“There is no one to be angry with you for using anything here. This is your house, little bird.”
The door must be thicker than I thought, because I’m sure I misheard what he just said.
“I’m sorry,what?” Maybe, I yell a little overloud back at the door.
The door swings open not a moment later, allowing Zinovy to stroll through as casually as a person might enter a grocery store. He makes no apologies for barging in here, lock be damned. His eyes eat up my nakedness, scanning me from head to toe with long slow pauses to drink me in. Shock has me rooted in place, halfway over the threshold into the shower enclosure.
“You… You can’t just… I mean… Ugh!” I finally get control of my motor skills and force my legs to hustle me behind the tiled wall that surrounds the shower.
“I had intended to give you time and privacy to acclimate, but your worries must be put to rest. I will not allow you to believe another woman could be here. This is your home.”
“My home?” I parrot back.
“Your name is on the deed. I bought this home for you. It is in your name, so you will never sleep in a storage garage again.”His accent has become thicker and thicker as lust glows more and more bright in his eyes.
The meaning of his statement sinks in, bringing with it a hundred questions and a few absolute certainties. Biggest of all is the realization that I really have had someone watching me. Following me. Stalking me. I wasn’t imagining things or being overreactive. Not only was I actually being followed, but I was right every time I allowed myself to feel calm anyway. By rights, I should have been freaked out at the thought of someone stalking me, especially in the wake of everything Jordan put me through.
Thinking about his claim that this is my house, my mansion, has a tidal wave of anxiety slamming into me. My knees buckle, and I sink onto the wide bench that lines one entire wall of the shower room. The events of tonight seem to be multiplying and getting more and more absurd. From the chaos at the diner to my mysterious stalker showing up just in time to rescue me, and now him bringing me to this humongous place he says is mine? It’s too much to unpack.
“Are you okay? You are never this quiet.” Zinovy’s rough accent makes the question sound almost like an accusation, and it’s the push that sends me over the edge. I’m crashing out, and I know it, even as I feel completely powerless to stop it.
“I’ve never been kidnapped by a giant Russian who interrupts a shootout at my job, either!” I shout. “If this is my house, then I get to say who can be in it. And I say you can’t. Get out, Zinovy. Out of my bathroom!”
Tears mix with the water splashing my face from the nearest showerhead. I hate the feeling of being out of control, and I doubly hate that I just lashed out at a man who’s done nothing but show me kindness since the moment he first sat at the counter ofPete’s Pastries. My tongue feels too thick to call back the words, and when I hear the heavy tread of Zinovy’s boots tromping out of the room, I’m not sure I could speak even if I tried.
I’m too confused. Too scared and overwhelmed. Too everything to sort out what’s going on between us right now. This is all happening so fast. I just need a minute alone to figure out what I need to do next. I nearly got shot by would-be robbers then watched the guy I’m pretty sure has been stalking me for days murder at least one of the robbers. Now, I’m in the guy’s house, and he’s professing all sorts of possessiveness, and I just need a second to breathe.
Chapter
Sixteen
CHAPTER 16
Zinovy
Glaring at the door separating me from my little bird accomplishes nothing, but what else can I do when she demanded I leave? I will obey her demand to leave the bathroom, for now, but I will not leave her home and risk her being unprotected. My restless feet force me into motion, and I pace back and forth, the thick pile of the carpet making my steps silent. Then through the door, I hear when the water shuts off, far sooner than I would expect.
“I am not leaving your home, my Petal, but I will give you privacy and space for now. That will have to be enough.” I will compromise as much as I am able to while she acclimates to belonging to me, but on some things I will not budge. It is best she learn to accept that now.
“You make it sound like this situation is permanent.” The echo off the tile walls in the shower is gone now, and I heard the click of the towel warmer’s lid opening and closing. “Hot towels and variable water pressure, maybe I wish it was.”
The last part is mumbled, but with my ear pressed to the door, I hear it. I’m tempted to allow her to believe the illusion she has the freedom to decide for herself if she stays or goes. But that’s all it is. An illusion. My timeline may have been advanced by the robbery and destroyed my intention to gradually insert myself into her life, but the end result was always going to be this. My Petal under my roof, belonging to me.
“You needn’t wish it, little bird. It is.” There’s promise and obsession in my vow, and she’d be unwise to ignore it.
“So much for space,” she grumbles. It’s adorable.
“I should give less?” My threat is a lie. Mostly. My guts churn at the notion of upsetting her, and I am certain I will spend the rest of my life endeavoring to make her happy. But she will have to accept that I will be the only one to make her happy from this night forward.
In my childhood, I learned it is best not to want things. Communism fell in my homeland before I was born. Still, the principles of doing without clung. Grandmothers doled out hardships as kindnesses to those raised in the time ofperestroika. So it’s novel to want Petal St. Clare the way I do.
She may not have chosen to plant this fixation within me, but with her every breath, she is responsible for the mounting intensity and desperation I suffer. Never have I craved anything or anyone. Yet I crave her the way a cosmonaut covets gravity after years in space. She is a drug, and she must shoulder the consequences of my addiction.
“More, Zinovy. More space. Go, I dunno, do something. Somewhere that isn’t on the other side of this door. I’m not leaving the bathroom until I can trust you’re allowing me some time and space to process. You can’t just decide I belong to you and that’s that!” Her words rise and rise in pitch until she’s nearly shrieking.
Instead of rebuffing me, her escalated fury hardens my aching cock even further. I want a soft woman, one who obeys me, but this life I live is not for the weak. Taming Petal will be my crowning accomplishment in life, but a backbone will be necessary beyond the walls of our bedroom. She will learn her place in due time, but for now, I am well pleased with her fiery independence. Her life has demanded strength and adaptability, and she has both in spades.
I palm myself over my slacks, using the heel of my hand to press against the base of my unruly erection. Soon, I will not be in need of my own hand ever again. Petal will warm my cock with her mouth, her pussy, the tiny rosebud of her asshole, any time I require. Precum soaks a wet spot on the thigh of my pants, cooling quickly into an uncomfortable sticky mess.
