Unmeasured (Unmatched Book 1) Read online

  “Excuse me. That’s my car, and I need to leave soon.”

  He opened the door, and she recognized him as one of the men Oleg had spoken to yesterday on the street. She believed his name was Artur. She didn’t need to guess, because he re-introduced himself.

  “Do you remember my brother, Davit?”

  “Yes,” she said, as he exited the car as well.

  “Oleg isn’t here,” Davit said.

  “Yeah, I can see that,” she said.

  Artur pulled a hand-rolled joint from the breast pocket of his jacket. He strode up to her slowly, but his expression didn’t look quite as relaxed. “We’ll wait with you,” he said, then lit the marijuana cigarette and took a long drag. Before he exhaled, he locked the tip of it between his teeth and snatched the collar of her hooded parka in his two fists. He practically lifted her off her feet as he backed her up to the façade of the building behind her. When she was pinned to the frozen stone, he finally exhaled. The plume of smoke caused her to cough instead of scream, like she knew she should.

  The paper she’d carefully folded and carried along for Oleg to sign fell from her hand. Davit caught it before the lingering winter wind carried it away for good.

  This drew her attention, and Davit noticed.

  “What do we have here?” He unfolded it, and she watched a smile bleed onto his sharp features. “Artur, I think we really have found the perfect slut. So much better than that other girl.”

  Artur took another drag on the joint, forcing the smoke out from his nose like a dragon, even as he continued to hold on to her. He motioned for Davit to take it from his lips. Then he dipped his head into the crook of her neck and inhaled. The words he breathed out into her ear were hot in the frigid air. “Prettier too.” She felt his tongue flick at her earlobe as his grip on her collar tightened.

  She was disgusted, and yet she was frozen in place, trying to make sense of the inappropriate zing that careened through her. Her body betrayed her. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop her pussy from clenching. She couldn’t turn off the faucet between her legs. She didn’t want any of this, and yet her condition caused her to feel things, inappropriate things when she should be afraid. She was disgusted with herself as much as with the two assholes bullying her on the sidewalk in broad daylight. “Get off me!” she said through clenched teeth, but Artur only laughed.

  “Look,” Davit said to him through his own snickering. He held up the contract for Artur to see. “It says that she is Oleg’s to do with as he pleases.”

  “Ah…the special project,” Artur said.

  “Our special project now,” Davit said and stroked her face with the back of his hand.

  “Get the fuck off me!” she cried out, angry at how squeaky and weak she sounded.

  “Get the fuck off her,” another voice, deep and menacing, came from the street.

  Davit turned around toward the voice. “You are finished giving me orders,” he said to Oleg, who took big strides from the street to the sidewalk.

  Then the back window of Davit’s sedan lowered. An older man Samantha had never seen before called for Oleg to come close. He stopped mid-step, glared at Davit and Artur, who relaxed their grip on her, but didn’t step aside.

  She could only barely make out what the older man said. “I don’t like there to be discord within my family. When you insult one of my sons, you insult me. I can’t imagine that you meant to do that.”

  “If you mean this morning…”

  “Next time you have an issue with something, you come to me, okay?”

  “The issue has been resolved,” Oleg said.

  “To your satisfaction only. I do trust that you will pay that loser’s debt, but how will you make good on the insult to Davit’s authority?”

  “Michal, you cannot approve of—”

  “Don’t presume to know what I approve of.” He nodded over to Samantha. “Just be warned. Do not interfere in my business again.”

  “It would be good for your sons to keep any business that doesn’t have to do with me to themselves.”

  Michal eyed him. “And don’t disrespect a member of my family again. You will remember that, yes?”

  “I don’t forget a thing,” Oleg said.

  “Neither do I, nor do I forget a face.” There was a pause as the two men stared at the other. “Karina is coming home from her retreat in less than a month. Be sure to be finished with your little project by then.” He waved a hand at his two sons, and they finally stepped away. The contract was still tucked into Davit’s grasp. She reached for it, but he was too quick. Horrified, she watched him tuck it into his pocket.

