Page 70 of Bound By Hate (Born in Blood)

I swallow hard.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he says. “You’ve never been touched before.”

“How do you know? I may have had many lovers.”

“You could have. But you never did. Why is that?”

“Ballet was my life. Nothing else mattered. Still doesn’t.”

“Not even love?”

I huff. “I don’t love you. I’ll never love you.”

He smiles before saying, “Fine. Not love. Then how about lust?” His hand moves upward to my thigh. I press my knees together. They’re not as bony as before. It’s a good feeling.

“Lust was never important to me. There was no time for lust when I spent most of my day dancing. Training to be the best.”

“That must have been a lonely life.”

“I had my sisters with me.”

“The sisters you don’t always get along with,” he says.

“Does that matter? I wasn’t lonely.”

“You weren’t?”

His question hits me. Was I lonely? No. Ballet was everything to me.

“I could never be lonely with ballet.” That’s the truth. At least … that’s what I believe. I have to believe it because, otherwise, Aleksander will be right, and I cannot stand for that.

“That’s a little sad, isn’t it? Ballet can’t replace real human touch.” His hand slips to my inner thigh. I could smack his hand away, but I don’t. I’m not even sure why I don’t.

I just remain still.

“Maybe not. But it filled me with happiness. I don’t think you’ll ever fill me with happiness.”

He smirks. “I can fill you with something else.”

It takes me a moment to realize he made a dirty joke, which brings me back to my night with Akim. That man was vulgar and crass and wanted to hurt me in ways I’m not sure I can even imagine.

The feel of Aleksander’s hand on my leg only reminds me I’m at his mercy. If he wanted to take me right now and rip my virginity from me, he could.

I sit back and grab his hand, practically throwing it at him. “I’m not interested in being treated like a common whore. I am Viktoriya Morozova. I deserve more respect than this.”

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He sounds sincere, but how sincere can he really be? Aleksander is a Bratva man. They’re all cut from the same cloth.

They’re all bad men.

“Well, you did. Keep your hands to yourself. I’m still hurting from my rib.” The urge to throw up hits me all over again. It would be so easy to do—to regain control over myself.

“Before you leave,” he says, “just know I have no interest in treating you like a whore. I just want you to experience the pleasure I can give you.”

I stand up. “I never asked for you to show me pleasure.” I start walking away when he speaks again.

“Lonely, indeed.”

I stop short, taking in his words. I know he’s speaking to me, but I don’t have any rebuttal.

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