With Mina tucked against my side, I walk us out. I’m a cesspool of conflicting emotions. I’m boiling with rage, yet my relief is so huge it makes me shake in the aftermath of my fear, of eleven long hours of the worst torture of my life.
My steps match my fury. Mina battles to keep up with her shorter legs. She’s practically running next to me, but I don’t slow down. Tightening my fingers on her hip, I fish my phone from my pocket and call Anton to let him know he can drive back to Prague.
“What about you?” he asks.
“We’ll catch the next flight.”
I enter the nearest hotel—a two-star, rundown place—and pay cash for a room. The wooden stairs creak under my shoes as I drag Mina up the two flights to a room with a bed, chair, and dresser. Nothing more. The wallpaper is orange and flaking. The walls must be paper thin, but I don’t care. I pull her with me to the bed, sit down, and drape her face-down over my lap.
She cranes her neck to look back at me. “What are you doing?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to speak?”
“Yan.”
Gripping the elastic of her sweatpants, I pull it with her panties over her thighs, exposing her tight ass. Perfectly rounded. The skin is pearly, soft. I stroke my palm over the curves because I need to feel her. I need the confirmation that she’s here.
“You ran from me, Mina.”
“I didn’t—”
“Quiet. I didn’t tell you to speak.”
She shuts up at my tone.
I caress her globes gently, squeezing the toned flesh. “What did I tell you?”
Now she’s quiet. Now that I’m asking her a question.
“I’ll remind you.” I drag my hand down her thigh and between her legs. “I told you not to test me.”
Biting her lip, she just looks at me.
I outline her folds with a finger. She’s dry. “You’re giving me no choice.” I have to make good on my word.
When the first slap falls on the underside of her ass, she starts to struggle. I press a hand on her nape, feeling the small lump where the tracker is buried under her skin, knowing it will never be enough. Nothing can ever be enough.
Smack!
She cries out.
I can’t lose her again. I fucking hate the feeling.
Smack!
Her back hollows.
Smack!
Another smothered cry.
I don’t hit her hard enough to bruise, only to leave a red imprint of my hand. I cover every inch of that snow-white skin until her ass is as pink as a rose. She’s not crying, not that I expected her to. She’s a killer. A soldier. She’s gone through much worse. But I know it hurts. The heat seeps from her red skin into my palm as I rub her globes slowly. She squirms. The caress is painful on her smarting ass. Still, it’s not enough to settle the hell she put me through.
Flipping her around, I stand with her in my arms. I’m not gentle when I dump her on the bed. I don’t look at her face as I yank her sweater and T-shirt over her head, and rip off her bra. I don’t look into her eyes because I don’t want to do it. Not like this. But she left me no choice.
I finish undressing her. My command is curt, humiliating, something aimed at a pet, not an equal. “Stay.”
She flinches.
Going through the room, I find nothing that can serve as restraints. The threadbare towels will have to do. I twist the biggest one like a rope, lift her arms above her head, and bind her wrists to the headboard. She watches me as I work. She’s quiet, but her eyes glint with her own anger.
I test the knot, then spread her legs. “Don’t move.”
She continues to watch me silently as I undress and climb between her legs.
“This is how you want it?” I position my cock at her entrance. “Like it was in Colombia?”
Her reply is soft. “No.”
“If you run, you tell me otherwise.”
I don’t get her ready. That’s not what this is about. I press the head of my cock at the pink flesh between her legs and part those delicate petals. I’m too thick for her, too angry. Yet her pulse quickens, her breasts heaving with her fast little breaths.
“You want this?” As angry as I am, I’ll stop if she tells me to. Forcing is a line I won’t cross.
Her nod is cryptic.
I grip her hair. “Say it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I need to know. I don’t know what I expect her to say, only that I burn to know why she wants this.
“Does it matter?”
It fucking does. Maybe not to her. To me, nothing has mattered more. “Tell me why.”
Her gaze takes on the steel-blue hue of a winter sky. “Just do it.”
So be it. I do it. I sink into her greedily, selfishly. Violently. Like she asked. As if she’s proving there’s nothing loving about this. It’s savage. It’s unquestionable. It’s a truth, the rawest truth I’ve known. She’s too tight, her flesh unrelenting as I draw back and slam home again, going as deep as I can.
Tears fill her eyes, drowning the gray, softening the steel. I grip the towel around her wrists. I don’t dare sink my fingers into her hips. I’m not leaving marks on her again. Then I move. Savagely. With truth. I take her over and over, thrusting into her body like I’m chasing unobtainable dreams.
Our hips slam together in a rough, punishing rhythm. I don’t take care of her pleasure; I come. Harshly, brutally. I empty myself in her body, filling her up. I leave my mark inside her, and when I’m done, I kiss her. I kiss her hard, smearing the red lipstick over her face. I bite
