When it takes me more than a second to get on the desk, Adrian loops his hands around my waist, lifts me up, and sets me on it.
I’m now in direct view of his unforgiving gaze. I want to scream and yell, to hit and scratch. I can feel a tantrum or a meltdown—or both—building at the back of my brain, but I rein them in as I stare at the wall behind him.
“Lift your legs and open them,” he orders.
I do as he says, my heels planted on the edge of the desk. My movements are mechanical at best and I’m thankful for it. I wait for the numbness to take me over, because that’s what I need right now.
If I’m numb, I won’t feel the sharp edges digging into my heart. If I’m numb, I won’t hate a dead woman because she still lives through me. Because she’s still alive for Adrian while I don’t exist.
“Look at me.”
I don’t, my gaze stolen by the white wall behind him.
“Lia.”
I’m not Lia. Stop calling me Lia. But I don’t say that, because it doesn’t matter. Not to Adrian.
“That’s nine.”
I remain silent. He can do whatever he likes with my body. He already thinks it’s Lia’s instead of mine, anyway.
“Ten.” He stares at his watch. “The count will go up with every minute you don’t fucking look at me.”
My gaze slides to his, and I hope it’s as dead as I feel. I hope he sees the cruelty of what he’s doing to me, of the way he’s erasing my identity. But would he even care if that were the case? Would he take a second of his precious time to think that the woman he brought from the street feels?
He doesn’t.
Adrian brings the glass of cognac to his lips, and most of the ice has melted away. I want a sip of it more than anything in the world. It’ll erase my feelings and make me numb again. If I’m drunk, it won’t hurt that he’s seeing another woman through me.
Seeming to notice my concentration on his drink, Adrian pauses before he stands. “Stay there and lift your dress up.”
I do as he says, watching as he heads to a minibar and fills his glass with more ice and some alcohol.
By the time he returns, I’m holding the dress to my stomach, sitting on the table, half-naked, with only my white lace panties covering my pussy. He slides to his chair and takes another sip of his cognac as if he’s taunting me. When he releases his lips from the glass, he rolls something in his mouth before he leans over and presses his cold lips to my inner thigh.
I gasp and brace myself back on one hand. He kisses his way up my thigh, running the tip of the ice over my heated skin. It melts in a matter of seconds, leaving chilling hot and cold trails in its wake. Adrian picks up another one, with his teeth this time, and paints a new trail, picking up from where the first one stopped.
I momentarily lose sight of the cognac, all my attention honed in on where the ice meets my skin, to how his lips slightly graze my thigh, his stubble creating unbearable friction.
My head rolls back and I bite my bottom lip as I try to close my legs.
“Keep them open,” he orders, with the glass halfway to his mouth. “How many?”
“W-what?”
“You forgot how to count, Lenochka?”
Oh, so this is his sick version of punishment today. I prefer the searing pain. At least then I can think of him as a perverted psycho I should hate.
“Lia…”
“T-two.” My voice trembles and I hate that name and him and the way he’s making me feel invisible.
He wets his lips and glides two more ice cubes up my inner thigh before moving to the other one, giving it the same tormenting attention. I’m delirious by the eighth one. He always stops right before his lips or the ice cube touches the hem of my panties, as if he’s doing it on purpose, torturing me on purpose, turning me into a version of myself I don’t recognize on purpose.
I’m a panting mess, my heart beating in and out of synch, as he lowers my underwear down my legs, then throws them to the ground. He’s deliberate, slow, like he knows exactly the effect of what he’s doing to me.
“How many, Lia?”
“Eight…” I breathe out.
He takes a sip of the cognac and puts another cube of ice between his teeth. I suck in a sharp breath at the view of it wetting his lips, dripping down his stubbled chin. But that’s all the view I get before he disappears between my legs. He places the ice against my soaking folds and I jerk on the rigid surface.
It doesn’t matter how much I anticipated the contact, the moment it happens, it’s like all the fireworks and explosions I never thought would be possible.
Adrian grabs hold of my thighs, imprisoning me in place as he thrusts the cube against my most sensitive spot. The cold temperature is supposed to drown my libido, but it only gets stronger. It could be because my hot temperature melts it in a second or because of Adrian’s deliberate touch or his tongue against my clit.
