him and leave the choker. Run. If the police find me asa suspect, I’ll say it was self-defense.I’ll point to his criminal history, to the fact I’ve been absent from work, my sudden disappearance. Claire will back me up; she has no idea where I’ve vanished to.
They'll believe me. They have to believe me. I'm the victim here.
I could just… be free.
I stand at the edge of the bed, looking down at him. In sleep, he looks younger, less dangerous. Almost peaceful. I can see the rise and fall of his chest, the vulnerability of his exposed throat.
All I have to do is cut. One quick motion, and it's over. He's dead, I'm free, and this nightmare finally ends.
The dream ends, too. Torment and pleasure, all gone in one smooth slice.
I lean in, over him, bringing the knife close to his throat. My hand trembles slightly and I take a breath to steady myself.
"Do it."
His voice makes me jump and nearly drop the knife. His eyes are open, watching me in the darkness, and there's no fear in them. No surprise. His expression is smoothly blank, except for something that looks like curiosity in his gaze.
Curiosity as to how the fuck I could think I’d pull this off, probably.
"You're awake," I whisper stupidly.
"I've been awake since you entered the room." He doesn't move or try to defend himself. He just lies there, watching me. "I wondered how long it would take you to work up the courage."
“I thought about killing you,” I whisper. “I?—”
"I know. The question is whether you actually can."
Faster than I can move or think, his hands are on my arms, flipping me over his body and into the bed. He looms over me, grabbing my wrist, fast as a snake, and suddenly we're fighting. He's stronger than me, but I'm desperate, fueled by fear andadrenaline and the need to survive. I kick and squirm, suddenly thinking that Iwillkill him, that if he gives me a chance I’ll do it, because it’s the only way to end this, to feel normal again, to…
I heave myself against him, lurching up to sink my teeth into the side of his throat, and the action seems to startle him so much that he freezes for a split second. Just long enough for me to throw my weight into him and knock him to one side.
He rolls, pulling me with him, and before I realize what’s happening, I’m astride him on the bed, my nightgown pushed up around my thighs. He’s wearing nothing at all, I realize suddenly, my mouth going dry. He’s naked, his cock pressing against my core, and he’s stiff as iron against my tender flesh.
My hand tightens around the knife and I bring it down, close to his throat. His hand is still on my wrist, but he lets me—lets me bring that razor’s edge against his flesh. I see a drop of blood bead against the steel, and a shiver runs down my spine.
