sry been too long cuties
Adriana's POV
Alcatraz? More like hell. Only difference was, this place was encompassed in a few, giant panes of glass that only made the outside world seem even more depressing. His obsession with doom and gloom didn't affect me night and day, but the whole prospect of it did.
A modern, weapon-based block of grey concrete and glass capable of defeating any nation in an arm's race. I bet there were a few hidden rooms capable of unearthing a massive mob of brain-eating amoeba somewhere. My persistency to stay in just my own room didn't seem to affect him much. Either I'd creep downstairs when the light of his study flickered yellow from under the door, or pretend to sleep the moment his footsteps thudded up the stairs.
I mean, it was only a matter of time before he caught a whiff of my true intentions. Storming and breaching was easy enough. It was the attacking stage that made the bottoms of my feet lighten their load on the heated staircase. Two days, and no sign of this 'right hand man' Layla and spoken to me about. Where was Petrov? Was he avoiding me? Surely he hadn't turned into a fucking pipsqueak after uncapping my horrors and swiveling them around his finger, only to yank me backwards a couple months every night.
I'd been on edge both nights, the only lights capable of keeping me aware the headlights in my dreams. Streetlights, too, blown through a flickering and mossy dark alley, with dark shadows of men crowded around me. Blood. Pain. Indignation.
With a deep breath, I yanked open the metal fridge handle and grinned when a big bowl of cut-up fruit lay on the top shelf. My stomach rumbled as I pulled the cold ceramic dish out.
The moment I went to shut the door, there was a shuffle of steps from somewhere close, and then I nearly dropped the bowl at the sight of another woman.
"What the hell?" I followed the high-pitched voice upwards, immediately narrowing my eyes on a tall, skinny blonde woman with collarbones visible from a mile away.
Her narrowed eyes honed in on the fruit. "I cut that up for Mr. Volkov."
I rolled my eyes and set it on the counter, facing her with a bored look. What was it with him and blondes? Specifically, ones with a haughty attitude and bodies made for posing on the runway? It was obvious he had a type.
"I think you meant Mrs." I said with a grin, hands fishing for cutlery in the top drawer. The strawberries had caught my eye since I opened the damn door, and I wasn't gonna let my stomach rumble in an act of weakness in front of this.. she-devil.
"What?" Her eyes told me she wasn't used to another woman cladding up her kitchen. By the looks of her high-risen top-bun with a few extra strands, she looked a maid just as much as she looked like a nightly escapade.
"Sorry. Let me rephrase that. I'm about to become Mrs. Volkov, so it's vital you get into the habit of cutting fruit for the both of us, yeah?"
I swallowed down my smile with a chunk of pineapple, the slight sourness of it showing up on her face instead.
"What are you, his slut?" She dragged her eyes down my form with a heavy, not-so-slick look. The kind that told me she was intimidated just as she was pissed off.
"Depends. I don't fuck men who already have one." My glance at her apron gave it away, red rushing over her face like the satisfaction in my chest.
Act like a bitch, get treated like one.
"You're just jealous he gets to fuck me every night and you don't."
The statement hit me hard, clouded with weedy desperation yet also capable of being true. Every night? Immediately, my mind traveled forward, to the nights after I'd slip off his ring and put it on my bedpost. Would he take advantage of my fury and keep fucking her in his own room? Distaste and revulsion crawled pineapple up my throat at the idea.
My lips twisted, and I shoved a raspberry between my lips to keep me from saying anything too harsh. "I don't particularly like the idea. But that's why I'll keep my door open every night. Just in case," I smile, "You know, you don't have the particular skills to fulfill his needs."
"He wouldn't be having sex with me if I didn't know how." Her tight voice leads me to believe I'm getting to her.
A little more won't hurt.
"Or maybe," I wave my fork around, contemplating with a calculative look on my face, "You're his sidepiece, and he only fucks you because he's bored." I shrug, licking juice off of the shiny metal. Sour, yet sweet. Like this conversation.
"You bitch." Recollections of a similar looking- and sounding Anastasia swarm my mind, and before she can step forward a thud sounds from the kitchen's entrance.
"Mika. Who let you in at this hour?" Nikolas's voice boomed across the marble walls and counters, not inked with even the slightest bit of apprehensiveness.
Mika. That was her name.
She slammed a glare into my face, before wiping it off, replacing it with a honey-smelt smile, and pitching up her voice a few octaves higher. She might as well hook herself to some balloons and float away.
"I'm so sorry. I wasn't aware of your.. guest." She glanced at me side-ways, and I nearly rolled my eyes again.
God, I don't feel like dealing with this right now. I just wanna eat my goddamn fruit.
I meet his eye, raising a brow at his perfect-looking accordance of clothes, once more. A black-tailored suit, complete with black slacks and another dress shirt. No tie. He drags his eyes to my thighs, which I've forgotten are purely visible because of the silk-woven black pajama set I have five copies of.