  *

  Samantha wilted against the wall before Oleg could get to her. As if she was suddenly boneless, her knees buckled, and she melted into a squatting position on the sidewalk. He lowered himself to squat in front of her, and she was still so very small to him. It was when he placed his hands on her shoulders that he felt her shaking.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a feeble attempt to express everything he was feeling.

  “Davit took your contract,” she said in a low and serious voice. “And my full name is on it.”

  She was obviously worried, and the fact was, she should be. “It’s my fault,” he said.

  Her brow creased with a look of confusion. “How is it your fault?”

  “If I…” If he what? If he wasn’t so obsessed with her, she wouldn’t even be on their radar? “I should have insisted you turn around and go home when you showed up on my doorstep yesterday.”

  She visibly flinched, and his arms were around her before he could stop himself. Not another word from his lips, because both the things he wanted to say and the things he should say were a danger to her. He would say nothing and hope that holding her was enough for both of them.

  It seemed to be working. Samantha stopped shaking and took a deep, steadying breath before rising to her feet.

  “You’re okay,” he said with a soft nod.

  She nodded back, though her expression was more uncertain. “What was that about?” she asked.

  “A difference of opinion,” he said simply. “But I am sorry you got put in the middle of it by those assholes.”

  “They are going to be your brothers-in-law,” she said pointedly and pulled her hood back onto her head. It seemed a defensive instinct on her part, a way to shield herself.

  “Davit and Artur will never be my brothers,” Oleg replied. “I have only four. They may not be my family by blood, but they are my family nonetheless.” He held his hand out to her, expecting that she would take it, if not for any reason but instinct. Alarmingly, when she slipped her small hand in his, he hoped it was because she felt it belonged there.

  “Four?”

  “You haven’t met Alexander.”

  “Right,” she said and hesitated before taking the same step toward his car that he did. She flicked her finger in the general direction Davit and Artur had driven off in. “So not only are you marrying into…that, you’re in business with them too?”

  “It’s not your concern.”

  “The hell it isn’t. They know my name and my address. How do I know they won’t try that shit again?” She pulled her hand away. “Look, I can clearly see you don’t want to be marrying this girl. It’s also obvious there is something hanging over your head making you do it.” She sighed. “And for the life of me, I don’t even know why I am still standing here talking to you. Everything about you is all screwed up!”

  “I’d say you are here because you want to be.” He reached for her hand again, and she didn’t pull back.

  “Yeah, I already know I’m screwed up.” Her eyes were suddenly more sad than angry. She shifted from one leg to the other, looking uncomfortable in her own skin.

  He remembered the look in her eyes when Davit and Artur had her up against that wall. When Oleg approached the scene from the street, he had caught something in her expression that betrayed her protests against the way Davit and Ar
tur handled her. Her voice had wavered, but her eyes warred between wonder, curiosity and repulsion. Oleg pulled a strong drag of air through his nostrils. “You’re wet from it, aren’t you?” he said, keeping his tone even. He didn’t want it to be an accusation, though he knew that’s the only way she could interpret it. In truth, maybe it was, but not for the reason she would assume.

  She flushed bright red and shook her head. “Why would you say that? I didn’t ask for them to haul me up against that wall!” Her eyes were wide, and he heard the alarm in her voice, understanding it was mostly directed inward. Paolo was right. She needed them.

  “It’s not your fault, Kitten,” he said, feeling suddenly very responsible for her. “You don’t know that part of yourself very well yet. You aren’t in control of it.”

  Just when he expected her to try to dispute his words, she crumpled a bit instead.

