Lies of My Monster: A Dark Mafia Romance(36)

She shakes her head, fresh tears rimming her eyes.

“The more you choose him, the meaner I treat you. The harder you defy me, the colder I become. You should know by now that I always, without a doubt, get what I fucking want.”

She lets out a whimper. “Kirill…”

“What? You have that name for me?”

The fucking woman shakes her head and I struggle to remember why she’s not six feet under right now.

“I thought you wanted us to go back to before Russia, but that won’t be possible if you have another fucking man in your heart, Sasha.”

“It’s not…” Her voice is small and shaky. “It’s not a lover…”

“If he’s not, then give me his fucking name.”

“I can’t…” She shudders, and her hips jerk and lift off the bed.

I wrench the toy out. She sobs and screams, her nails digging into the belt’s leather.

Her legs rub together in a hopeless attempt to trigger the orgasm, but nothing comes.

“Do you want to stay tied to my bed for the foreseeable future? Because I can make that happen.”

“Just kill me…” she murmurs through tears. “If you can’t trust me anymore, get rid of me.”

Those words fill my mind with murderous scenarios, but none of them include her.

Only her lover.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I tighten my hold on her neck. “You think you can escape me, Sasha? You think there will be a day when you’ll be out of my sight and back with him? I’ll always find you, and when I do, I’ll kill him right in front of your eyes.”

“Fuck you…” she whispers, and her lids close.

When she fell asleep the previous times, I woke her up with some form of sexual stimulation. I’m still tempted to do that just because she cursed me for threatening her lover.

But I don’t.

One, she’s past her limits.

Two, I can’t guarantee I won’t leave a permanent mark if she continues refusing to tell me the fucker’s name.

I tried finding it on my own, both through Viktor’s investigation of the Belsky Organization and even digging into her past.

I actually did that after she wanted to come with me to New York, but since she’s using a fake last name, it only comes with a fake background that the army believed. Or more like, she bribed her way into the institution, which isn’t a surprise considering her previous rich-lady status.

And that leaves only one way to find out about her lover’s name. Through her.

It’s a problem when she’s completely refusing to cooperate.

I remove the belt from around her wrists and massage the red marks left by the leather.

A soft moan leaves her lips, and my cock hardens to a painful degree. Fuck.

I should’ve fucked her before I came up with this torture method.

Or better yet, fucked her while I tortured her.

I went celibate for months before she came along. Searching for a drama-free hole was a hassle that I didn’t want to take part in unless absolutely necessary.

But being celibate after being in Sasha’s pussy exactly two hundred twenty-seven times has been pure fucking torture.

What? I didn’t mean to count, but I might have grown obsessed with it and done it unconsciously.

My fingers linger on the slits of red on her pale skin. Is it fucked up that I want to put more marks on her so the world can see who she fucking belongs to? Probably.

That doesn’t mean the thought disappears, though.

Her head lolls to the side and falls on my chest. Fucking fuck.

For a second, I forget that I’m mad at this woman. No, mad is an understatement. I’m livid and so close to losing my fucking mind whenever I think she has someone else.

Those thoughts make me consider setting the whole of Russia on fire just to weed him out.

Such crazy, completely impossible thoughts haven’t left me alone since I heard her telling him on the phone that she loved him and that she’d go back to him.

As if I would ever let that happen.

Add the sense of betrayal and being shot, and I’m spiraling down a path even I don’t like.

Not one bit.

I stroke my finger marks on her neck, and she leans her cheek on my palm, snuggling close as if I’m her safe haven.

More like, I’m her custom-made hell.

As I wipe the droplets of sweat off her face, the name of the abyss I’ve fallen into punches me in the fucking gut.

Obsession.

That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? This is what it feels like to have the need to own someone when I’ve never thought about that concept before. This is also why I’m plagued by images of complete wrath if anyone dares to take this woman away from me.

And that includes her.

I meant it earlier—if she continues to not choose me, I’ll be the cruelest monster in her life. I’ll completely destroy her until one of us dies.

And that’s dangerous. Not only for her, but for me as well.

Because she’s starting to look like a fucking weakness. She’s someone who can be used against me to put me on my knees.

And I don’t do weaknesses.

I’ve always been the type to play, never to be played with. I’ve never gotten too close, never revealed my cards or allowed emotions into my decision-making process. So imagine my fucking annoyance when I realized that the very damn foundations of my being were being shaken by none other than an enemy.