He drags a heavy look to Mika. "Fiancée." He looks at me again. My chest does a quick tumble, heart-beat tumbling over the intense gaze he has flipping me inside out.
She choked on a breath. "What, you're really going to marry her?"
I plaster on another smile, leaving the bowl, her, and padding close enough to Nikolas that I can feel his swarming body heat prickle the skin of my arms and legs. My eyes trace a disgruntled path up her form.
"What, does that make you jealous?" I say, working up the nerve to press myself closer. His body was so warm, so inviting. I only wanted a little touch. A small, harmless one. I looked up at him and my breath hitched seeing the fire in his eyes. Just like the engagement party, where all I could do was become a magnet to him. His eyes flickered to my tongue, darting out to wet my lips, and then I looked away before this weird ball of heat in my stomach decided to commit suicide and let Nikolas handle me however he wanted. And in some twisted, dark way, I wanted that. For him to have his way with me. Bend me under his thumb, and put a controlled band around me until I had no choice but to listen.
The confusion on her face rippled, and then flickered back into a smile. "I'm only surprised he chose an Italian slut like you. Russian women are far less.." Her eyes sharpened, "prone to imagery." I stiffened at her retort.
"It's only a wonder his mother was-"
"Get the fuck out."
Just like that, my lips clamped back together as silence ensued. Mika's expression fell, drowned into a mix of embarrassment and humiliation, all with a combo of red shadows climbing up her neck and face. Her voice came out sewed up into a nervous chuckle. "What? You can't possibly kick me-"
"Get. Out."
Even I flinched at his curt, firm command. She huffed out a breath, and I ignored whatever mental breakdown she was having for a minute and looked at Nikolas. That comment about his mother.. The tightness of his face that wasn't there before led me to believe his parents were a no-buffer zone. I had no idea of them.. other than the fact that they didn't exist to anyone but him. Even Enzo could only find a sliver of information- that his father killed his mother. Was she gonna give something away?
By the time I look up, she's whizzing out the back-door, apron on the floor amidst the grey vinyl and a trail of quiet sobs following her out.
"I'm surprised a man like you gets offended so quick. No wonder they talk about you so much."
I left his circle of heat just as fast, heading back into the dully lit kitchen for my bowl of fruit. Stabbing a strawberry, I took his response time to bite it, closing my eyes at the sweet, sour, and honey-sweet juice coating my tongue.
A sound escapes my mouth at the endorphins filling my body- a moan. I freeze, dragging the fork out from between my lips and praying it wasn't loud enough for him to hear.
I look up, but it's no use. His eyes are so dark it takes me a moment to realize a droplet of juice is dripping down my chin. Nikolas's eyes hone in on my mouth, and then like the sleek, sleek predator he is, he walks towards me. With my body frozen and tongue tied, I can only watch as he stops a mere inch away, and brings his hand up to tilt my chin up, until I'm looking directly into his eyes. Dark circles ring his pupils, deepening the grey in his irises so much it feels like I'm looking at the concrete ridden around his property.
He uses his thumb, catches the droplet, and pushes it back into my mouth. A shiver climbs up my spine, my skin tingling like molten lava where he's touching me. He looks at my lips, pressing his thumb into my lower one and gliding the wetness across it. Trembles wave through me, and my eyelids flutter as I lean into his tempting body.
Holy shit. Get it together, before your knees really do buckle and you end up getting more than you bargained for.
Just now, though, I didn't mind the captivating look in his eyes. The kind I'd gotten far too many times, that I should be grateful for. But there was something else, a dark, shuttering kind of secret behind them that made me stay rooted in my spot. With him up close, broad chest and a Greek sculpted statue of a face, his eyes are the only thing that bleed through the exterior. Perfect marble, ridden with cracks and slivers. Filled with what, stone? I look into the grey. Might as well be.
His calculating look sputtered, becoming replaced with that ice-cold stare I'd gotten used to over the course of the two days I'd lived with him. He backed up, and the heat between us fizzled into the ordinary, cool air flushing in from the air conditioning.
"From now on, you don't speak to anyone in this house but me."
My brows furrow, confusion overtaking the satisfaction I had simply from his touch. Seemed like his vocabulary was bound to ruin it all.
"Why?"
"No questions. You talk to me, or you don't talk to anyone."
An order.
I swallowed, nodding. Since when did I take orders? For some reason, this man made the rebellious ideology in my brain become compact- I only brought it out when I needed to. Right now, I needed it less than I prized it. So I shut my mouth and watch him leave the kitchen, standing still until the shut of his study room door rebounded against the hollow walls.
The next morning, after I steered clear of him, I headed downstairs to have breakfast. Opening the fridge, I almost dropped my jaw at the sight.
The entire top-shelf was filled to the brim with boxes of strawberries.
Cazzo.
You just had to flick the switch, Volkov.
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cyaa 🥰