Page 31 of Split

When I spot the massive doors for the old ballroom, I decide it’s my best bet. It’s one of the many forgotten rooms in the manor, so it probably wouldn’t even occur to Roman to look inside. I grasp for the cold knob of one of the heavy wooden doors, pulling it open, ducking in, and closing it quietly behind me.

My heart pounds as I sag back against the door, pressing a palm to my chest in an effort to calm the erratic beat. Theminutes seem to stretch on for an eternity as I stand there with my back pressed to the wood, until finally, my pulse slows, my breathing returning to normal.

Then I hear footsteps out in the hall.

My pulse takes off at a gallop, my breath stalling in my lungs as I listen to the familiar clip of Roman’s shoes against the floor outside the door. The sound draws closer, and I don’t move a muscle, holding my breath until it sounds like he’s right on the opposite side.

The knob doesn’t turn. The door doesn’t open. He doesn’t even pause– just continues on down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps receding into the distance. Only when I can barely hear them anymore do I finally dare to exhale, hugging my book tightly to my chest as I suck in greedy gulps of oxygen.

Shit, that was close.

After calming myself down, I wait a good ten minutes while listening to the continued silence in the hallway before making a move. My hand trembles as I turn and reach for the brass doorknob, twisting it in my grip and slipping out of the ballroom into the vacant corridor. Remaining alert, I tiptoe toward the front of the house. There’s no sign of my husband, but that doesn’t mean he’s given up his hunt. I just have to be careful not to get ensnared by him before I can make it upstairs to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

The grandfather clock chimes to announce the time, startling me into picking up my pace. I’m almost to the stairs when I round a corner and a hand suddenly darts out to grip me by the throat, slamming me up against the wall. My book clatters to the floor as I stare back at Roman wide-eyed, fear suffocating my lungs.

“Playing games now, pet?” he murmurs, his palm tightening against my windpipe as he crowds in closer, his massive build caging me against the wall.

My hands instinctively fly up to claw at his grip on my throat, my lungs burning with the need for oxygen. “Let me go,” I choke out.

“Now why would I do that when I just caught you?” he mocks, a savage grin stretching his lips. “I didn’t know you like games.” He leans in, running his nose along my jawline and inhaling deeply. “I could fuck you right here, you know. Hard and fast, up against the wall…”

What little breath I have left catches, a traitorous pulse thrumming between my thighs in response to his threat. His grin widens, almost as if he’s picked up on it.

“Would you like that, Eliza?” he drawls, alleviating some of the pressure restricting my air so I can respond. He doesn’t let go entirely– his hand still circles my throat possessively, the other shifting up to grip my hip and pull the lower half of my body flush against his.

“No,” I rasp, even though I’m aware it’s not the answer he’s seeking. Even though part of me wants to say yes and just get this over with.

“You sure?” he questions, cocking his head slightly as his palm slides up the curve of my waist. “I could make it good for you.” His hand roams higher and he thumbs my nipple. “Providing you behave yourself, of course.”

The needy throb between my legs intensifies, labored breaths sawing from my lungs and my nipples hardening into stiff points. Roman pinches one between his fingers, a smirk curling his lips when a little whine escapes my own.

“Is it so hard to admit what you really want?” he taunts, shoving a knee between my thighs. The friction against my center sends a shockwave through my body, my head falling back and smacking against the wall.

I stare into Roman’s eyes breathlessly, tongue-tied and trapped in the unwavering intensity of his gaze. I couldn’t replyeven if I wanted to, but my lack of response doesn’t seem to deter him. He shifts his hand from my throat, winding a strand of my blonde hair around his finger. “Such a pretty little pet,” he murmurs thoughtfully, wetting his lips with his tongue. “I can’t wait to hear you purr for your master when I’m deep inside you.” I gasp as he yanks the strand sharply, little pinpricks of pain breaking out over my scalp. “Or scream. I’ll bet you scream beautifully, don’t you, darling?”

It's like I’m having an out of body experience, knowing I shouldn’t want this monster anywhere near me, yet inexplicably craving his touch. His filthy words set off a fission of heat in my core, spreading through my veins like wildfire as he adjusts his knee between my thighs. The friction is glorious, and I’m far too tempted to grind down and chase more of it.

“Mr. Volkov?” Clara’s voice rings out from the back of the house.

Roman darts an annoyed glance in the direction of the sound, and the moment our eye contact breaks, I’m plunged back into reality.

This is wrong. I don’t want it.

His eyes return to mine, and I gaze into them pleadingly. “Please just let me go,” I whisper.

My husband smirks as he releases his hold on me, rocking back a step and straightening his shirt cuffs nonchalantly. “To be continued,” he remarks, abruptly turning on a heel and walking away, leaving me panting against the wall in a daze.

It takes a few seconds to get my wits about me again. Once I’m able to compose myself, I push off from the wall, scoop my book up off the floor, and make a mad dash for the foyer, racing up the stairs.

It isn’t until I’m safely inside my bedroom that some of the tension finally drains from my muscles, though that fluttery, desperate feeling still lingers in my core. Heading straight forthe en-suite bathroom, I strip out of my clothes and turn on the shower. My skin feels like it’s burning everywhere that Roman touched me, so I set the temperature to cold.

The frigid water shocks my system the moment I step beneath the spray. I suck in a sharp gasp, curling in on myself, but even as the cold saturates my skin, that hot, needy pulse is still throbbing between my thighs. It’s so relentless that I slip a hand between them to alleviate the ache, gently stroking the fire to life as my fingers find my clit.

The encounter with Roman in the corridor replays in my mind as my fingers dance– the weight of his body against mine; the danger in his eyes as he pinned me against the wall. My fingers move faster while the words he spoke echo in my ears like a soundtrack to my own demise.

‘I could fuck you right here, you know.’

My thighs tremble as the coil in my belly winds tighter.

---