Her skin burned against mine, and with one last lap of her earlobe I growled, “In this chamber, you’re mine. What I want you do, your body I own, until you tell me what I want to know.”

She inhaled a shaky breath. Turning her head until her mouth was at my ear, she whimpered, “No. I beg you…”

She’d barely made a sound, but excitement raced through my veins as that plea filled the quiet room.

“You beg me what?” I probed.

Turning my head, I watched as her eyes squeezed shut and she simply repeated, “I beg you … no.” Her face contorted.

The ache built back in my chest and swelled to take root in my stomach when her hand suddenly ran down my chest. Slowly. Softly. My breathing paused as I searched her eyes wondering why. But I couldn’t read her. Couldn’t read her as tears filled her eyes and her finger ran just underneath my collar. The collar that now had her attention.

I frowned as that unknown feeling almost had me jumping back off the bed. She was touching me softly. Me, the Mistress’s ugly beast. Me, the Russian bringer of death. It was impossible; Mistress made this face to keep all females but her away, so she would own me completely. But that fucking ache wouldn’t go at the thought that the little Georgian wasn’t seeing the scars. She was somehow seeing the forgotten me living underneath the beast’s scars.

No! I snapped at myself. You’re wrong. You’ve hurt her. She only sees you as you are—an evil killer. This isn’t real. This is only her fear taking hold. You’re her torturer.

I gritted my teeth, pissed at my stupid thoughts, and pushed myself to keep going with the plan. Rearing my face back until it was hovering above hers, I asked, “Who is Zaal Kostava to you?”

A single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, but steeling her expression, she said, “I know no one by that name.”

Her dark eyes pierced through me as I studied her pretty, delicate face. Nodding my head, I slid down her body, my lips dragging along her flesh. Stopping just before I met her pussy, I lifted off her body. I couldn’t help but lick my lips and plant my palms on her tiny waist, then run my hands along her silky skin.

She was too fucking beautiful.

Lifting my hands, I held one out to her and with a harsh glare silently commanded her to do as ordered. She lifted herself from the bed and, trembling, placed her tiny hand in mine. For a second I stared at the sight of her palm on my palm. Her thin fingers looked lost in my rough and callused hand; the feel of a warm hand shot a slice of pain through my stomach.

Her hand flinched, bringing me back to my plan. Wrapping my fingers around hers, I pulled her from the bed and guided her to the wall.

Turning round, I placed my hands on her shoulders and guided her back against the wall. Her face wore a nervous expression as I ordered, “Do not move!” The female stood against the wall, her small frame looking lost against the matte black background. Moving to a chest in the corner of the room, I opened the top and pulled out the leather padded cuffs. Carrying them back to where she waited, I bent down. Taking the ankle cuffs, I gently wrapped one around each ankle. Standing up, I took the wrist cuffs and did exactly the same with her wrists.

Gathering both of her wrists in one of my hands, I guided them above her head, and with my free hand I ran my finger slowly down her waist, leaning in to ask, “Do they hurt, kotyonok?”

At that name—kitten—slipping from my lips, she winced, but when I tilted my head to the side, waiting for her answer, she shook her head.

I caught her briefly staring intently at my identity number on my chest. When she realized I was watching her, she tore her gaze away. I frowned but kept going.

152 needed me to keep going.

Placing my finger and thumb on her chin, I bent my legs until my gaze poured into hers and instructed, “You answer me from now on, kotyonok.”

The little Georgian nodded her head obediently. My eyes narrowed in confusion at her sudden compliance. When I let my confusion show in my expression, she nodded and answered, “Yes. I’ll answer you.”

Shock rushed through me. I didn’t understand why she was suddenly agreeing to my commands when she had resisted my every move up until now. I also couldn’t work out the look on her face. The sadness etched in her features. Like she was suddenly seeing me differently. Like something had made her see me as someone new.

She watched me, waiting for my response. I pushed away my inner thoughts and pressed my forehead against hers. “Good little Georgian kotyonok.”

She inhaled a long breath and closed her eyes. Stepping back, I reached up and snapped the cuff’s hook into the chains hanging from above. Her arms hung in the air, her firm tits pushing out from her arched chest.

I repeated the action with the ankle shackles, then moved to the pulley farther along the wall. I held the lever until her arms and legs were pulled tight. A small surprised cry left her lips as her body spread against the wall.

Locking the pulley in place, I walked slowly back in front of her and, making sure her eyes were on me, hooked my hands in the sides of my sweatpants. I inched them down my hips, all the time scorching her with my glare. Her eyelids fluttered and her hands balled into fists above the tight cuffs.

My cock twitched under that unknown attentive stare. Muscles tensing, I lowered the sweatpants to the floor and kicked them away.

Straightening up, I met her stare again and rolled my neck. I could feel the tip of my cock hitting my lower torso. More important, I could see the red flush covering the female’s body. As I edged closer, her breathing became erratic. Running my hand through my hair, purposely flexing my broad chest, I landed right in front of her.

Her mouth was parted as I stared. Her arms pulled on the chains, and her legs shook. Reaching up, I tugged on a chain and, with my face just inches from hers, whispered, “You’re trapped, kotyonok. You’re all mine.” A small breath of air fell from her lips.

Pushing my torso against hers, the hard bullets of her nipples scraped across my chest. I brushed her long hair from her face and asked, “Have you ever been touched?” She shook under my hand, and I added, “Have you ever been touched by a male?”

Nothing was forthcoming, so I dropped my hand until it landed on her nipple, where I rolled it between my finger and thumb. She cried out, her voice breaking with the shock. Releasing the nipple, I softly massaged her tit. As I slipped my thigh in between her legs, my cock pulsed when she gasped.

“Kotyonok, do you remember what I said about answering me?”

She wordlessly nodded. I pushed my thigh forward, brushing the hard muscle up against her clit. The Georgian cried out, her back arching off the wall. I momentarily gritted my teeth at the feel of her on my thigh. It felt so different from Mistress. It felt good.

“I said, do you remember what I said about answering me?”

I lifted my thigh, building pressure on her clit, when she cried out, “Yes! I remember.” She breathed hard and fought to look me in the eyes, “I remember,” she affirmed.

Withdrawing my thigh, I palmed her tit in my hand, and said, “Then tell me, my kotyonok, who is Zaal Kostava to you?”

Her body stilled and her face blanked. “Nothing. That name means nothing to me.”

My hand froze as yet another lie came from her lips, yet my nostrils flared.

Flared because I knew the little Georgian’s body was now mine.

8

ZOYA

It’s to help him, I told myself. I was letting him. I was submitting to him to help him.

It was clear to me now that something or someone was driving him to do this to me. Just like my brothers had had someone controlling them. As he fed me, as he brought me down from the ropes, I saw the regret in his eyes. I saw a brief flash of tenderness in his gaze.

And all I could think of was my brothers. How I hadn’t been able to save them. How they may have been forced to do something like this man was being forced with me. And because of that, something inside of me called me to save him.

Save him like I couldn’t save my brothers.

The tattoo on his chest kept pulling my attention. It was numerical, like an ID. That, with the collar, made my veins fill with ice. I didn’t know what was happening, who he was, who he worked for, but I knew it couldn’t be good.