Tormentor Mine(36)
He is delusional if he thinks I’ll ever feel anything but hatred toward him, but I don’t bother arguing. “What is that word you keep calling me? Ptee-something?”
“Ptichka.” He resumes nuzzling my hair, or smelling it, or whatever the hell he’s doing. “It means little bird in Russian.”
My hands fist in the blanket in front of me. “A bird?”
“Hmm. A small songbird, pretty and graceful like you.” He pauses, then adds softly, “Also caged, like you.”
The asshole. I clench my teeth and try to shift away from him as much as the restraining arm around my waist would allow. “That’s a temporary situation.”
“Oh, I don’t mean caged by me.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he tightens his grip on me, preventing me from squirming away. “I might be holding you at the moment, but you were imprisoned long before I entered your life.”
I freeze in surprise. “What?”
“Oh, yes. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Sara. I know you’ve felt it: all the expectations from society, from your parents and your husband and your friends… The pressure to succeed because you were born smart and pretty, the desire to be perfect, the need to be everything to everyone at all times…” His voice is soft and dark, wrapping me in a silky, seductive web. “I saw it in the club yesterday: your longing for freedom, your desire to live without the restraints placed on you. For a few moments on that dance floor, you let the shackles fall away, and I saw the pretty bird exit her golden cage and fly free. I saw you, Sara, and it was beautiful.”
For a couple of seconds, all I can do is lie unmoving, my chest aching and my eyes burning in the darkness. I want to laugh and deny his words, but I’m afraid that if I try to speak, I’ll break down and scream. How could this man, this violent stranger, know something so private—something I’ve just begun to understand about myself?
How could he know that my nice, comfortable life no longer makes me happy… that maybe it never did?
Forcing down the swelling bubble in my throat, I let out a derisive snort and say, “So you’re going to… what? Liberate me from my restrictive life? Set me free and watch me fly?”
“No, ptichka.” His voice is filled with gentle mockery. “Nothing as noble as that.”
“What then?”
“I’m going to place you in a cage of my own and make you sing.”
18
Peter
* * *
She shudders in my arms, and I feel the fear rippling through her. A part of me regrets my brutal honesty, but I can’t bring myself to lie to her. My desire for her is nothing like the gentle affection I’d felt for Tamila or the straightforward lust I’d experienced with other women.
My need for Sara is darker, tainted by what passed between us and the knowledge that she used to belong to my enemy. I don’t want to hurt her, yet I can’t deny that her suffering appeals to me in some perverse way. Tormenting her cools my burning rage, satisfies my need to punish and avenge, even as I tell myself I want to heal her, to atone for the pain I inflicted.
When it comes to Sara, I’m a mess of contradictions, and the only thing I’m sure of is that a simple fucking won’t be enough.
I want more.
I want to make her mine.
It’s tempting to break my promise and take her now, to claim her and ease the hunger consuming me alive. She’s completely naked in my embrace, her bare skin rubbing against mine each time she takes a breath. I can smell the flowery shampoo in her damp hair, feel the softness of her breasts resting on my arm, and my cock throbs painfully against the curve of her ass, my body aching with the need to thrust inside her. She’d fight at first, but I could make her like it.
She’s not immune to me. I know it. I sense it.
Before the dark impulse can take over, I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. As good as it would feel to fuck Sara, I want her trust as much as her body.
I want her to sing for me of her own accord.
“Go to sleep, ptichka,” I murmur when she remains silent, all her questions choked off for now. “You’ll be safe tonight.”
And ignoring the hunger raging through my body, I close my eyes and sink into a light but restful sleep.
* * *
I wake up three times during the night, twice when Sara tries to free herself from my embrace—undoubtedly to escape and do something painful to me—and once when she wakes up from a bad dream. I hold her tighter in each case, and she eventually falls asleep again. After a while, so do I, though the lust gnawing at me only grows more intense throughout the night. By morning, I’m ready to explode, and it takes all of twenty seconds to jerk off when I go use the restroom.