Page 25 of Take Me

I imagine him holding me in his arms, peppering soft kisses over my hair, and rocking me with gentle movements of his chest. I imagine that he’s the one who traps my arms against my chest while he fucks me. Sometimes, I’ll even try to convince myself that it’s his basement I’m locked up in and that it’s all just a game.

But even as these thoughts provide momentary relief, they also stir up a wealth of shame and other harrowing emotions. Bringing this dungeon into my fantasy about Nikolai is like blasphemy, and I feel wrong and dirty every time I do. I shouldn’t taint those beautiful memories with thesicknessof this place. And I sure shouldn’t get wet thinking about anything involving this place, but that’s what happens whenever I think about Nikolai. So I try not to imagine that he’s the one holding me trapped here, but sometimes everything is so bleak I need the escape no matter how wrong.

So I let myself go, imagining Nikolai coming down here, stringing me up to the ceiling and having his way with me. Spanking me, fucking me, and taking my breath. Sometimes he’s sweet about it, sometimes rough. Either way, it always gets me soaking wet, and I find myself straining to reach between my legs. But the chain won’t allow it.

It’s almost a relief, not having to deal with the shame of rubbing myself to an orgasm in this place. But at the same time, it’s a special kind of torture, not being able to find relief from the intense pounding at my core.

It feels like I’ve barely been here for a week when Mikhail discovers my dirty little secret.

I’m far off in dreamland, thinking about how Nikolai choked me and made me come, when Mikhail comes in with the second bowl of kasha of the day. He studies me with narrowed eyes as he sits down in front of me, about to remove the mittens. But he changes his mind, picks the bowl back up, and scoops up a spoonful of porridge that he holds to my mouth.

“Can I please eat on my own?” I ask.

“Open,” he demands with a sharp tone.

Casting my eyes down, I part my lips, shame heating my cheeks as I succumb to another degradation. The only plus is that the embarrassment might hide the fact that my cheeks were already rosy when he came in. But I think he has already noticed. Every time I peer up at him, he has this look like he’s privy to some dirty secret of mine.

Once the bowl is empty, he shoves the blanket in my lap aside. “Spread your legs.” He slaps my thighs to make me open up for him, and I bite down on my molars as I see the stickiness glistening on my inner thighs.

Suspicion knits his brows as he pulls at my wrists to test how far down I can reach. But they don’t go farther than my waist—not even when he bends me into an awkward position.

Grabbing my cheeks, he spears me with a stern look. “What have you been rubbing yourself on?”

“No—nothing,” I stammer as fear rushes through me and collides with my embarrassment.

“Then why are you wet like ashlyukha?”

“I don’t know.”

He searches my face for an answer, and then a slow smile spreads across his features as he grabs the chain and tugs, making me jerk from the force. “You like this?”

“No,” I deny.

He tugs a few more times, jerking me back and forth, easily taking control of my body.

Heat spreads to my core, sending more moisture between my legs. I can’t help it—I simply can’t. Being tied up and helpless has always been a fantasy of mine. Apparently, it doesn’t matter how or with whom it happens.

I lower my head to hide the shame, but Mikhail won’t allow it. Grabbing my chin, he forces me to face him as he gathers the chain links in his hand, pulling my hands up to the collar.

“Try to bring them back down,” he challenges, and when I shake my head, he lowers his voice to a dangerous command. “Do it.”

I give my wrists a tug. No give.

“Harder,” he growls.

I try again, a little harder. When it still doesn’t work, I put in more strength until livid energy pulsates through me as I jerk and writhe against his unbreakable grip.

I’m determined not to let him win, and I keep yanking until my breath is stuttering past my lips with heavy pants. Even so, I continue, pulling my legs out from under me to kick at him, twisting my lower body as I groan with the effort. But no matter what I do, my hands remain in place, caught by a single hand.

He just sits there, staring at me with hard eyes. Not even a bated breath reveals a little effort.

It’s devastating. But as I keep struggling, the devastation morphs into something else. I’m not sure when or how the change happens, but when Mikhail moves his free hand between my legs to stroke my inner thighs, my skin hums beneath his touch.

“You like to struggle.” He flicks a finger through my pussy lips, and I freeze on the mattress as I realize just how soaked I am. My breaths crash in and out through my mouth as I stare at him in horrified silence.

He slides his finger a bit farther in, and I can’t help the moan that slips from my mouth. I press my lips shut as mortification tightens my muscles. But I lose control when he shoves two long digits straight into me.

“Aah.” I buck over his hand as electricity shoots through my body.

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