  He gently swiped a stray tear from her cheek. She was confused by the way her body had reacted to being dominated, even when she didn’t want it. A submissive who wasn’t in control of their compulsion to submit, who was triggered into arousal by the act of submitting, in even the most inappropriate situation, was vulnerable in the worst way. There were the obvious dangers, like getting mixed up with an irresponsible Dominant. But Oleg was even more concerned with the treacherous path of self-destruction he saw in her pained expression. No one had been able to save his mother from the guilt and self-loathing she carried with her to her grave. Yes, he felt suddenly very responsible for Samantha. “We will teach you.”

  “You didn’t sign…” she said.

  He shook his head. “That was a mistake.” From his breast pocket, Oleg pulled the pen he’d used to seal his last deal. He unzipped her parka and stroked her slender neck with his thumb a few times before pressing it to her shoulder. He bit the cap off the felt-tip pen and drew his name in languid script on her pale skin. There was a smile settling on her lips as he finished, on his too.

  “What’s wrong with me can’t be fixed.”

  “Once you understand yourself better, you won’t feel that you need to be fixed.” He zipped up her coat once again. “I’m taking you home with me, now.”

  “I would like that, Master.”

  Chapter 15

  Though the buzz of excitement upon entering through the heavy wooden doors was most definitely familiar, Club Duval appeared less of a mystery upon her return. Samantha felt closer to the place, less like a visitor and more like she belonged there.

  The lounge was bare of activity, just as she expected, save for the lone cocktail waitress slicing limes at the bar and Paolo tucked into a corner booth with his sketchbook. He looked up with a smile.

  “That’s a good girl,” he said and waved her closer as Oleg spoke a few words to the waitress. “You brought the man himself…but did you get him to sign?”

  She slipped out of her coat and walked over to him, stretching her neck so he could see the signature she’d checked more than once in the passenger mirror.

  “Creative,” he said.

  “But not legally binding,” Oleg said, joining them now. “We’ll need to take care of that later.”

  She scooted next to Paolo on the seat. “May I see?”

  “It’s only the start of something,” he replied, showing her the loose sketches of a female form in various poses and in varying degrees of completion. She noticed the facial characteristics, the full lips, the almond eyes, also the slight frame and long neck.

  “Is this…”

  “You? Not yet,” he said placing the pad on the table in front of him. “Take off your clothes, so I can see the rest of you.”

  Oleg shook his head. “I want to start her training tomorrow.”

  Paolo frowned, ready to ask for details she assumed, but Samantha simply stood up and fingered the edge band of her sweater. “No, it’s fine,” she said. “I want to.” But that wasn’t the whole truth. She needed to, because he’d asked her, and in this building, she was meant to do as she was told. How else could she find out what was to happen next? The game needed to be played, and Samantha realized that playing wasn’t enough. This was a game she wanted to win.

  Oleg licked his lips. “Brazen,” he said in a tone she couldn’t place. Was it anger, frustration or amusement? She was still deciding when he strode back from the bar with the paring knife still glinting with lime juice. The waitress attending her preparation duties had made herself scarce.

  Samantha froze in place as she watched him. She should be panicking, and yet she didn’t move. He took the knife and ran it up the center of her cashmere V-neck, slicing through it in one long stroke. It fell open, and he cut the front of her bra. His gaze left her eyes only then and wandered the round edges of her small breasts. He placed the knife down and slid his fingers over her collar bone and onto her shoulders. A single tug and he stripped the ruined sweater and bra away. With a sharp yank of her wrist, he spun her to face away from him. Then his hand was around her neck and pressing her head to the table, bending her at the waist. “No one asked you what you wanted, Kitten,” he said. “We will assume you want everything until you say your safeword.” He glanced at Paolo. “Which is…”

  “Objection,” Paolo said.

  “Do you object?” he asked, releasing her neck and crouching behind her. He slipped the knife under the fabric of her leggings, slicing from her ankle slowly upward. Such soft fabric was no match for its sharpness, and it peeled away as if retreating from the blade. The thong that remained was nipped with a flick of his wrist.

