Her mouth was parted as I stared. Her arms pulled on the chains, and her legs shook. Reaching up, I tugged on a chain and, with my face just inches from hers, whispered, “You’re trapped, kotyonok. You’re all mine.” A small breath of air fell from her lips.

Pushing my torso against hers, the hard bullets of her nipples scraping across my chest. I brushed her long hair from her face and asked, “Have you ever been touched?” She shook under my hand, and I added, “Have you ever been touched by a male?”

Nothing was forthcoming, so I dropped my hand until it landed in her nipple, where I rolled it between my finger and thumb. She cried out, her voice breaking with the shock. Releasing the nipple, I softly massaged her tit. As I slipped my thigh in between her legs, my cock pulsed when she gasped.

“Kotyonok, do you remember what I said about answering me?”

She wordlessly nodded. I pushed my thigh forward, brushing the hard muscle up against her clit. The Georgian cried out, her back arching off the wall. I momentarily gritted my teeth at the feel of her on my thigh. It felt so different from Mistress. It felt good.

“I said, do you remember what I said about answering me?”

I lifted my thigh, building pressure on her clit, when she cried out, “Yes! I remember.” She breathed hard and fought to look me in the eyes, “I remember,” she affirmed.

Withdrawing my thigh, I palmed her tit in my hand, and said, “Then tell me, my kotyonok, who is Zaal Kostava to you?”

Her body stilled and her face blanked. “Nothing. That name means nothing to me.”

My hand froze as yet another lie came from her lips, yet my nostrils flared.

Flared because I knew the little Georgian’s body was now mine.

8

ZOYA

It’s to help him, I told myself. I was letting him. I was submitting to him to help him.

It was clear to me now that something or someone was driving him to do this to me. Just like my brothers had had someone controlling them. As he fed me, as he brought me down from the ropes, I saw the regret in his eyes. I saw a brief flash of tenderness in his gaze.

And all I could think of was my brothers. How I hadn’t been able to save them. How they may have been forced to do something like this man was being forced with me. And because of that, something inside of me called me to save him.

Save him like I couldn’t save my brothers.

The tattoo on his chest kept pulling my attention. It was numerical, like an ID. That, with the collar, made my veins fill with ice. I didn’t know what was happening, who he was, who he worked for, but I knew it couldn’t be good.

And I couldn’t help but wonder why he was so scarred. The slices across his face and head were clearly made from knives, like he had been savagely attacked. But who could have done it? And why? Those scars took away any typical attractiveness, but his eyes … his blue eyes were so striking, so expressive. And I, unbeknownst to him, when I looked closely enough, could see every emotion he felt in those eyes.

Including the nervous bewilderment he had obviously felt when I had placed my hand on his massive chest. The flare in his eyes of the unknown, and, sadder still, the flash of fear in their depths. This man, this torturer, had felt fear at my simple touch. I knew in an instant that he had never been touched softly, affectionately, before. It filled me with such sadness that my throat closed with emotion.

Zaal and Anri had probably been the same, too.

So, foolishly or not, I had resolved to let him do what he must. I planned to wait for a moment to ask him questions, find out who had sent him and why. But I hadn’t expected this new development. I had been prepared for more pain, more sadistic torture. But not this. I wasn’t skilled in seduction, completely unprepared for sexual acts.

The man pushed forward again, and with one glimpse into his eyes I saw the vulnerability from before staring back at me. I realized quickly that although this was coming from a place of torture, a quest for answers, I could see in his eyes that he was seeking what I had given him before—a small amount of acceptance.

Of affection.

I realized the torturer had a weakness after all—a need for someone to see the him trapped underneath the monster on the outside. And yearning to be touched.

I knew I had to be that person for him. I had to try. Something inside me made me need to try.

His hand on my breast moved again, and I shifted under his touch.

He repeated the action, the pad of his thumb slipping over my raised nipple. I closed my eyes, trying to break the hold of his intense crystal gaze. And I closed my eyes in confusion when a jolt of heat darted between my legs.

I held back a cry at this unfamiliar sensation, held back a whimper as his hot breath washed over my face. As I fluttered my eyes back open, the man’s beautifully scarred face was the only thing I could see. He was so close that I couldn’t escape his attention—his light eyes, his fair skin, jet-black shaven hair, and angular face. But his lips? My eyes could not resist slipping back to stare at those lips. They were full and thick, despite the small upper scar, yet looked so soft to the touch. I idly wondered, Whoever sent this man to kill my brother chose him well. Not only because of his effectiveness in torture, but also for his terrifying looks, which were somehow, to me, both savage and divine.

The man’s body displayed no trace of fat. As he pulled the sweatpants from his body, my face blazed at the sight of this naked man. I had no reference, no sexual experience with men, not even platonic.

He had kidnapped me.

He had hurt me

He had tortured me.

But now I was seeing another side of him. The one who called me kitten in his native Russian and now raked back my hair, whose eyes flared and mouth hissed when he stroked his rough hand—intimately—over my naked skin.

My mind was a mixture of confusion. I was constantly on edge, wondering if the next touch would bring me pain or would whatever was in the man’s collar change him back into the bringer of torture and pain? Yet under his current ministrations, a strange sense of safety had washed through me. I was more convinced than not that he wouldn’t hurt me.

I didn’t understand any of it.

He moved in, lifting his hands to brush back hair from my face. I felt so small as his large frame towered over me. It seemed to consume me.

One hand drifted down to hold on to my jaw. He twisted my head, until my neck and cheek were open to his attentions. He inched in, his lips ghosting along my cheek, but not kissing the skin, just brushing all along the side of my face. His breath tickled my ear. Hot shivers bolted down my spine.