Page 63 of Tamed Enemy
“You can do this,” I say. But I’m thinking:You can fake.
“You don’t need me.”Just pretend.
“Come,” I say.Fake.
And she breaks.
For just a moment, I think she read my mind, that she heard my private words. But Iknowthe sound of her unraveling. I’ve memorized the way her breath catches at the back of her throat, one note shy of the tears she hates to shed. She throws her head back as if it’s too heavy for her neck, and she spreads her stiffened legs.
Antonov goes down on one knee like an old-time prospector panning for gold. Leaning in close, his fat-padded jaw slack, he studies Kate’s fluttering pussy like he’s earning a degree in gynecology.
I want to break his fucking neck.
Finally, when Kate’s knees have sagged together, when her breath is almost back to normal, when she’s switched off the goddamn vibrator, Antonov lumbers to his feet and shuffles across the stage. Kate stands and—shaking—crosses to my side. My arm comes around her waist, my fingers claiming the bare flesh of her hip.
Rider clears his throat, as if he’s been choking on his tongue. Taking a wad of bills from his breast pocket, he fakes a smile for the crowd and says, “And that’s another way to win a bet.”
Nervous laughter ripples through the crowd. He passes me our money.
Before I can shove it in my pocket, Antonov says, “Another spin.”
“Party’s over,” Rider says.
Antonov moves faster than I ever imagined he could, seizing the wooden chair in his ham-like fists. He raises it over his head and brings it down hard against the edge of the stage, sending splinters flying. Snatching up a broken leg as long his forearm,he shoves the jagged edge against Rider’s jugular and says, “Evgeni Federov wants another spin.”
Women in the audience scream. A couple of men shoulder forward. The club’s trained security guards reach the stage in seconds, but Antonov digs his weapon deeper into Rider’s throat and snarls, “Call them off.”
Rider holds up a hand. His guards step back.
Kate pulls away from me. Hands on hips, cheeks flushed, she faces down the Russian. I know too well the wild defiance in her eyes, the stony jut of her chin. “Fine,” she says, the Irish tight in her voice. “One more spin.”
Antonov tucks his weapon under his arm and straightens Rider’s lapels. When he’s satisfied with his handiwork, he reaches into his pocket and presents another stack of cash.
“Rules,” Antonov says. “Twenty thousand dollars.”
Kate nods. Rider takes the money.
Antonov walks to the wheel. His fingers look like slugs, grabbing onto the edge. Instead of spinning, he marches the wheel forward three careful spaces, stopping on a black wedge.
Cane.
“Special request,” he says. “Three lashes.”
I meet Kate’s gaze. I’ve only caned her once before.Please, she begged me.Please, please, please, please, please.She barely managed to gasp her safeword to save herself.
“Three,” she says now, accepting the terms. Her eyes spark with wildfire.
“Kate—” I start to say.
“Three.”
I can’t manipulate anything about this fucking game. But I’m Kate’s Dom. I can get her through this.
Squinting into the shadows behind the stage, I wait for Rider’s staff to earn their keep. The woman who presented thevibrators minces forward like she’s walking on raw eggs. Her hand shakes as she passes me a bamboo cane.
I flex it, measuring its action. It has a lot of spring. Too much. It will definitely hurt.
As the woman steps back into darkness, she edges around a leather-covered spanking bench.