As soon as the cube is gone, he takes another one and abandons his glass on the table. I should seize the chance and take a drink, but I can’t move. I’m caged in place and it’s not because of his fingers digging into my thighs. If I remove my hand, I feel like I’ll somehow fall.
Adrian thrusts the ice against my entrance and I squeal before I bite my lip to hide the sound. He doesn’t stop there, though.
His tongue nibbles on my clit as two of his fingers thrust the ice deep inside me. My back arches and the tip of my heel nearly falls off the edge of the table.
He laps at me roughly, diligently, as if he’s punishing and rewarding me at the same time. As if he’s worshipping my body and teaching it a lesson all at once.
I can feel the ice melting inside me, and that only heightens the pleasure I can feel through my clit. His teeth are sending electric shocks to my core. He sucks, nibbles, then flicks his tongue against that secret part of me he shouldn’t know so well.
My head bumps against one of the curved monitors as I come with a muffled cry. Unable to hold the dress, I let it fall, covering his head as I ride the wave. My legs give up the fight of staying upright and fall down, shaking and dangling from the edge of the desk.
Adrian emerges from underneath my dress, licking his lips. I stare away from him as I catch my breath. I don’t want to look at him, at the arrogance etched across his face, at the way he’s so smug about owning me. About how I’m his fucking Lenochka.
I’m not.
He grips my chin with both of his fingers and forces me to stare at him. “You didn’t count.”
“Nine. Ten.” My voice is just above a murmur as I look down at his hand. He lifts the glass of cognac to his lips and my heart shatters.
He’ll finish it and I’ll gain nothing from all of this.
“Do you want this drink?” he asks nonchalantly, as if he’s not seeing the eagerness on my face.
He’s playing a sick game, but no matter how much I want that drink, I won’t play into his hand.
“What’s the point? You’ll just say no.”
“You can have a taste.”
“Really?” I sound as distrustful as I feel.
“Come here.” He pulls me by the arm and I stumble to my feet until I’m standing on shaky legs in front of him. He turns me around and sits me on his lap so I’m facing the desk.
My back is glued to his solid wall of muscles and my legs are tucked between his. A bulge pokes at my sore behind, and it takes everything in me to remain still, to not squirm or wiggle against it.
“Hook your feet on the chair, Lenochka. I want to have access to your pussy while you drink.”
I do as I’m told and loop both of my feet around the chair, which naturally opens my legs farther apart. His free hand snakes underneath my dress until he cups me.
A shudder grips me and I try not to turn into a trembling leaf in his arms.
Adrian empties the glass, leaving only a sip behind. “Open your mouth.”
I don’t want to, I really don’t want to, because my mouth is the place where all those embarrassing noises will come from, but he’s not really stimulating me right now. It’s about alcohol.
I slowly open my mouth. But instead of offering me the remaining droplets of cognac as I expect him to, Adrian downs it, and before I can protest, he lets the glass drop to the table as the fingers of his other hand wrap around my throat and lift my jaw up. His lips meet mine and I recognize the stringent taste of alcohol. It’s slight, but it’s enough to go to my head.
Actually, no. It’s not the alcohol that goes to my head. It’s a different taste altogether.
Adrian’s.
He sucks on my tongue in an open-mouthed kiss, imploring, exploring, and robbing all of my common sense. It’s tender but harsh. Passionate but demanding. Just like the way he ate me out not even a minute ago.
Adrian’s never kissed me before, and yet, it feels like we’ve been kissing since we met. Like kissing has been the highlight of both of our existences. He’s so into it, like he’s attempting to lure something out of me by using my mouth. His vigor triggers mine and I can’t help the need to kiss him back, to try and give as much as he does. I’m so in tune with him that my body feels like it’s fusing with his.
I get drunk on him, not the alcohol.
He plunges two fingers inside me and I moan into his mouth. A groan slips out of him as if the sound is the best turn-on he’s ever heard. I want to pull away from his mouth, to muffle my voice like I usually do, but Adrian keeps me in place as he thrusts his fingers in and out of me. I gasp when he adds a third one, filling me like never before.
Jesus.
Adrian devours my lips and my tongue as he pounds his fingers in and out of me. I wiggle my ass against his thigh, desperate for the release that only he can bring. He becomes rock-hard, his cock growing in size with every second. A tinge of fear mixed with anticipation rolls through me.
