Novak (5 page)

Katrina

“Hey baby, you are awfully dressed up today. What do you do for a living?”

I eye the man standing next to me in the elevator. Apparently we have differing views on the appropriateness of subjecting the world to his plumber’s crack. God, it is absolutely disgusting.

He is clueless to the fact that any woman, with an ounce of self-respect, will be running in the other direction at the sight of it.

I look him directly in the eye and state, with all the sincerity I can muster, “I polish apples at the local grocery store.” I guess I could have said cucumbers, but that is a little bit tacky.

I leave him standing there, gaping, and, no doubt, wondering what the hell I just said to him.

I exit the elevator before he has a chance to gather his wits and ask me which grocery store employs me.

All eyes turn in my direction as the click clacking of my heels hits the hard floor.

It really doesn’t bother me anymore. For some reason, I live life as if a large spotlight is positioned above my head, beckoning those around me to assess and dissect my very being.

I had been adopted as a child and the woman who had earned the title of “Mother” always told me that I had what every Hollywood star had
, The It Factor
.

Ironically enough, now that I’m all grown up, her words have proven true as I now grace people’s TV screens and the front pages of newspapers everywhere. I had never prepared myself for fame when I wrote that novel; it really had been a form of venting for me, even though I did it with Novak’s diary. Literature has always been an escape for me. Whether in the form of reading or writing, it offers the peace of mind I crave.

I call the man who has inserted himself in my life
‘Novak’
because it’s his Bratva name. I don’t care if he doesn’t like it. He’s a thug; he knows it and now I know it. Everybody else can call him Carl Sims but I’m not going to because I know his true nature. I guess now he knows mine too. Maybe we do deserve each other—two conniving, deceitful opportunists.

There is no danger of the fame gained from his book going to my head, and it can’t go to his because he can’t admit that it’s his story. Because of his inability to publically take credit for the book, I have more power than he thinks I do. I know for me, the media wields a double edged sword and it can cut me to ribbons, coming and going, if I don’t handle it delicately and with much respect. An author is only as good as their next book and in my other job, as a journalist, I’m only as good as my next article.

I’m also smart enough to realize that, right now, Novak has the upper hand because of his connections. Through doing research on him, I have learned that he is the cousin of the most vicious Russian mobster to date, Glazov, and I know it will take some shrewd calculation on my part to outwit him.

I make my way into my office and sit, tugging at my skirt to cover the lace at the top of the black, opaque thigh highs I’m wearing. My ass still hurts from the spanking he subjected me to so I’m not quite ready to disobey him… yet.

The man who now considers himself to be my Owner/Master, whatever the hell he thinks he is, dressed me this morning and I can’t thank God enough that he has some class. So, here I am, a grown ass woman who is now the Barbie doll of Russian thug. Oh, what a difference a day makes.

It could’ve been worse. Thankfully, he basically dressed me the way that I would dress myself and I look the part of a classy business woman.

The whole issue about the thigh highs has nothing to do with my preference in hosiery.

The issue in my mind is that I am not five years old and no man is going to tell me how to dress. At least, that was the case until now and you can bet your bottom dollar that one way or another, I am going to get out of this situation and as far away as I can from Mr. Carl Sims, aka Novak.

I kick myself for so easily succumbing to him and for how quickly my body betrayed me.

You’re such a slut,
I mentally chide myself.

Geez, you couldn’t have opened your legs any more to the man if they had been pried apart.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why had I let myself go there?

I pull at the locked desk drawer to my right. Even though I know the diary is safely tucked away in its dark recesses, I just need to reassure myself.

The thought crosses my mind
, I can burn it and no one will ever know.

I know that Carl Sims will not admit to the things that are in that diary. It reads more like a little black book than a personal journal. It’s a who’s who of information and intimates that Carl Sims has people on his payroll that go all the way up into the Senate.

That diary is my insurance policy and the son of a bitch should be glad that it was me who found it and not someone else. At least I have enough of an open mind to not blow the whistle on anyone.

No, that diary is my safeguard and I have no intentions of giving it up. I have worked too damn hard to have Carl, or anyone else, piss it all away.

The only way that anyone will get that diary away from me will be when they pry it from my cold, dead hands.

