“Illegal?” I feel my eyes widen. I’m not really surprised, per se. But Lilia shrugs.
“The casino business has a long history of being mixed up with organized crime. The State of Nevada has cracked down, though. It’s not like that anymore.”
I’m mostly reassured by what she says. Maybe it’s still a rough business, but at least I’m not out here spending blood money, unwittingly married to a gangster or whatever. Russians aren’t exactly top-of-mind when I hear the words “organized crime.” When I can’t put it off any longer, I ask my companion where the best place to buy underwear is. She points me to a lingerie store. Face flaming, I ask for something a little less sexy.
“Oh no, Sierra. You want sexy. Trust me. Now go talk to the nice sales lady who can help you find the right sizes while I go bleach my brain to erase the image of my brother having sex.”
Left to my own devices, I pick out things I think Nik would like. When the sales lady suggests a red silk andlace playsuit that reveals more than it covers, I feel like I might burst into flames from sheer embarrassment. I know he would love it, though, so I take it to the dressing room and try it on.
I have to peek through my fingers to look at myself in the mirror, but wow. Yes. This is absolutely perfect. He’ll adore this. I’m so excited to show it to him that I rip the tags off and hand them to the sales clerk along with the pile of other items I’ve selected. But before I can put my clothes back on, there’s a scuffle and shouting from outside the dressing room.
“Sir! You can’t go back there!” the store clerk shouts, followed by a muffled shriek. I stand there with my heart hammering, wondering what’s going on. Footfalls on the thick carpeting indicate a man’s approach. I back away, hoping the flimsy lock will hold. Knowing it won’t. My back hits the cold mirror.
Nik kicks the door open; his face contorted into a menacing scowl. A startled yelp escapes me.
“Tell me the truth, Sierra.” He stalks forward and grabs me by the throat.
“What…truth?” I struggle to speak past the pressure on my larynx.
“Are you a spy?” His vicious grip tightens. Despite the violence—or in reaction to it—my body responds to his touch.
“A what?”
“A spy,” he repeats. “Why were you in Alisa Morozov’s house? What master do you serve?”
“You,” I wheeze. “Only you, Nik.”
His eyes shutter. Then they fly open with a hardened glare. “Prove it. If you can.”
How? Clearly, nothing I can say will change his mind that I’m not some kind of corporate spy. Perhaps I can…show him. I dart a glance at the broken door behind him. No one seems to be looking for us. His body shields me from view, mostly.
I gesture to my body in the red playsuit. “I chose this for you, Nik,” I say softly. “As a wedding gift. I don’t have anything to give you but myself. You have all of me.”
For the first time since barging in, he looks at me. His heated gaze skims downward, taking in my breasts framed by red satin, the ribbon around my hips framing my naked pussy. I hear his sharp inhalation. His hand at my throat loosens. He slides his palm down the slope of my chest to squeeze my breast.
He smacks it. I gasp. The pain of being spanked on the tit spreads warmly across my chest. My nipple tightens. He pinches that, too. I lift my chin defiantly.
“You can’t scare me, Nikolai,” I tell him with more bravery than I actually feel. He shifts his grip to the back of my head, dragging me in for a hard kiss. His tongue pushes into my mouth. I swallow his low moan.
“I’ll prove to you that I can, little spy,” he snarls. He pushes me to my knees. I drop readily. His cock already strains the fly of his pants. I unfasten them and extract the hard shaft. Wrap my lips around the tip. He fists my hair and fucks my mouth mercilessly. I moan, softening for him while he takes his pleasure. Tears roll down my cheeks. I choke on him. The taste and feel of him, thesalty musk of his skin. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
It’s still not enough for my husband.
“Stand up,” he says, withdrawing suddenly enough to make me gag. I stagger to my feet. He whirls me around and slams into my wet pussy, fucking me against the mirror. Watching my tits press against the glass, our image doubled. His balls slap against my ass with every violent thrust. I press my palms against the cold surface, panting, already coming.
“I’ll fuck the truth out of you, Sierra,” he growls.
“I…don’t…know…Alisa Morozov,” I pant, trying to hold myself upright while he takes me mercilessly from behind. It’s perverse—maybeI’mperverse for liking the way he dominates me. “I’m not a spy.”
He slaps my ass. I buck against his cock, moaning. He hits deep inside me and comes, pressing me up against the glass. My breath clouds the shining surface. Nik nips the juncture of my neck with his teeth.
“If I find out you’re lying—today, tomorrow, ten years from now—I will kill you.”
The bubble that I’ve been floating in ever since he dragged me out of that mansion wearing a red dress and high heels that weren’t mine, an impostor and a case of mistaken identity, pops instantly.
What in the hell am I doing?
I’ve had Stockholm syndrome all this time. Don’t try to tell me it isn’t real—I’m living proof that you can fall head over heels for your captor in a shockingly short amount of time.