Novak (3 page)

Katrina

I can hear the squeaks coming from my lips, but it is as if I am standing outside of my body and watching another woman being threatened. He is so close that I can feel his hard cock rubbing against me and I can’t believe how aroused he is at a time like this. It suddenly dawns on me that it is my fear that is turning him on. Why the fuck did I take that diary? I hadn’t seen what he looked like up until now. I’m not a stupid woman and, I can assure you, if I had seen how dangerous he looked before, I never would have crossed him.

He is whispering in my ear, with his hand around my throat, and his body pressed against mine. I can tell he is enjoying this and I know from the stories I read in his diary, for this man, it is all about control.

I listen to his voice and it is almost as if it carries me away to another place.

“I know you realize I like this and I bet you meant to give the diary back, but once you cracked that seal, you just couldn’t put it down, could you?

“How many nights did you go to bed wishing you had a man who was bold enough to do all of those things to you? Oh, don’t be disappointed because you, young lady, are going to experience all of that and more. You are going to be my own personal, little, sex slave or I am going to sue you for everything that you now, or ever will, have. Are you excited thinking about it?”

He grabs a handful of my hair, jerking my head back and eyeing me coldly. His other hand starts to slowly unbutton the top buttons of my shirt as he speaks, “I asked you a question.”

“I don’t know,” I gasp.

“Well, we both know you have no problem lying through those pretty, little, porcelain veneers of yours so let’s just see.”

“No, please,” I whisper.

“Oh, little girl, somebody has a kinky side, don’t they? Your dilated pupils and rapid breathing give you away. Yes, little girl, you like danger and I plan on fully using that for my pleasure.”

I try to turn my head away and he grips my hair harder, glaring at me.

“Now, here is my card and you had better be on my doorstep no later than 6:00pm.”

As quickly as he had cornered me, he releases me and makes his way towards the door.

“Oh, and by the way, don’t worry about packing any clothes, you won’t need them. Don’t even think about not showing up either. If I have to send Sergei after you, discipline will be inevitable.”

I can hear his laughter, as he makes his way back down the hallway.

As I lean against the wall, all I can do is hope this man will have some kind of mercy on me because, right now, he holds my life in his hands. His diary has already informed me that he has criminal ties—Russian criminal ties, the Bratva. He went so far as to state in that diary that he was bred for Bratva and he would die Bratva. Being mixed up with the mob is bad enough, but being mixed up with the Russian mob is a death wish.

I knew nothing of the man until I read about him. The diary had been locked. Why did I allow my curiosity to overrule my good sense and break that lock? I envisioned him being some middle aged, balding business man with a pot gut. Nothing could have prepared me for the tattooed gangster that ambushed me today. The man is sex on a stick. He also looks dangerous—very, fucking dangerous. Once again, my curious journalistic streak has gotten me into trouble.

It was like once I began reading, I just couldn’t stop. My imagination went into overdrive with book concepts almost immediately. My head is always full of characters and ideas and my brain went crazy when he provided me with the perfect storyline. Since I write for an edgy magazine, I’m already familiar with publishing practices so I just thought I would write a book and see how it did. I never expected it to be a best seller. That never happens to debut authors. Now I am getting offers for a sequel when I have basically stolen the man’s biography to write the first book in the series.

I never imagined him finding out. I should have known when I read about his ties with the Russian mob that he would find out about his story being released. Nothing gets past men with that kind of power. It’s like I just keep getting buried in this shit deeper and deeper and now I’m at the mercy of a killer—a man with sadistic tendencies and no mercy.

Novak

Seeing the fear in her eyes made my cock hard. I have been watching her for quite a while now. I’m a literature junkie and as soon as that book hit the New York Times bestseller list, I knew it was my story. I bought it as soon as it was released and reading it was like reading an exact copy of my diary—sneaky, little, thieving bitch. She needs to be taught a lesson and I’m just the guy to do it. The fact that she is beautiful is just icing on the cake. Subjecting her to some good, ole fashioned humiliation should put her in her place. If she was a man I would beat her ass, probably kill her. I may still do that anyway.

It didn’t take much research to find her because she is such a novice, she didn’t use a pseudonym. When I opened that book—my book—and saw her picture in the jacket, I knew I had to have her. She radiates class, a sexy, feminine, professional class, and she wears it quite well.

Images of peeling her out of that tight ass pencil skirt and bending her over her a desk, with nothing on but a garter, hose, and heels, are racing through my mind and making my loins stir again. I’m going to fuck her in more ways than one. Nobody steals from Bratva and gets away with it. I don’t care how good she looks, she owes me a lot of fucking money and I have every intention of collecting that debt from between those sweet, long ass legs of hers.

Katrina

I collapse in my chair and try to gather my wits as I reach for the diary I have hidden away in my locked desk drawer. I can’t resist cracking it open to sneak another peek. Its pages lure me in like some dark, forbidden secret I can’t get enough of. My sex life has been nonexistent for the last two years and this is the first time I can even remember feeling aroused in what seems like forever. I have even gone so far as to earmark my favorite parts. I open the clasp, which I now keep unlocked, and I begin to read…

I eyed my helpless, little victim who lied in my bed, vulnerable and restrained.

I subdued her with rope and placed a large ball gag between her pristine, red lips.

I toyed with that girl well into the night, driving her to the brink of insanity.

She was so beautiful, begging and pleading with her eyes as she emitted those unintelligible moans from behind that gag. Her body moved sensually, performing a beautiful dance in my ropes.

I left her restrained, with just enough give to allow her body to thrash around so that I could watch her aimlessly struggle for my pleasure.

You see…this is one of my favorite things to do. To take an uptight woman and turn her into my slut is exhilarating.

My most favorite thing to do, though, is to take a professional, alpha female and bring her under my rule. The ultimate sexual high for me is to have a woman who is in control and running things by day, come home and be submissive to me by night, and I do mean submissive. Complete and utter control is what I crave, and I want it from a woman who is powerful and doesn’t relinquish that power to any man but me.

I love taking a woman who is independent, confident, and doesn’t submit to any other man and turning her into a devoted sex slave.

Yes… I love knowing that a self-assured, self-made woman submits to no other man, yet she bows at my feet, wearing my collar and hooked to my leash.

I shut the diary and sigh, knowing this is going to be fun for him and he has every intention of reveling in it.

Maybe I can just act docile and he will lose interest in me. I know that is not going to happen though; I have too much of a temper for that. The minute he crosses me, I will let him have it and the battle will ensue. It is just the way I am wired. I am not the kind of girl to just cower before a man. No, that is never, ever, going to happen. I will just have to hang on tight because I have a feeling I am in for the ride of my life. I don’t need the diary to know this man enjoys taking what he wants. He relished trying to intimidate me in my office. He was feeding off the fear and uncertainty he was causing in me when he had me backed into that wall.

The man likes control and the fact that he is a mobster tells me that he not only likes it, he needs to maintain it. He has every intention of not only teaching me a lesson, but sending a message to others by doing so.

The question is, why is there a part of me that is turned on by the thought? He isn’t the kind of guy I would normally ever date. I date straight-laced professionals. He may wear a professional suit, but underneath that white-collar attire, he’s a dangerous thug. Why the hell did I get myself into this? No amount of money is worth being indebted to a man who kills people for a living. No matter how much I toss things around in my mind, I can’t think of any way out of this horrible situation. There just doesn’t seem to be a way to successfully escape him.

The only thing I can do is go to his home, face the music, and hope I can talk some sense into him. Maybe I can reason with him and appeal to his business sense by offering to pay him a percentage of the book sales. I can only hope so because the bottom line is… I’m at a complete loss and absolutely terrified of the man