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1714 Words
God, he couldn’t possibly be… A panicked glance at the door proved they were alone; Xander was no longer there.
She bolted for the exit, but Alexei was faster. He caught her by her ponytail, the sudden tug forcing a cry from her throat as he steered her down between his spread legs. With one hand, he reached for his zipper. Anastasia caught the glint of a jewel and the head of his member before she gasped and squeezed her eyes shut.
Alexei watched her, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Don’t tell me you’ve never been with a man before."
Anastasia groaned in frustration, her eyes still clamped shut. “Mr. Morozov, I told you before—I am a proper lady. Please have the decency to zip up.”
Alexei c****d his head to the side, studying her flushed face. The vodka was surely taking effect now, buzzing in his veins. He gripped the zipper but didn't pull it up.
“You can open your lovely eyes now,” he murmured.
Anastasia sighed and opened her eyes, only to gasp in scandalized horror at the sight of his member still inches from her face.
“Oh my God!” she shrieked in English. If she didn’t die of embarrassment, she would surely succumb to the strange sensation of seeing him—all of him—and the sheer size of what she saw. He wasn’t even hard yet.
Cursing herself for the direction of her thoughts, she jerked her head away. Alexei’s soft laughter rang in her ears as the sound of his zipper finally echoed through the room.
“You don’t have to play innocent with me, sweetheart. I know you’ve had your fair share of American men.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Anastasia fumed, scrambling away from him on the carpet. “You think I’m like the women who throw themselves at you? Like that dumb blonde from this morning?”
“Ah!” Alexei grinned. Or at least she thought he did; it was hard to tell behind all that hair. His gaze dropped to her bare legs, and she tugged the hem down forcefully. “Your outburst only proves I’m right. Guilty conscience, is it?”
Anastasia gritted her teeth, her eyes darting to the vodka bottle on the table. She wanted nothing more than to smash it over his head.
“I don’t know anything about you!” she snapped. “Other than the fact that you’re a…” She wanted to say murderer, but the word died in her throat. “Other than the fact that you’re my father’s enemy.”
“Well, that can be easily remedied.” Alexei crossed his legs, lighting a cigar. He inhaled deeply, the thick scent making Anastasia want to gag. “My name is Alexei Kegan Morozov, as you already know. Owner of the biggest bullion gold empire in all of Russia.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it!”
“Oh? What do you mean, sweetheart? Do you want to know my hobbies?” He leaned forward, the smoke curling around his face. “Tell me, what do you need to know about me before you’re comfortable enough to spread your legs?”
“You’re a despicable brute!”
“You’ve clearly heard rumors about me, and I don’t deny them. But if I were the brute you insinuate, I would’ve pinned you to this floor, shoved that shirt up—it’s barely covering anything, anyway—and devoured you right here.”
Anastasia’s breath hitched as that exact image flashed through her mind. She looked away, focusing on an intricate painting on the wall, acutely aware of his gaze. She desperately wanted to understand why he wanted her. He could have any woman. The fact that he clearly knew things about her was deeply unsettling.
She flinched as he stood up abruptly. He chuckled.
“Relax. I’m not killing you. Just wait here a second; I’ll be right back.”
Anastasia watched him walk out and heard the heavy click of the bolt. The moment she was sure he wasn’t coming back, she rushed to the desk in the center of the room. A sleek laptop sat there, surrounded by files, an ashtray, and a pack of cigarettes. But what caught her attention was the cell phone lying right next to the computer.
Without thinking, she lunged for it. Her fingers flew as she dialed the number she’d committed to memory years ago.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she chanted under her breath. It went straight to voicemail. She tried again, same thing. More than twenty times.
She realized with a sinking heart that the time difference was against her. If it was night in Russia, her sister was likely unreachable across the world. s**t. Who else could she possibly call? She didn’t have friends. Aside from Dmitri, she wasn't close to anyone.
The heavy sound of approaching footsteps sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. She scrambled back to the couch, briefly considering hiding the phone under the seat, but she changed her mind at the last second. She shoved the device into her armpit, pinning it against her ribs with her arm.