If his three fingers are stuffing me, how would his cock feel? I saw it a few times when he made me watch him get off with his own hands. I know it’s massive when it’s hard, and I really shouldn’t be thinking about it inside me right now instead of his fingers.
But the mere thought is enough to send me over the edge.
I wrench away from his lips and bite on his arm that’s holding my throat as I come. It must hurt like hell, but Adrian doesn’t make a sound. If anything, he remains still, even his fingers halt as I ride the wave of my orgasm.
I’m breathing heavily, my teeth and lips still wrapped around his arm, when he asks quietly, “Are you ever going to let me hear your voice?”
I release his arm to stare up at him, at the slight furrow in his brow, at the disappointment I can taste off his posture.
“Are you ever going to call me Winter?” I murmur back.
He shakes his head once.
I want to cry. I want to fall off the chair and become one with the carpet. But instead, I say, “Then you’ll never hear my voice, Adrian. Because it’s mine, not Lia’s.”
There’s a small knock on the door before he can say anything. I freeze, my heart thundering in my chest. I didn’t lock it, and if anyone comes in, they’ll see me sitting on Adrian’s lap with his fingers deep inside me.
“Who is it?” Adrian asks in his strong voice, not attempting to let me go. He’s so sure that no one will open the door, but then again, this is his castle. Why would anyone in their right mind defy him?
“Papa, is Mommy in there?”
I gasp at Jeremy’s voice and I try to scramble from Adrian’s hold, but he keeps me joined to him by the fingers inside me.
“Let me go. Your son is outside.”
He’s looking at me when he speaks to Jeremy, “Yes.”
“Can I come in?” the little boy asks.
I shake my head frantically, but Adrian says, “Yes.”
“Are you crazy?” I hiss under my breath.
“You said I don’t spend much time with him.”
“This isn’t what I meant…” my words trail off when the door clicks open and Jeremy trots inside, carrying one of his toy soldiers. I drop my feet down and smooth the dress on my thighs to hide the position in which his father is holding me.
“What are you doing?” Jeremy stops at our right, his innocent eyes going from me to Adrian.
His father remains silent, leaving the ball in my court. Asshole. I plaster on a smile. “Your papa was showing me something.”
“Really?”
Adrian wraps an arm around my waist and leans his chin on my shoulder. The gesture is new and feels intimate, even more than his fingers inside me, and that causes me to shudder. “Really.”
“Can I see, too?”
“No!” I snap, then smile. “I mean, I was coming to you so we could play together.”
“Can Papa come, too?” Jeremy asks slowly, almost shyly, and I want to punch Adrian for making him feel this way.
“I will, Malysh.”
Jeremy’s eyes jerk up at the same time as mine, and we both say, “You will?”
Adrian gives me an amused glance. “I will.”
Jeremy takes my hand in his and tries to pull me with him. I elbow Adrian so he’ll let me go and he does so, but not before he nibbles on the shell of my ear.
He takes a tissue and wipes his hand before swiftly picking my panties from the ground. My cheeks flame. I completely forgot they were there.
Instead of throwing them in the trash or hiding them in one of his drawers, Adrian shoves them in his pants pocket. I open my mouth to protest but then recall Jeremy’s here.
He tucks his soldier in his pocket and places his hand in his father’s—not the one that was inside me, thank God.
Adrian follows his son’s lead as he walks us out of the office, talking about his soldiers. At least one of us is comfortable. I feel like my legs will stop holding me up from how much they’re trembling.
“Hey, Papa.” Jeremy stares up at his father.
“Yes?” I notice that Adrian’s voice is gentler when he speaks to his son. It still has that intensity in it, but he doesn’t direct it at Jeremy.
“Can I have Mommy?”
Adrian’s ash eyes slide to me before he focuses on his son again. “You already do.”
“Not now. At night. I want Mommy to sleep with me, but she said I have to ask you for it.”
Flames creep up my cheeks. The kid took that suggestion seriously.
“She did, huh?” Adrian meets my gaze with a small smile that leaves me breathless. Holy shit. It’s not even a full smile, but I feel like I’m being attacked.
“Uh-huh,” Jeremy says, oblivious to the tension brewing in the air. “So, can I have her?”
