Page 36 of Vienna Bargain

For the first time in her career she’d made a serious mistake.

She’d been intimate with him when she should have kept the BDSM play as a more neutral, physical interaction.

Intimacy was a bell that couldn’t be un-rung, and despite the coercion that brought her here, the fear and anger simmering in her emotional well, she wanted him.

Wanted him to be both her kidnapper and her rescuer. The dastardly villain with designs on her body and the heroic knight come to save her.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, the sound echoing slightly in the circular concrete tube that housed the stairs.

Alena had the safe room door open—she’d wedged it open with a leather strap she’d gotten from the drawer he’d forgotten to lock yesterday.

Heart pounding, she walked into the small bathroom area and rinsed her hands free of the concrete dust that coated them, then took the small towel she’d found in the industrial storage cabinet and dampened it to wipe her knees.

The sink was mounted on the top of the toilet tank, so that the water drained into and filled the tank. A very efficient and eco-friendly system that minimized the amount of water pulled from the large cistern.

Wondering how he had the cistern filled was one of the many logistical questions she’d used to distract herself last night.

That and some revenge and groveling fantasies.

Carefully draping the towel over the tap she ignored a second towel which was wadded up in a corner.

It was the one she’d used to clean herself yesterday after he left. She’d been sobbing by the time she finished unwinding the medical wrap and chains. She’d stuck her head under the small faucet, hiccuping sobs making the already awkward task of washing his come out of her hair almost impossible.

She’d cleaned herself, then curled up on the bed and had a good cry.

And once the tears were done she’d rolled on to her back, spread her legs, and rubbed her clit with one hand, while the other played with her nipples.

Nipples on which she’d still worn the small gold rings.

Because she was a complete fucking head case.

She’d taken them off before falling asleep last night, warm under the heavy blanket she’d found with the towels in the storage locker.

There were also things in there she could use as weapons. Things that made her wonder if Alexander had thought this plan through. Scissors, a utility knife, even a scalpel in the expansive medical kit.

Or maybe he knew these things were there but trusted that she would come to the conclusion that a weapon was useless. Even if she killed him, which she of course would not, she was still in his house in the middle of nowhere. Being locked in a Moldovan prison for murdering a man who was clearly economically important to the country would doubtlessly be worse than the Serbian prison.

The third possibility was that he trusted their bargain. That he trusted her in so far as she’d agreed to be his BDSM slave for three weeks, and in that role she wouldn’t raise a hand against him.

She could hear his footsteps on the stairs as she slid naked onto the bed.

Through the open door she glimpsed his shoes, then his legs. More and more of him came into view as she knelt and spread her knees.

His hard-soled shoes hit concrete and she raised her chin, perfectly submissive except for her failure to lower her gaze.

Alexander stepped into the room.

“Good afternoon, Master Alexander.”

The change in verbiage was a choice, a strategy to hopefully shield her from some of the emotional pain she’d felt last night. In Vienna he’d been “Sir.”

Here he would be “Master Alexander.”

She saw the surprise on his face before his expression became suspicious and closed down.

It made sense that he would be suspicious. She would be in his place.

She wished this was the first move in some new game strategy she’d concocted since she’d seen him last. That would be far less pathetic than the thoughts that were actually running through her mind.

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