She prayed more than anything that it wouldn't vibrate—or worse, ring with a return call.
Alexei walked in then, his black hair damp from a recent shower and sticking to his forehead. His beard glistened with water. He was dressed in silk lounge pants and an unbuttoned silk shirt that revealed his tattooed, hairy chest and a gold chain. He looked feral.
He glanced at her, immediately noticing her stiff, upright posture.
She swallowed hard.
He stepped toward her and leaned down, the scent of expensive soap clinging to his skin.
“Give it to me.”
Anastasia’s eyes widened. “Give what to you?”
“Whatever it is you’re hiding. Give it.” He outstretched his large hand.
“I’m not hiding anything!”
“I wasn't born yesterday, little girl. Give me the phone, or you won’t like it if I take it from you myself.”.
She glared at him, then finally pulled the device from her armpit and handed it over.
He didn’t say another word as he circled to his desk and sat down, not sparing her so much as a glance. A knock sounded at the door, and he barked an order for them to enter.
An elderly man—the one Anastasia recognized as Alexei’s butler from earlier that morning—walked in carrying a tray piled high with beef stroganoff, pelmeni, Olivier salad, chicken Kiev, and borscht.
“Your dinner sir.”
“Set it on the table” Alexei instructed.
The rich aroma of the food made Anastasia’s stomach grumble, a sharp reminder that she hadn’t eaten anything all day, aside from the mint coffee she’d gulped down at her father’s house before coming here.
The man cast her an unreadable look before walking out.
She had to stop herself from licking her lips as Alexei dug in, eating without even asking her to join. The food on that tray could have fed an entire army.
Alexei looked up then, catching her staring at the spread. She blushed but didn’t look away.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She snapped her head to the side, shaking it.
“Answer me with words, young woman!”
She turned back to him, eyes blazing. “I said I’m not f*****g hungry! Go to hell!”
Alexei’s gaze hardened. He stood, picked up the phone, and slowly walked toward her. “Did it ever occur to you to ask how much debt your father was in? How much I loaned him?”
Anastasia ignored him, her eyes averted.
“Four hundred million dollars!” Alexei fumed. “All I want is your obedience, your absolute submission. That is all. And yet, here you are, calling your ex!”
“I never asked you to help!” Anastasia yelled, not bothering to correct him.
He turned and began walking back to his seat.
Anastasia glared at his retreating back. “You’re a filthy monster,” she whispered.
Alexei froze. His entire body went still, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He turned slowly, and for the first time, he looked truly terrifying.
“What did you just call me?”
Anastasia squared her shoulders, refusing to cower under that icy gaze. “A filthy monster! That’s what I said. That’s what you are! A brute! A beast!”
Alexei’s patience snapped instantly. His eyes darkened to a dangerous obsidian. Marching up to her, he seized her by the collar.
“I’ve never raised my hand to a woman, and you won’t be the one to make me, little girl. You want to act all high and mighty with me? Show me how much of a princess you are? Fine. I’ll give you a throne room.”
She gasped as he dragged her out of the office. She struggled to keep up with his long, predatory strides while desperately clutching the hem of her shirt.
“Where are you taking me!”
Alexei didn’t answer. He simply dragged her down a darkened hallway until they stopped in front of a door that smelled of dust and alcohol. He unlocked the door with one hand and shoved her inside. She stumbled and fell, glancing around in a panic. A wine cellar. A very dark wine cellar.
Anastasia had always hated the dark.
She glanced back at him, still standing in the doorway, fear etched onto her face.
“Spending the night here alone should teach you some manners,” he drawled. Then he slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place.
Anastasia screamed, rushing to the door and slamming her fists against it. She struck the wood countless times, tears streaming down her cheeks, but it was no use. Her voice echoed back to her in a hollow timbre. She eventually collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball in a borrowed shirt that barely covered her, trapped in the cellar of a deranged man.
- Writer