  She was wet. She knew she was, and oddly, she wasn’t embarrassed. Oleg lingered, crouched behind her for a few moments, long enough for the refrain of the song playing softly in the background to repeat twice. Samantha didn’t move a muscle as something very basic inside her waited for whatever he wanted to do to her.

  The swish of air on her bare bottom was hardly a warning, because like lightning striking a dry field, he struck her seemingly out of the blue.

  “I was talking to Paolo. Don’t speak out of turn again,” Oleg said.

  Paolo leaned forward from his seated position in front of her. “Now you answer, yes, Master.”

  Her mind was racing, registering the stinging sensation alit on her ass cheek, and yet she managed to comply. “Yes, Master.”

  “Just one spanking on your first punishment, Kitten.” Oleg said. She heard his voice fall away and then the sound of glasses setting on the bar. “They double from here on out. Understand?”

  She nodded, and there was that irrational desire to know just how bad it could get, how far would he take it? How far would she? Only one thing was clear. Her training had begun after all.

  *

  Oleg checked his watch. “Jean Michel should have the car here in ten minutes. I’m going to tell Henri to meet us at the house.”

  “Ivan is already there. He texted me. Everything is ready for us.”

  “Good.” Oleg smiled, tossing back his shot of vodka. “You were really going to do this without me?”

  “We were certain that we wouldn’t have to.”

  “Why is that?” Oleg asked.

  “Look at her.” Paolo pointed across the bar to where she remained bent over the table.

  Oleg was looking at her. She’d eased her legs apart, placing her cunt on full display for them now. “She’s different from the others we’ve trained.”

  “She’s certainly eager,” Paolo said.

  “No, it’s more than that.” He stood up from the stool. “She’s fearless.” Oleg walked over to her and touched her, soon realizing that the fingertip he circled in her river of arousal was more of compulsion than a decision. He’d have given any other new pupil the deep fucking she was asking for and then made her pay for it with a flogging. But there was something else that made Samantha different than the five other women they’d helped become proper submissives and then placed in the care of a worthy Dominant. Samantha was dangerous. If he took what he wanted from her, he was alm
ost certain she’d take an equal piece of his resolve in the process.

  Samantha reached back and placed her hand on his, encouraging him. Fucking encouraging…him.

  He smacked her ass twice in quick succession, and her soft skin bloomed rosy red. She made a surprised noise that was less of a gasp and more of a coo. She was going to make him introduce her to his whip in record time. Make him. Yes…make…him. It was all backward. He did the making, she did the serving, and yet he found himself in agreement with her motives, toying at her entry and watching her ass sway in appreciation.

  He pressed his fingers deeper inside her this time, and God help him, he wanted to see her come for him. He wanted to hear her coo some more. He wanted to turn those coos into screams. He wanted to get under her skin the way she’d so easily got under his. Like a churning piston, he shuttled his fingers in and out of her sopping cunt. He watched her small hands bunch into fists, savored how she propped her ass higher for him. This wasn’t part of the plan. She hadn’t earned this orgasm. In fact, she’d baited him with her pretty little cunt, and the best punishment for that would be to ignore her. But there he was, taking the bait like a predator working on instinct. Her thighs quivered, and her taut ass shook and bounced with the pounding of his palm. She was so wet. Her channel pulled on his fingers as she clenched around them, demanding her release. He should have stopped. This was not the way to mark her boundaries or establish her place as his submissive. This was reckless abandon, mindless lust, and yet he craved the moment her pleasure would gush over his hand and knew he would punish her for it afterward. For now, there was only one goal.

  As she shuttered, a melodic cry of satisfaction escaped from her lips. Her first orgasm at his hand sounded like the sweetest of songs, and he placed his mouth at hers to feel her blow the last moan against his lips. Then he did the unthinkable. He kissed her.

  “Needy,” he whispered when their lips parted.

  She grinned like it was her proudest moment.

  Paolo was at their side, though Oleg hadn’t noticed until he spoke. “Let’s get her to the house.” He eyed Oleg suspiciously.