Page 21 of Shackled

“Maybe because I have nothing to tell you,” she snaps.

I spread her wide, swallow hard, and lick her again and again until her clit throbs and she’s moaning on the verge of climax. She bites her lip as if holding on for dear life.

“Why are you so afraid of the truth, mi querido jefe? Tell me, Lev. What happened to you?” She grins, her eyes glinting at me dangerously even as they water. “Who hurt you?”

She’s way too in control here. Goddamn, she’s naked and restrained in my basement. I’m the one who’s whipped her, threatened her, and brought her to the edge of climax with no release, yet the seductive purr of her voice and I’m hard as fuck.

Jesus.

I’m done here.

For now.

I’m both frustrated and intrigued by her resilience. I’m wary but curious. How can she stay so in control?

“You’re a fucking liar,” I say. I breathe against the sensitive, damp skin of her inner thighs. I lay the flat of my tongue along the edge, and she tries to roll to me as if silently begging for my tongue where she wants to relieve pressure. I spank her ass and hold her in place. “I am in control of this situation, baby. Me. Not you. You’ll do what I say. And since you haven’t given me any information…” I give her one more stroke of my tongue that makes her quiver before I lean back and stand. “You’ll have to be punished.” I shake my head. “This isn’t over. I will find out everything you know.”

I turn and walk away. I chuckle to myself at the sound of her scream of frustration right before the door to the workout room slams shut.

The woman is a threat, a ticking time bomb that could destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for. I won’t allow that.

She’s maddening… and intriguing. But above all, my duty is to my family.

She will remain a prisoner.

I will break her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Isabella

The door slams shut, and my scream echoes through the dark, damp basement, still tainted with the lingering scent of sweat and iron. My wrists ache from the cold metal of the restraints, but the discomfort fuels my resolve. I refuse to be broken, not by Lev or anyone else.

Minutes pass. Hours. I wait for him and allow myself to imagine what he’s doing. Eating a steak? Watching a football game?

Jerking off to the image of my naked body suspended from his ceiling and the taste of my arousal still on his tongue?

Asshole.

My mouth feels as dry as a desert. I have to pee. He left me throbbing for release and nearly begging. I’m cold, my ass is killing me, and I’m so hungry, I’d eat damn near anything he’d give me, even those gross kholodets they like to eat, some jelly-like, gelatinous delicacy served in Russia.

Okay, maybe I wouldn’t eat that, but I’d stoop damn low right about now.

Ha, who am I kidding? I’ve already stooped lower than I ever thought possible. Chained up in the basement of my enemy, fighting against the man who holds my fate in his hands.

Even if he were to be smacked by some fairy godmother’s stick and he decided to grant me freedom… what he doesn’t know is they wouldn’t take me back. I’m damaged goods now, and my brother’s probably already dancing with glee at his good fortune.Imagine his luck, no need to split our inheritance.

I cannot allow the Romanovs to think they’ve bested me.

This must be on my terms.

I draw in a deep, calming breath. Blink.

Focus.

Hell, I’ve been in worse situations than this. My late father once tried to marry me to a Colombian crime lord. I was fifteen years old, planning my quinceañera, one of the most pivotal events in a young girl’s life as it marks the transition from childhood to adulthood.

Apparently, my father thought that meant it was time to sell and breed me. He and my mother fought. She threw the vase her mother had given her across the room. It shattered into pieces. In response, my father shattered her.

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