Page 12 of Embrace of the Russian Tiger

Her eyes softened slightly, but I could still see the confusion, the lingering fear. I looked at her luscious lips, leaned down and whispered into her ear: “A punishment is coming for you. You disobeyed me. No one disobeys me. No one. Especially not someone like you. Someone I own.” Her hair brushed against my cheek as I spoke into her ear. My cock throbbed with desire; I wanted nothing more than to take her right here, right now. Pull up her skirt and thrust into her. But a proper punishment was in order. This had to be a dish served cold.

Without another word, I turned and walked out of the room, my heart pounding, my mind spinning with thoughts I didn’t want to acknowledge. This was about control. It had always been about control.

CHAPTER 7

Two weeks.

Two long, torturous weeks had passed since that night—since Maxim had threatened me with punishment, his voice low and dangerous. He had beaten that man without hesitation, without mercy, and yet… all I could think about afterward was how much I had wanted him. I was so fucked up. I knew I was.

I hated myself for it. I hated how my body reacted to him, how my mind was constantly filled with thoughts of his touch, his control. Every night since, I had laid in bed replaying his words over and over, my body betraying me as heat pooled low in my belly. As the days passed in silence, my anticipation turned into restlessness. I found myself craving his touch, his control over me. It terrified me more than anything, but deep down, part of me wanted him to come for me. Come and punish me. The toys were not doing it for me anymore. They brought me orgasms, they made me come, but nothing was quite as seductive and exciting as replaying those words he had told me.Punish will come.

I should have been scared. I should have been furious at the way he had taken possession of me, treated me like an object.But instead, I found myself waiting—aching—for him to make good on those words.

And that terrified me more than anything.

But nothing happened. Two weeks passed in silence. I told myself I should be relieved that he hadn’t followed through, that I should use this time to figure out a way to get out from under his control. But deep down, part of me wanted him to come for me.

It was that part of me that kept me up at night, that gnawed at my sanity.

But then, everything changed.

It was the middle of the night when I heard the door of my room creak open. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but when the sound of footsteps filled the silence, my eyes shot open. Shadows loomed over me—two men, their faces stern but not hostile.

"Get dressed," one of them ordered, his voice low and commanding. "Now."

I sat up quickly, my heart pounding in my chest. “What’s happening?” I asked, my voice shaky as I scanned their faces. They didn’t answer. Instead, they placed a black dress on the foot of my bed, simple but elegant. There was no threat in their tone, no malice in their eyes, but the air was thick with authority.

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded, slipping out of bed and into the dress. My fingers shook as I fumbled with the fabric, my mind racing. Once I was dressed, one of the men handed me a black silk blindfold.

“Put this on.”

I swallowed hard, every nerve in my body screaming at me to refuse, to fight back. But the undercurrent of command in their voices left little room for argument. With trembling hands, I tied the blindfold over my eyes, plunging myself into darkness.

The air shifted around me as one of the men pressed something cool into my hand. “Drink,” he said.

I paused for only a second before bringing the glass to my lips, the liquid bitter as it slid down my throat. My head felt light almost instantly, my limbs loosening as I stood there, waiting—unsure of what would come next.

Then, everything went black.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the warmth. Soft, flickering warmth, like candlelight. The second thing I noticed was that I couldn’t move. My wrists were bound, stretched above my head, and my legs were tied apart, spread wide on the bed.

Panic surged through me, but as my eyes fluttered open, they landed on “him”. Maxim. The Russian Tiger, as his men called him.

He was standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes dark and unreadable as they roamed over my body. He wore a white V-neck t-shirt that clung to his broad chest and dark jeans that hung low on his hips. The sight of him sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“Maxim,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “What’s happening?”

He said nothing at first, his gaze heavy, burning into me like a fire I couldn’t escape. He walked slowly around the bed, his movements deliberate, controlled, like a predator circling its prey.

“You disobeyed me, Anna,” he said quietly, his voice low and smooth. “You have forgotten who you belong to.”

My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and something darker, something I didn’t want to admit. “I?—”

“You will learn,” he cut me off, his tone still calm, but there was something dangerous lurking beneath it. “You will learn that your body is mine. That everything you have, everything you are, belongs to me.”

I wanted to protest, to fight against the way he spoke about me like I was his possession. But the words caught in my throat, tangled with the undeniable arousal that had been simmering inside me since that night. How could I fight something I wasn’t even sure I wanted to resist?

As he approached the side of the bed and grazed his fingers over the silk ropes binding me, a mixture of fear and arousal flooded my senses. A gasp escaped my lips as electricity surged through my body, betraying me once again.

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