Billie and the Russian Beast - Theodora Taylor Page 0,7
she is the wife of Boris Rustanov, one of my cousins. Funny you should mention her because she started off as his pet also.”
“His pet,” I repeat.
“Yes, that is how Rustanovs refer to the women they acquire and keep. Women like you. Do you understand this concept, Princess South Carolina? That for these five days, you will be my pet and I am the man who will train your body to worship my cock?”
Such nasty words delivered in such a casual tone. I should be screaming in horror. But my heart beats faster, and a long-absent desire pools in my lower belly.
I close my eyes briefly, embarrassed that I’m not completely repulsed by him like I was with the football players who tried to come on to me when I was a cheerleader. What is wrong with me?
“The rules are no leaving. No questioning. You obey my every command. Say you understand,” he says, interrupting my guilty thoughts.
His tone is commanding. Also low and dangerous. And for reasons I couldn’t even begin to explain, the lips between my legs tingle with anticipation.
My cheeks light up with flame, but I somehow manage a quick nod.
“No, you will say this out loud.” His voice is a hard, unforgiving thing. “I understand that I am yours to command, Chess. For these five days, I am your pet.”
I swallow, not sure I’m going to be able to get the words out. But I try my best, my voice weak and thin, “I understand that I am yours to command, Cheslav. For these five days, I am your pet.”
The hard planes of his face light up with smug approval. Even though he’s dressed semi-casually, he puts me in mind of a portrait of someone great. A king or a general. Men with the kind of power that makes artists want to paint them.
“As I told you before, my friends call me Chess.”
“I thought I was your pet, not your friend,” I point out, my tone frank and snide.
“You can be both,” he answers, his tone reassuring and cold.
I think about it. Then ask, “Is pretending you’re my friend and calling you Chess part of the deal?”
He regards me for a long, cool second. “No, you may call me as you wish,” he answers. But then his face ices over with cold, hard intention. “Until you wish to call me something else.”
Chapter Five
Technically, I won that fight. But I don’t feel triumphant. Like, at all.
As it turns out, standing across from someone half-naked while he sips on vodka fully clothed really messes with the power dynamics of a conversation. Especially when that someone made you establish that you were little more than an animal at his command before you won one itty-bitty conversational turn.
As if to prove my point, Cheslav says, “Lower your arms and let your shirt drop to the ground. That is command..”
I hesitate.
“No hesitations, my pet. When I give a command, I expect full and immediate submission. Or else, you will be punished for your insubordination.”
Well, that doesn’t sound good…
My body seizes with a new fear. ”I know it’s three hundred thousand dollars, but I don’t want you to hurt me.”
His expression tightens. “I would never hit or do anything to cause you physical harm, krasotka. Please do not ever worry about that.”
There’s no reason for me to believe that after the way he threatened my brother. Yet with his words, the fear for my physical well-being falls away.
I lower my arms and let the tank fall to the ground.
“Keep your arms down at your sides,” he says before I can raise my hands to cover my small breasts.
I try to keep my face composed. Like I’m waiting for another Queen America candidate to answer her question. But it’s not easy.
Even with my eyes averted, I feel his gaze on my body. And that does something to me. Something that makes my entire body swell with desire.
“Your nipples have become little rocks. Are you cold, pet? Should I turn up the heat?”
I don’t answer.
And of course, he says, “When I ask a question, I expect an immediate answer. Or else, you will be punished for your insubordination.”
This time instead of fear, a little shiver runs down my back at the thought of his punishment. Which is not the response I should be having at all.
“No, I’m not cold,” I mumble, deeply embarrassed.
He chuckles. But the sound of his laughter is not warm at all.
Then he says, “Take off these shorts as well. But