Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(54)

“Good morning, zvezda.”

I smell of him. Cloves and smoke and aftershave. Our bodies are at ease together, wrapped in warmth, and I think it’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in forever.

“Why do you call me that?” I ask.

“Zvezda?”

I nod.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are my star. My dancing ballerina. My northern light. I think you lead me to do good.”

My heart skips a beat. It’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said, and he follows it up in true Nikolai fashion by wrapping my hand around his hard cock. He guides my fingers up and down his shaft, and his ocean eyes roll back like the tide.

“I want you,” he says. “Ride me. Allow me to see you.”

Panic cripples my hand, and everything stills between us.

“Please, Nakya.” He cups my face in his palm. “Do not go to that place in your mind. You must allow logic to win sometimes. I would not ask this of you if I did not think you were perfect in every way.”

His words make sense, but I’m scared. My confession is barely audible, and I can’t see his reaction because my eyes are closed. But I feel his breath on my lips. His body moving closer to mine.

Sometimes, it’s better when he makes demands, and I don’t have to think. Free will is the most fearsome thing of all to someone who has only known captivity. And perhaps Nikolai understands this. He pulls me on top of him with little effort, spreading my legs across his hips, and laying my head on his shoulder.

“Keep your hand here.” He places it on his chest, against the cage where his heart lives. And I know now that he does have one because I can feel it.

“Don’t move it,” he says. “The heart doesn’t lie. If you can’t believe my words, then believe this.”

Strong and steady, his pulse hammers against my skin.

Even his heart is a liar.

He grabs the flesh of my ass, dragging me down against his cock. We don’t need to draw it out because everything we do is foreplay. My body is wet for him already. And when he grabs a fistful of my hair, forcing my lips to his, he enters me without frills. This is the prelude, the main act, and the encore all rolled into one.

My song is muffled by his lips, and this is not the kind of sex I ever imagined myself having. It’s unholy, and it’s righteous. Corrupt but blessed. Shamefully lewd and sinfully sweet. And now, I don’t believe in heaven or hell. There is only purgatory.

He thrusts up inside me, stabbing me with his cock while he steers my ass with his hands. His sounds bleed into me, and I inhale them like crack. I could get off on getting him off. But Nikolai wants to push me to my breaking point, and then even further still. He makes me come. Once. Twice. And a third for good measure.

He marks me with his teeth, grunting indecipherable exclamations in between. Our last fuck was quick and dirty, but today, it lasts forever. Every part of me hurts, and I think that’s what he likes best.

Maybe, I like it too.

“One more time for me,” he insists. “Come on my cock one more time.”

“I don’t have anything left.”

I’m exhausted, collapsing on top of him while he fucks me from below. He worships my skin with his hands and his mouth and begs me to come just one more time. I’m overly sensitive. Wrung out. My breasts are tender, and I’m raw from his large dick.

But inevitably, Nikolai always gets what he wants. The orgasm is as weak as I feel, but I come for him. Right before he stuffs himself as deep as I can take him and purges a long, torturous release of his own.





My spell in captivity has forced me to find new uses for my time. Before, my days were spent in the studio, persecuting my body and perfecting my routines. My calendar revolved around the company’s schedule, and the occasional social event my father forced me to attend.

But when I look at the calendar today, I’m surprised to find that entire months have gone by, and I struggle to remember the exact date I arrived. The blank square on the wall does little to help me process my feelings. Though Gianni already hinted at it, I’m certain my name has been removed from the company as if I never existed. The ballet waits for no man or woman. Each of those positions is coveted. Prized.

And once, it was by me too.

But my practice has dwindled to little more than an hour a day. I’m not as strong as I used to be. It would be easy to blame Nikolai for my lack of motivation, but the truth is that he’s become a welcome distraction from the truth I have yet to face.

The chime on the alarm signals the therapist’s arrival, and within moments, Sarah is in my room. She says something when she walks in, but my eyes are still on the calendar, and my thoughts are too loud to focus on her.

“Tanaka?”

I count off the days until the end of the month, wondering how many hours of dance I can squeeze in. There must be a way to get back on track. I count and add and plan, but it’s all for nothing. Eventually, my finger falls away from the orderly squares. The squares that used to rule my life.

“You look upset,” Sarah observes. “What’s on your mind?”

I don’t move from my seat at the desk, opting to face away from her. She doesn’t deserve to know my every thought, but maybe it’s time I finally say it aloud.

“I don’t think I ever want to dance again.”