Page 22 of Mistaken
A dark little smile moves over his stupid, gorgeous face and it’s creeping me out. “Well, Ella, I needed someone beautiful, but I also needed an intelligent, well-educated wife who could handle the stress and intensity of being a Bratva bride. You check all those boxes. You have… hidden depths. So intriguing.”
“There’s no intrigue, Maksim, none here.” Yeah, I’m taking my chance on an escape to the hallway.
An expensively suited arm slams the door shut before I can slip through. “Oh, Ella. Did I ever tell you what happens to people who lie to me?”
I’m squished between him and the door. “Another trip through the forest, Maksim?”
“Well, Ella,” he drawls, throwing me over his expensively suited shoulder like I’m no heavier than one of the throw pillows that goes flying when he dumps me on the bed. “If you were a man, I’d shoot you in the head. Or, torture you first, depending on whether I needed to make an example of you. But in the Morozov Bratva, we have rules, standards. One is that we don’t kill women unless their crime is unforgivable.”
I shriek and start thrashing again as he yanks up the back of my dress. I’m wearing more of that flossy, fancy lingerie since I don’t have any of my nice, sensible cotton undies. These, as I recall, were nearly transparent and the heat from his palm radiates right through them.
“But I think a good spanking is a start.”
Remembering that the man’s hand is the size of a dinner plate, I thrash harder under the first explosion of pain on my ass. “Stop it! I’m not a toddler and I’m not one of your- OW! Maksim, you cut this out!”
“That’s ten more.” This time I scream because his hand lands across both cheeks and directly over the flaming mark of his last slap.
“I hate you!” I scream as loud as I can. “I hate your stupid penthouse and your stupid wedding dresses and your stupid Bratva!”
He paused for a moment, I could feel his hand hovering over my blazingly painful ass, and then a low chuckle. “Oh, Ella. You’re going to pay for that.” I can feel him tear my poor, pathetic undies right off me and his hand slams down again. And again, and again. Every time I think I’ve fought my way off his lap, his leg or arm slams over me and I’m trapped again. I have no idea how long this lunatic Russian keeps spanking me, but my entire bottom half is finally numb.
I hadneverbeen spanked. Not even as a child, my parents were anti-corporal punishment and this was unspeakable. Women got off on this? Seriously? Because I’m as limp as a flounder and crying when he lays me out, face down on the bed. Then something cool is sliding over my fiery skin and my weeping subsides enough for a groan of relief to come through. Then another streak of cooling comfort, and another, and I realize he’s stroking his tongue along the marks he made. I feel him slide a pillow under my hips, raising me up, and then-
“Wait! You just- you stop that!” But, he doesn’t. Maksim pushed my legs apart, held open by his broad shoulders and his mouth is on me, his tongue sliding up and down my center, pausing to pull one of my rapidly swelling lips into his mouth for a bite that is just hard enough to make me screech again.
“Be quiet,plokhaya devochka.”He’s talking, face buried against my pussy, I can feel his mouth moving as he scolds me. “I can make you hurt, and I can make you feel better, you’ll be wise to remember that.” His tongue gets back to work, sliding in and out of my passage, circling my clitoris as I angrily try to pull away from him.
“If you move again, I’m binding you to the headboard with my tie.”
Before I can yell at him, Maksim’s finger slides inside me as his lips fasten onto my swollen clit and hepulls.He pulls and I come, shrieking, kicking, shaking…
What the hell was that?I thought, dazed and pissed off.How could I come that hard? I hate this man and want him to die!
Abruptly, his weight is off me and he runs his knuckles up my spine. “Go take a shower. I’ll leave some cream to rub on your bruised little ass. Unless you’d like me to put it on for you?”
I roll away from him and off of the bed with a thump. Right on my butt. Which makes me strangle my scream. Maksim is straightening his tie in the mirror, looking completely unaffected. As I’m weaving unsteadily towards the bathroom, he calls out, “We’re taking my family out to dinner. Be ready in an hour. Wear something green, I like you in that shade.”
It was right then that I vowed I was going to kill this man. No matter what it took.
Chapter 9 - My Little Sun
In which Ella endures Satan’s Spa Day, a murderous carpool buddy, and the wedding of everyone else’s dreams.
Maksim…
I’m certain I can actually smell the hate that is radiating from my blushing bride.
I’d spanked Ella that afternoon because I could see that she was withdrawing, curling inside herself. I’d seen it before, captives or hostages who simply checked out. I already knew that she operated better from rage than fear.
Dinner at the exceptionalLe Bernardin was desirable and expensive enough for my mother.
They had offered both Royal Osetra and Golden Imperial caviars, so I knew she was pleased. She was moodily nursing an after-dinner tea while watching Ella chat with my sisters. My fiancée started the meal coldly furious, wincing subtly every time she adjusted her position, but by the cheese course, she was giggling at a story Ekaterina was sharing about a disastrous college tour.
I ran my finger over my lower lip. I’d not seen my sisters this animated and chatty for a long time, and it was clear Ella drew it out of them. This, of course, was lowering her even further in my mother’s view. Yuri leaned across the table, watching the exchange and then winking at me.
“There are times I doubt you, brother,” he murmured low enough to escape our mother’s notice. “But she is clearly one of your better ideas.” He watched as she flinched slightly, as she moved her chair a bit closer to Ekaterina’s. She glanced over at us as she did, eyes narrowed and alight like the fires of hell. Yuri hurriedly picked up his drink, chuckling behind it. “Weren't you supposed to be winning her over with your charm?”
“What makes you think I’m not?” I haughtily defended myself.