“You already have her during the day, so no.”
“Please, Papa.”
“Do you want me to be all alone, Malysh?”
“No.”
“Then you have to give me your mother during the night.”
“Do you need Mommy too, Papa?”
Adrian pauses before he says calmly, assertively, “I do.”
My heart lunges, thundering and squeezing against my ribcage as if wanting to escape its confinements. His words shouldn’t have this effect on me. I should think that he only needs me because he wants his daily sick fix of punishing me, but the look in his eyes says something entirely different.
His eyes that I always thought were uncomfortable are now suffocating, trying to beat words into me that I don’t want to listen to.
“All right, Papa.” Jeremy grins at me. “We’ll share Mommy then.”
“Thank you, Malysh.” Adrian smiles at his son, and I’m once again caught off guard by it.
What right does he have to smile like that?
Adrian helps me put my coat on and buttons it to the very top before he loops a scarf around my throat. Then he does the same for Jeremy and lifts him in his arms.
I don’t want to focus on that, on how he can be a doting father, but the scene touches something inside me as we head outside.
The three of us sit in the gazebo, where Jeremy’s war zone is still pathetically incomplete. The little angel settles between us with his feet swinging joyfully as his attention flits from me back to his father. Who knows how long it’s been since he had both of his parents play with him?
“Mommy doesn’t know how to do it, Papa.”
Adrian’s lips twitch a little.
“Hey, that’s not true. I was taking it slowly, so he’d learn.”
“Too slow, apparently.” Adrian studies the wrong pieces jammed together. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s learning?”
I flex my fingers. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“You’re an awful liar, Lenochka.”
“I’m not lying.”
“That’s what all liars say.”
I stare at him over Jeremy’s head, and he stares right back, an easy, almost outgoing expression on his face. “How can you tell when someone is lying so easily?”
“So you admit you were lying?”
“No.” I make a face and mouth, “Jeremy,” so he doesn’t label me as a liar in front of him.
Adrian’s lips pull in a small smile. Holy hell. I’m glad he doesn’t smile too often because I’d go into cardiac arrest or something. He seems to be in an awfully good mood right now and I wonder what triggered it. Was it inflicting my punishment in his office or simply being here with me and Jeremy? Knowing his controlling, dominant character, it’s probably the first reason.
He takes a few pieces from Jeremy’s game and assembles them without breaking eye contact with me. “Unless you’re trained to lie, people have tells. The rub of a nose or a nape, fidgeting, or looking in a different direction to conjure a lie. The reason for that is because lying doesn’t com naturally and takes a lot of energy, so most of the oxygen in the blood rushes to the brain, leaving the rest of the limbs either numb or cold. That’s why you’ve been flexing your fingers.”
I clench my fingers into the material of my coat and Adrian stares at me with utter amusement, no doubt finding fun in cornering me.
Jeremy gives me a disapproving glance. “Lying is bad, Mommy.”
“I wasn’t lying, Jer.” I soften my tone even as I glare at Adrian.
“Okay,” he agrees readily like the little angel he is. “Teach Mommy how to do my war zone, Papa.”
“Hmm.” Adrian’s head tilts to the side in my direction. “I think I will.”
I purse my lips at him, but he merely reaches to wrap the scarf around my neck before he gets to work. He literally finishes building the entire war zone in under fifteen minutes.
I try not to be impressed, but I am.
“Yay, Papa!” Jeremy kisses his father on the cheek, joy sparkling in his wide eyes.
Adrian faces me. “I think your mom should show appreciation, too, shouldn’t she, Malysh?”
“Yes, Mommy! Kiss Papa.”
I glare at Adrian for the way he’s manipulating a kid, but I don’t make a problem out of it as I lean in and press my lips to the stubble on his cheek.
For a fraction of a second, it feels normal, like we’re actually a family who are out in the garden, doing family things.
I’m about to pull away when my gaze shifts upward. I don’t know why I look in the direction of the guest house at a moment like this. I don’t know why my eyes immediately go up.
All I know is that I shouldn’t have. I really, really shouldn’t have.
A figure stares at me from the window. Her face is as pale as her nightgown, but her eyes are a raging blue as she stares at me.
My eyes.
The ghost Jeremy mentioned is staring at me and she looks ready to kill me.