I know I’m walking a tightrope, because deep down inside, I know how dangerous Carl Sims can be if backed in a corner…

Novak

I lean back in my leather office chair, interlocking my fingers behind my neck. I let my mind drift back to the night before.

Katrina had looked so good lying there, vulnerable beneath me, as I hammered away at her insides. The memory of the way her neck strained back into the pillow, as her mouth opened and her eyes rolled back in her head, has my cock stirring all over again.

The way she had given in and it was no longer me who held her legs back, but she who opened them widely, inviting my intrusion, hints at the submissive she has locked away inside her.

The little whines and gasps that came from her lips, as she helplessly lied beneath me as I took her, were music to my ears.

She liked it; I that know she did. I like that she found pleasure in my bed. I love the idea that she tried so hard to not enjoy what I was doing to her and yet, in the end, she couldn’t resist.

The best thing about this whole situation is the fact that I know Katrina will put up a fight each and every time. Whenever I want her, I will have to take her, because that is just the kind of woman she is.

I have this thing in me—a need. I need to
take
a woman, to overpower her. I need my woman to resist and the more she fights, the more aroused I become. For me, when it comes to women, it always seems to be the same scenario; they get clingy and it turns me off. I like a woman who can resist me physically and emotionally. Seeing her try to fight off my advances makes my dick hard and tying her up, having her restrained and at my mercy, is a real turn on for me. I have always been this way. I like to pleasure women with pain and bondage. Katrina is a sexual novice, with an innate fire and a natural inclination to fight, and it turns me on something fierce. By the time I get done with her, she will be craving my kinky, fucked up style of perverse sex.

I’m a man who thrives off challenge and Katrina is a big one. I have no doubt that I can take this woman—a woman who really hates me, a woman who doesn’t want to give in to my advances—and I can turn her into a woman who is a slave to her passions.

By the time I am done with her, she will be a lustful volcano ready to erupt lava like heat that will overflow into my world and give me something that I desperately crave and need—passion, passion, and more passion…

I’ve been bored sexually for the last year, fucking a different woman every night just to get off. This is the first time I have been sexually satisfied in years and I want more. I can feel my talons slipping deeper into her as I sit here thinking of ways to entrap her. After last night, she can forget about me ever letting her go. I just latched on to the best piece of ass I’ve ever encountered. Why in the world would I consider ever letting her escape?

Katrina

I type away, with five or six of my windows open on my computer, while I talk on my speaker phone. It’s how I function best and I don’t like being disturbed while I’m working. I’m purely professional at the office so I’m not pleased to see Novak saunter in like he owns the place.

I look up to view him enter and can’t help the aggravation that rolls through me that he would come to my place of employment… again.

“I’ll get back with you on this,” I tell the person on the other end of the line as I glare at Novak.

“I think that you may be crossing a line by coming to my workplace, Novak.” I purposely put emphasis on ‘Novak,’ knowing he doesn’t like being called that.

“Well, Katrina, your publisher is not really your boss. I mean, now that you have a New York Times best seller and everything, you could quit your
little job
here.”

I squint my eyes, sizing up the man that stands before me.

As usual, he is dressed impeccably, this time wearing a tan suit with a black, button up dress shirt. His tie has tones of black, gold, and tan running through it. Once again, his suited attire is topped off with a set of cufflinks and, today, brown leather Italian shoes. The tattoos on his hands are a total contradiction to his business attire.

He makes his way over to my side, sitting on the desk right in front of the drawer that neatly holds all of his secrets away from prying eyes.

He crosses his arms and looks down on me as he shakes his head and says, “Katrina, dear, that is not a suggestion. It is a mandate.”

“Excuse me,” I shriek. He is fucking crazy if he thinks I’m quitting my job for him or any other man. “Let’s get one thing straight, buddy; I don’t work for you. You are not my man and you sure as fuck don’t tell me what to do!”

Seriously, I’m appalled this man thinks he can come to my place of employment and demand I quit my job. Is he crazy? I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am career wise and I’m certainly not in the habit of making professional decisions that will affect the rest of my life based on a good fuck.

He needs to go find one of his bimbo bitches if he wants someone to bow at his feet and rearrange her life for him because, to put it simply,
it ain’t me, babe.

