Bound by lies Trapped by Desire novel Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Nikolai’s POV:

“What the hell, Nikolai?” Elena gasps, her breath ragged as she slumps onto my chest, her fingers digging into my biceps. Her voice is sharp, but there a confusion in it too, and maybe a trace of something else I can’t quite place.

And I freeze.

Oh fuck.

Did I just

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, going completely still as realization dawns on me.

I just bit her.

Like a goddamn animal.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The taste of her skin still lingers on my tongue, coppery and warm, and it makes something primal and unfamiliar stir deep in my gut. I look down at her shoulder where my teeth had sunk in–not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark. My mark. And probably hurt like a bitch.

“I–fuck, I’m sorry,” I blurt out, horrified as I gently brush a finger over the already reddening spot. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to-”

Elena pulls back slightly, her eyes scanning my face. Her brow is raised, but that’s when I realize…. there’s no real anger there.

“You just bit me,” she says, almost like she’s trying to process it herself. Her voice is incredulous, but not entirely reproachful.

I cringe, running a hand through my hair.

“Yeah. I know. I… Jesus.”

My gaze drops to the floor. Shame is a bitter taste in my mouth. I can’t even bring myself to meet her eyes. I knew I had some sadistic tendencies in me. But I always kept that part of me caged in. I had never gone this far, never got this carried away with anyone else. I brace myself for her to shove me away, maybe slap me, maybe yell–any normal reaction to what I just did. But instead, she tilts her head slightly, examining me like I’m some strange puzzle she suddenly finds amusing.

“Interesting,” she murmurs under her breath.

My head jerks up.

“What?” I ask, unsure if I even heard her right.

She crosses her arms, rubbing the mark I just left on her, feigning nonchalance, but I don’t miss the way the tips of her ears turn a furious shade of red. Her poker face is slipping.

My brows lift, a realization dawning on me. “Wait a second,” I say slowly, “Did you…-you actually liked that?”

“No,” she snaps, far too quickly. “I mean–I was just surprised.”

But I see right through her. My mind flashes back to just a few minutes ago, the way she clenched around me when I called her a slut–the flush on her face, the sound she made. That wasn’t just surprise. That was pleasure.

A slow, amused grin begins to spread across my face as the worry melts.

“Hold on,” I murmur, leaning in close. “Do you… have a degrading kink, Elena?”

She sputters, jerking back.

“What? No!!–I don’t know,” she stammers, then tries to scramble off of me, her hands fumbling with the blanket on the ground, which had apparente fell down along with us.

I catch her wrist gently, pulling her back. “Not so fast,” I say with a low chuckle. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She glares at me, cheeks flaming red.

“Nikolai,” she groans, trying to hide her face.

“Elena,” I say, tightening my grip just enough to keep her in place. “Come on, be honest. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

She huffs, flopping back against my chest with a dramatic sigh. Hiding her face so she she doesn’t have to look at me.

“I seriously don’t know, okay?” she mutters. “I’ve only ever been with Dmitri. And he was…pretty vanilla.”

I scoff.

“Of course he was,” I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes.

She turns and shoots me a look. “What?”

“Nothing. Just–figures. He probably made it feel like a scheduled chore, didn’t he?”

She shrugs, half–laughing, half–cringing.

“If I’m being honest…….sometimes, yeah.”

D

I shake my head, then pause, my voice dropping to something softer. “Do you… want to try something different in the future?”

Her eyes snap to mine, wide and startled.

She glances toward the door like someone might burst in any second.

My lips twitch.

“Relax,” I say, chuckling as I brush a strand of hair from her face. I know she’s worried about her mother hearing us and this might be too early to discuss BDSM anyways. Even for me. “We can talk about it later. For now..!”

I trail off, leaning in, as my hands glide up her naked body under the blanket. She shivers and I feel blood rush down as my cock hardens.

I push her back onto the carpeted floor and the rest of the night disappears into a blur of heat, skin, and whispered words.

The morning light filters through the curtains, a soft golden hue painting the edges of the room in warmth. I stir, glancing at the time on the clock.

5:03 a.m.

Still early.

I shift out of the bed carefully, not wanting to disturb Elena. She’s completely wrapped in the blankets, one leg kicked out in a tangled mess, her dark hair spilling over the pillow like waves of ink. Her face is peaceful, lips slightly parted, breathing steady.

She looks…soft.

Delicate.

A far cry from the firecracker who called me a fucking dog last night after the third round,

I grin to myself as I head into the bathroom.

The shower is quick but indulgent. The water is hot, and I let it run over my sore muscles as I brace myself against the tile, trying not to think too hard about how good last night felt. About how right it felt.

When I step out, toweling my hair dry, Elena is still out cold.

I leave her be and pad down to the kitchen.

It’s quiet.

The fridge hums softly, and there’s a faint creak in the floorboards as I move. I glance around, opening cabinets until I find what I need and start throwing together a club sandwich.

Bacon. Lettuce. Tomato. A slice of cheese. I toast the bread lightly, stacking the layers with precision.

Once the sandwich is made, I look around for coffee.

There isn’t a coffee machine anywhere in sight.

I frown.

Seriously?

My gaze drops to a jar of instant Nescafe on the counter.

Oh, hell no.

But then Elena’s words echo in my mind. How she’d implied that I couldn’t live with her, in her house, because I was apparently too spoiled for it.

Well.

Hol can at least try.

I follow the instructions on the jar, spooning a heap of granules into a mug, pouring hot water over them, adding sugar. Then more sugar. Then a little more. I stir it and take a cautious sip.

The moment it hits my tongue, I lurch forward and it directly into the sink.

“Jesus Christ,” I groan.

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