The Billionaire’s Master Key

Nina’s POV The hotel room was dark except for the blue glow of my laptop screen. I sat crossed leg on the bed, my finger hovering over the play button. I’d watched the video three times already but I clicked play anyway. On the screen, a man pinned a woman against the wall. His hands held her wrists above her head. A black mask covered her eyes, the rest of her body was bare except for a thin black string across her abdomen. His mouth slid over the curve of her throat and she arched her back. I pressed my thighs together. I knew that man. Roman Volkov. My new client. The CEO whose company wanted a risk consultant on short notice. In the video, he leaned in and murmured something in Russian in her ear. I couldn’t hear what he said in the video but it didn’t matter. I remembered them, even the heat of his breath. The woman’s legs locked around his waist. His free hand slid between her thighs and she jerked, her head falling back against the wall. The slip ended with the woman‘s mouth opened and her body shaking. I slammed the laptop shut. My heart hammered. That woman was me. Five years ago, before the accident, before the surgery, before this face. I stood and paced the small suite with my bare feet slapping against the carpet. I drank the water from the mini-fridge in the room but the cold liquid wasn’t enough to cool my insides. Roman Volkov said the videos were deep-fakes. He told the press someone was out to ruin him. He was lying. Or did he truly not remember me? Five years ago, I was working undercover as Lena. It was the last night before extraction. I went to a casino in Monaco. I wanted one night of being myself before I went back to another waiting assignment I wore a black dress that zipped low in the back, ordered champagne at the casino bar and drank it slowly. Then he was there, across the room, in dark suit and no ties, watching me like I was the only woman in the room. When I didn’t look away, he crossed the room without breaking eye contact. “Mind if I join you,” he asked in a low voice. “For now.” “Thank you.” We talked about nothing that mattered. Cards. The sea. How bad the champagne was for the price. His hand brushed when he took my glass and set it down. “Come with me,” he said. I didn’t say anything. I let him take my hand and lead me out. In the elevator, he backed me into a corner and kissed my neck as soon as the doors closed. His hands went under my dress. "You have no idea what yo do to me," he whispered gently in Russian against my skin. I didn’t speak Russian but I understood the tone just fine. His fingers hooked my underwear aside and stroked through the wetness already waiting for him. I gasped. He smiled against my throat like he had won something. “Open,” he said. I opened my legs. Right there, he pushed two fingers, slowly and deeply into me. He curled them inside me until my knees almost gave. When the elevator dinged, he pulled his hand out, put his fingers in his mouth and tasted me. “Good,” he said. “You’ll do that on my tongue next.” In his suite, he didn’t turn on the main lights. He spun ne, unzipped the dress and let it drop. Then he removed my bra but he left the heels on. “Hands on the wall.” I put my hands on the wall and he kicked my feet apart. His mouth trailed down my spine. He bit the soft place where my ass met my thigh, then dropped to his knees and put his mouth between my legs from behind. He held my lips when I tried to move and f****d me with his tongue until I was shaking and screaming. “Please,” I said without even knowing what I was asking for. He stood, took of his belt and unzipped. I heard him use the condom, then the thick head of his c**k pressed against me and he pushed in, in one long stroke. “f**k…” “Breathe,” he said and held still, buried inside me. One of his hands was flat on my lower back and the other braced my head. “Feel all of it,” he said almost pulling out and then drove back in hard. I felt all of it. Felt it too much and not enough. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. He set a pace that was mean, precise and steady. Every thrust hit a spot that made my vision spark. When I pushed back to meet him, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, tipping my head so he could speak against my ear and then he growled something rough in Russian. “Beg.” “I don’t…” His hand slid around and found my c**t. He circled them with two fingers in a way that timed with his hips. My body jerked. “Beg Lena.” I broke. “Please, Please, Roman…harder…don’t stop…I need…” “What do you need?” “Don’t stop. Make me c*m. Please.” He gave it to me, harder and deeper. His hand in my hair tightened and his fingers on my c**t didn’t stop. When I came, it ripped through me so hard. My legs gave out and I cried out his name, so loud I thought the security would knock. He held me up by the hips and f****d me through my climax, juices flowing down my thighs. He pulled out, turned me around, lifted me and pressed my back against the wall. My legs locked around his waist. He thrust back in and pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, the same way he held me in the video. “I want you to c*m again,” he ordered. “I can’t.” “You can.” His mouth closed over my n****e and sucked hard. His teeth grazed my n****e as his hips snapped up into me. “c*m baby.” I did. With his forehead against mine and hour bodies locked, his c**k kicked inside me as he followed with a deep groan, cursing in Russian and English mixed. We didn’t stop at one round. On the bed, he put my knees by my ear and f****d me slow until I was raw, wrecked and begging again. He also laid on his back and made me ride him. he held my hips down when I tried to lift off the deepest angle. He made me say what I wanted in plain words. He made me watch where our bodies joined. He put his thumb in my mouth when I got too loud and smiled when I bit it. I left before dawn without a note. Three days later, the safe house exploded. I woke up in a hospital with bandages where my face used to be. The doctors told me I was lucky to be alive. I quit undercover work and built a new, safe and normal life as a corporate risk consultant. My phone glowed on the nightstand, calling me back to the real world. I picked it up. It was a text from Roman’s assistant “Mr. Roman will like to hold a meeting tomorrow by 9 AM. Please confirm attendance” I took a several slow breaths. I had to tell them no. I had to walk away. But I wanted answers. I wanted to know who recorded the video. And if he truly doesn’t remember. I typed back. “I’ll be there.” I set my phone down on the nightstand and walked to the bathroom. I flipped on the light switch and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Tomorrow, I would find out if the man from Monaco recorded us and burned me or if someone else was playing both of us.