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My thoughts are a tempest.
I’m old-fashioned.
My wife will obey me.
You know what happens.
Good girl.
Little Renata.
I grip the sink as his hands roam over my body. He lifts the hem of my dress, fingers brushing against my thighs. Pleasure surges through me. He takes his time, his touch disarming, tender, and teasing, building me to a fevered pitch.
I remember last night in vivid detail. Ollie Romanov will take control of me in more ways than one.
I hate and love that he does. "You're so beautiful," he whispers in my ear, his voice reverent. "And so strong. You're going to be mine, Renata, and you're never going to lose who you are. Do you understand me?"
No. I don't understand that at all. How the hell is that gonna work? I shake my head, biting my lips as his hands move higher, caressing my hips, my body arching into his fingers as they move over my bare skin. "Stand still," he growls in my ear, his breath hot against my neck.
His family is right outside the door. My brother is somewhere out there, too, his eyes always on me. Anybody could come in here at any time. He wants me to surrender, and he's pushing me to the brink.
Obeying, my body trembles with a mixture of desire and need. When I feel his hands on my hips again, my heart races. My pulse skyrockets when he presses his lips to my shoulder, his kisses slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the urgency I feel inside. Why is he being so slow and deliberate?
Uuuuggggh.
He’s the quiet one, the patient one who’s learned to wait for what he wants.
Lucky me.
"Ollie," I moan, my voice shaky.
"Patience," he whispers, his hands moving to the front of me. Slowly, he trails his fingers up my stomach, brushing against my breasts before moving to unbutton me. The fabric fallsaway, leaving me exposed. He trails his fingers up my stomach, brushing against my breasts before moving the fabric away. "Hold on," he commands. "Did I give you permission to move?"
My breathing hitches as I feel him drop to his knees. What is he…? Oh my God. I grip the sink so tightly I think it's going to snap. His hands trace the curve of my back, his touch reverent and possessive. When he spreads my legs slightly, his fingers graze the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, and a wave of pleasure consumes me. All he's done is touch me. "Oh my God," I gasp. "What are you?—"
"No talking," he whispers. "If you disobey me, I'm going to bring you to the edge of release and then leave you right here. Is that what you want? When I get you alone, I’ll whip your pussy and bring you to the edge over and over again. Tell me you understand. Say 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir.'"
"Yes, sir," I whisper, my mouth dry. What is he doing to me? I don't call any man "sir." What the hell is this? Is he—oh God. When I feel his breath against my most intimate parts, it's tantalizing, so hot I stifle a scream. His tongue flicks out, teasing me. My grip on the sink tightens. He moans as he grips my hips to keep me steady.
I'm overwhelmed by the sensation, the touch and flick of his tongue sending me closer to the edge. Tension coils inside me, and I bite my lip to keep from speaking.
Just when I think I can't take anymore, he pulls away. I whimper at the loss, but his fingers are quick to guide me up, turning me to face him. He removes the blindfold, and I blink in the light, adjusting to it. My eyes meet his. "Did you enjoy that?" he asks, his voice rough with desire.
"Yes," I breathe out. "I thought you said you were going to punish me if I disobeyed. That you were going to leave me there?"
His lips curve into a dark smile. "Naughty girl. Did you think I was going to let you come in the bathroom? With my family right outside that door?"
"But you said?—"
"I'm not done with you, Renata. You filthy, beautiful little slut," he says in a low voice that makes my nerves shiver. "Get dressed and get back out there." He straightens himself, adjusts his raging hard-on, and flicks his hair in the mirror. He turns me around and slaps my ass hard. "Now get out there. And the next time I tell you to come to me, you willobeyme."
He has me in his control, and I've allowed this to happen. God.
I walk back to the table, all my effort poured into maintaining my composure.
I can do this. Oh God. My legs are shaking, and my breathing’s ragged.
Isabella looks perfect,of course,her hair all neatly done. She's hidden her tiny little baby belly, but she's barely got any. She sits ramrod straight, her hands in her lap, and doesn't meet my eyes. A pang of sadness hits my chest.