Novak

I chuckle as I lightly shake my head at the spitfire who sits before me. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

I viciously reach up and grab the back of her neck, pulling her to me.

I lower my head, burying my face in her hair as I growl into her ear, “You put me in a very serious predicament when you took that diary. I have every intention of keeping a very close eye on you, young lady. You put your fucking notice in today, little girl. You work for me now!

“How distracted have you been today, Katrina? How many times have you thought about how I violated you and tore down all the little boundaries you had safely walled around you?”

I pull her head back, forcing her to look up at me.

My hand slides up her inner thigh right past the top of her stockings. No longer do hose protect her from my possessive and invading hands. It was the whole purpose behind my mandate no longer permitting her to wear regular pantyhose. I want easy access to that sweet, little pussy of hers.

“You see, Katrina, you can fight me all you want, but that little body of yours can’t get enough of me. I want my diary back, Katrina,” I hiss as I continue to stroke her inner thigh.

“I, I, I, don’t have your diary,” she stutters through her obvious lie. Deception seems to come so easily to her.

“Liar, liar, Katrina’s on fire. Liar, liar, Katrina’s on fire,” I repeat as I chuckle.

My finger slides over the satin panties she wears until I can feel the wet spot that has formed. To her horror, she feels it too.

“Oh, that feels good doesn’t it, girl? It damn sure feels good to me. I love knowing you want to fight me and you can’t. You have no idea how sexy it is to me, knowing how badly you want to hate me… but you can’t, can you?”

“I do hate you.”

“You’re a liar, Katrina.”

“Fuck you, Novak.”

I viciously yank her head back by a handful of hair and my cock jumps at the hatred I see in her eyes as she hisses at me through clenched teeth.

“No, fuck you,” I hiss as I plunge my finger into her right when I say the word
fuck
. I immediately pull it out and then thrust it between her lips, demanding that she clean it off.

“If you bite me, I’m taking my belt to you when we get home.”

She reluctantly sucks her juices from my finger and I wave it under her nose when she’s done, preventing her from moving away by the firm grip I have in her hair.

“You smell that? That is pure, unadulterated, animalistic lust, and I’m going to keep it there all day long so I can smell your pussy whenever the whim strikes. I’m going to bask in the glory of knowing that as much as you hate me, you can’t fucking resist me. You did this to yourself and if you’re looking for mercy, you fucked over the wrong guy.”

I listen to the squeaks and whimpers escaping Katrina’s lips against her will and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything more beautiful.

“Little thief, you need to be taken down a notch or two. Later on, after I dress you and take you out to dinner so you can be my arm candy, I’m going to bring you back home and violate your little ass again. But this time, I’m going to fuck you and torment you with orgasm denial. I like watching the horrified look on your face as your body betrays you. I like the control that I have over you in my bed.”

I keep talking as my hands continue to work their magic.

You see… I have a point to make and that point is whether Katrina wants me or not, there is a latent fire in her that only I can ignite.

I stare into her eyes as her body helplessly reacts to my touch against her will. It’s happened—the change. I can see it in her eyes as she whimpers and mews while my hands stroke over her pussy lips. She has gone from defiant, to responsive, and she is now clinging to me with a look in her eyes as if I, and only I, can help her. I feed off of that look, the clinging, her neediness, and her ultimate surrender as she cries out to me.

I taunt her after she comes, making her clean off my finger once again and waving it under her nose. “I’m primal and every time I smell your need, I’m going to think about all the ways I’m going to defile you later.

“How does it feel knowing that you’re property? It must really bother a self-reliant woman like you to be robbed of her independence. You should have thought about that when you robbed me.

“You should count yourself lucky because if you were a man, you’d already be on ice at the morgue. The only thing saving you is that tight little opening of yours. Well, there’s that, and the fact that you enjoy a good fuck fight just as much as I do. Don’t be late, Katrina, or you will be disciplined. You might’ve been able to lead your little office boyfriends around by their dicks, but you took it to a whole new level when you fucked me over. Once again, I’m giving you warning; if you fuck around on me, I’ll kill you both. You’re property, you’re owned, and you would do well not to forget it.”