Page 62 of Kings of Violence

I swallow hard, shaking my head again. “Please, Nikolai, I’m sorry.”

Nikolai scoffs and turns me around to face the mirror. He reaches around to squeeze my breast. His jeans rub against my exposed ass. “Lean over the sink,” he orders me, and I brace myself for what I’m sure is going to be a brutal fuck. I’m not even slightly aroused, and this promises to be painful.

Someone knocks on the bathroom door, and I startle, butNikolai shoves me toward the long counter with three sinks. It’s clean, somehow, for being a relatively public space. Of course, this building was only constructed a few years before I’d started, and the university still prides itself on looking brand new.

The things I notice when I don’t want to think of the inevitable…

The knock happens again, and Nikolai shouts, “Ocupado, asshole!” He places his hand between my legs and pushes, forcing me to spread wider.

The person at the door seems to finally take the hint, and everything goes silent again — silent but for Nikolai’s breathing, which is growing faster.

My ass ends up in the air, and he pushes me onto the counter. I yelp, but he ignores it.

“You’re lucky I’m not doing this on a bench out there for everyone to see,” he growls. “You’d deserve it.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I protest.

“You were rude and ungrateful,” he informs me, which surprises a bark of laughter from me. He obviously doesn’t like that because his hand comes down hard on my ass.

I squeak, the laughter forgotten, and he spanks me again like I’m a naughty child. “Ow!” I complain by the fifth swat. “Nikolai, come on. I’m sorry.”

It’s his turn to laugh, an ugly, almost hateful sound. I remind myself to never make fun of his accent — or lack thereof — again. His Russian or not so Russian heritage is clearly a sore spot for him. Of course. I should’ve known that.

“Your ass is going to look great all in red,” Nikolai says with a rough growl. “It’ll match your hooker heels.”

Those ugly fucking heels. I don’t want to think of them, and I don’t want to think of another photo session like the one before. I’d look much better in the leather Yuri had gotten for me, but I’m not going to tell Nikolai that right now.

I want nothing to do with his photo shoots.

I want nothing to do with him.

Nikolai’s hand comes down onto my ass over and over, untiltears fill my eyes and I fight not to let them fall. I don’t want him to know that I’m in pain.

I’m keenly aware of the brand on my chest, which is hidden beneath my shirt, thank fuck. But it reminds me that I belong to him, tothem, and I can’t do a damn thing about this except take it.

I’d promised to behave, though what that means… I’m not even sure anymore.

It’s like a game, where they let me have just enough rope to hang myself with.

He grabs me by the hair, fisting it as he pushes my head down and my ass higher in the air. He pulls my jeans down more, and I’m bare down to my ankles as he spreads my legs even wider.

The first spank to my pussy comes as a shock, and I jolt. The cry that escapes me is more out of surprise than anything else, but when he manages to land another strike there, it’s because it hurts. He can’t do much from this angle, but as I stare down into the sink with my nose only an inch or so away from the bottom, he still continues to take out his aggression on me.

This is painful and humiliating. I half-wonder if James was the lesser of two evils.

Not that it matters. I don’t have a choice anymore.

The next time his hand lands on my pussy, it stays there, rubbing against my heated folds.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Nikolai murmurs. His fingers get between my folds and thrust back and forth. After a few seconds of that, he teases my hole, sticking two fingers in and rubbing more forcefully. “Getting wet, too. You liked being spanked, zaya?”

“No,” I whimper. My ass is on fire. At the same time, my body is reacting to his touch.

I don’t know how I can get hot from his touch seconds after he punished me for an offense that I hadn’t even realized I was committing.

“I think you’re lying,” he says. He stops touching me abruptly, and I hear his zipper go down.

Fuck. I’m not wet enough for this. Not that he cares, because in seconds, his jeans are around his ankles, and he’s ignoring yetanother knock on the door as he starts to force his way into me. It’s not easy; I’m not ready. But he’s insistent, even reaching around to squeeze my nipples through my shirt and surprising a gasp out of me as he twists them.

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