Page 30 of Captured By the Russian Wolf

"Do you like it here?" he asked, his tone casual, but there was an edge to his voice that sent a chill down my spine.

"It's beautiful," I replied, my voice tight. "Very peaceful."

He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. "I thought we could use some time alone. To talk."

My heart pounded in my chest, the guilt surging inside me like a tidal wave. I couldn't do this. I couldn't keep lying to him, pretending that everything was fine when I was planning to leave. But I couldn't tell him the truth, either. If I did, it would destroy him. It would destroy both of us.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Nikita set his glass down on the table, stepping closer to me. "Us."

The word hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. My chest tightened, and I took a step back, needing space, needing air. But there was no escape. I was trapped. Trapped in this house, trapped in my lies, trapped in my feelings for him. Feelings I wasn't supposed to have.

"Nikita, I…" I started, but the words caught in my throat.

He raised a hand, silencing me. "I know something's been bothering you," he said quietly, his voice low and intense. "I can feel it. The distance between us. The tension."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He knew. He knew something was wrong. The way he was looking at me, the way his voice had that dangerous edge—it was clear he was waiting for me to slip.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, but even I didn't believe that.

Nikita's gaze darkened, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker behind his cold eyes—something dangerous. His jaw tightened, and without warning, he grabbed my arm, his grip firm and unyielding. Panic shot through me as he pulled me closer, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to make me wince.

"What are you doing?" My voice trembled, but I tried to mask the fear creeping up my spine.

Nikita said nothing, his expression hard and unforgiving. His silence was more terrifying than words, and I could feel the shift in the air between us—the crackling tension that had been simmering for days finally reaching its breaking point.

I tugged against his grip, but it was useless. He wasn't letting go. My heart raced as he dragged me toward the stairs, his pace quick and determined. The house felt colder now, the shadows on the walls stretching and twisting as we ascended to thesecond floor. My mind raced, a thousand questions swirling, but I couldn't find the strength to ask any of them. All I could focus on was the growing fear—the realization that something had changed in him.

He pushed open a door, revealing a bedroom. The room was dark, the bed large and imposing, the walls lined with heavy curtains that blocked out the outside world. I stumbled inside as he shoved me forward, my pulse quickening as the door slammed shut behind us.

"Nikita," I breathed, panic creeping into my voice. "Answer me."

He didn't, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. There was something possessive in his gaze, something raw and primal. It wasn't just anger—it was something deeper, something I couldn't quite understand.

The chill of the room pressed around me as Nikita closed the distance between us, his presence dark and overpowering. His expression was unreadable, but there was something dangerous in the way he moved, in the way his gaze burned into mine. My pulse quickened as I stood frozen, unable to escape the weight of his intensity. His silence was suffocating, each second stretching as I waited for him to say something—anything.

But he didn't. He didn't need to.

Before I could react, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist in a punishing hold. His fingers dug into my skin, the pressure making me wince as he yanked me closer. I gasped, my heart racing as I stumbled forward, but his grip remained firm, unrelenting. His eyes never left mine, devoid of any softness, as he moved us toward the bed with brutal efficiency.

"Nikita—" I started, my voice trembling with both fear and anticipation.

My heart pounded as I tried to keep up with him, my legs barely moving fast enough as his hand guided me with a force that left no room for resistance. I stumbled against the edge of the bed, and before I could catch myself, Nikita shoved me down, his strength overpowering me in an instant.

I fell back onto the mattress with a soft cry, my body sinking into the plush covers as he towered over me. He grabbed my other wrist and yanked it toward the bedpost with brutal force. I barely had time to process what was happening before he pulled a length of rope from his pocket and tied my wrists, one after the other, to the bedposts with quick, decisive movements.

The rough fibers of the rope bit into my skin, the pressure intense as I struggled against the bindings. But it was useless. The knots were too tight, leaving me completely helpless beneath him.

"Nikita… what are you doing?" I whispered, my voice shaking. But my body. My body was such a traitor.

He ignored me. His cold eyes locked onto mine as he finished securing the ropes. There was no hesitation in his movements, no gentleness. Only raw power. Only control.

He stood back for a moment, his gaze roaming over me like a predator assessing its prey. The weight of his stare was crushing, and I felt my breath quicken, my chest rising and falling rapidly as panic surged through me. But beneath the fear, excitement raced through me. Anticipation.

He reached for the hem of my shirt with both hands, then the sound of ripping fabric filled the room as it yielded to his strength. He didn't stop tearing at my shirt until it was a mess of useless shreds at either side of my body. Next, he got to work freeing my breasts, pulling them halfway out of the cups of my bra. It felt more humiliating than just having them completely bare.

My skin prickled in the cool air, exposed and vulnerable, and I shivered as his eyes darkened, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. I struggled against the ropes, but it was futile. He gave me a sharp look. It pinned me in place, more ruthless than the bindings that held me to the bed. He didn't need to speak. I could see the intent in his eyes, the dark hunger that radiated off him in waves.

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