Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire - Chapter 46: Chapter 46

Elena’s POV:
Thankfully, Nikolai was just playing around last night.
At least—I hoped he was. About the whole car-sex thing.
Because while I’d seen the way his eyes darkened when I said no, I also saw the way he’d respected it. Pulled away with a smirk and a raised brow like we were playing a game of chicken neither of us wanted to end.
Still, at the rate we were going? That was probably next on the list.
I bit down on my lower lip as I settled into the smooth leather seat of the limousine. The red dress stretched just slightly when I crossed my legs, the fabric cool against my skin. Nikolai sat across from me, his legs sprawled wide, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest as he sipped something amber from a crystal glass that looked older than my entire wardrobe.
His eyes flicked toward me from under his lashes.
Like I was prey.
"Why are you so horny all the time?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
The man had the audacity to look wounded. His brows lifted as he swirled the drink in his glass, voice drenched in mock offense. "All the time? It’s been hours."
"Hours," I repeated, flatly.
It had been hours since we got off the private jet—because of course, the bastard had a private jet—and not even ten minutes had passed from take off to me getting pinned on the in-flight bed. That stupid decadent bedroom tucked into the tail-end of the plane, with blackout shades and silk sheets that had no business being that soft.
I still had marks on my thighs from where he’d gripped them. Still felt sore in the way that made my spine tingle every time I shifted my legs.
He leaned in suddenly, and before I could flinch, his lips brushed my ear. “Don’t act like you didn’t love every second of it. How’s it feel,” his breath was warm, his voice low, “being part of the mile high club, Mrs. Vetrov?”
When had he gotten so close?
My eyes widened, and I turned away fast, only to feel his teeth graze the shell of my ear before biting down—hard. A shiver ran down my back, entirely involuntary.
I barely managed to push out a weak protest. “We’re not having sex with the driver in the front.”
“The divider’s up,” he said, like that was supposed to help.
“No.”
He laughed—a deep, rich thing that vibrated in my chest. “Still got a little morality left, do you?” His fingers slid slowly across my waist, down the side of my thigh, bunching up the dress as he whispered, “I thought I fucked that out of you earlier. Do you think the flight attendant didn’t hear you moaning on my cock like a whore?”
My entire body went stiff. Heat rose up my neck, blooming over my cheeks and ears like wildfire. The velvet of the dress clung to my thighs, and I felt the telltale wetness starting to soak through the lace panties underneath.
I needed to stop him.
The dress had just been steamed. And the silver and ruby jewelry set Nikolai picked out for me—subtle but expensive-looking—glinted under the soft interior lights of the limo. I didn’t want to walk into a formal banquet looking like I’d just gotten finger-fucked in the backseat of a limousine.
My hand came up between us.
“Stop, Nikolai.”
He froze immediately. Like I’d pressed a button.
The devious smile remained on his face, but his hands dropped from my waist without protest. We both knew the rule now: when I called him Niko, it meant don’t stop even if I said to. But when I used his full name—Nikolai—he listened.
It was an unspoken ary. A kind of twisted trust we’d established in the past week.
He leaned back, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. “As you wish.”
God, he was infuriating.
I ran a hand over my neck, my fingers brushing over concealed hickeys. A shameful little thrill moved through me. I’d let him do it. I’d asked him to. Over and over. I didn’t want to think about what that said about me.
The worst part?
I was starting to think it wasn’t enough. Like he was corrupting me.
I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who begged to be hurt. Who liked being told she was a mess, that I looked like one, that I was made for his cock. But somewhere between our fourth and fifth night together, I realized: I had a thing. A very specific, filthy little thing.
Pain. Degradation. Praise laced with cruelty.
And the worst part? He knew.
He was turning me into someone I didn’t recognize.
I didn’t know what scared me more—that I was letting it happen… or that I didn’t want it to stop.
Last night, he’d said something that echoed in my brain now.
How do you expect me to go back to normal sex after this?
I swallowed hard.
What was I going to do when this was over?
Was I supposed to find someone else? Some normal guy who didn’t own a private jet? Who didn’t fuck like he’d spent ten years thinking about exactly how to break me?
I stared out the tinted window, the city lights flickering across the glass.
Maybe I was becoming a maniac like him. A sex addict.
Maybe I liked it.
The limo slowed to a stop, and a second later the driver’s voice came through the intercom.
“Sir, we’ve arrived.”
I exhaled slowly.
Nikolai set down his glass and adjusted his jacket. The air shifted between us instantly—like he’d flipped a switch inside himself. The hunger in his eyes dimmed, replaced with something colder. Calculating.
Business mode.
He turned to me, voice calm now. “Ready?”
I nodded once, instinctively sitting up straighter.
“This is your first official outing as my wife,” he said. “People will stare. Some will smile to your face and insult you behind your back. Don’t let it get under your skin.”
“I won’t.”
He studied me, eyes unreadable. “My father will be there. Probably Dmitri too.”
My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to nod again. “I figured.”
We both stepped out of the limo.
The night air was crisp, sharp against my skin as I emerged. I reached for Nikolai’s arm instinctively, and he offered it, his fingers curling around mine as he guided me up the carpeted stairs.
My hair was twisted into a low bun, clipped in place with a silver pin that matched the ruby’s at my throat and ears. The set was delicate, just barely ornate enough for the kind of crowd we were walking into.
Nikolai had insisted that I wear the red dress because it looked amazing on me. But at the end of the day he’d left the decision on me. I could choose the green dress from last night or the red one.
I was still getting used to all of this. To wearing things that weren’t jeans and a hoodie in public. But ultimately, I went with Nikolai’s choice and wore the dress.
But now, standing in the marble vestibule of a glittering ballroom surrounded by people who looked like they’d eaten caviar since infancy, I suddenly felt like a fraud anyway.
The banquet hall doors were already open, light spilling out across polished floors. A man in a navy blazer greeted us with a strained smile, murmured something in Russian, and gestured us in.
I didn’t have time to brace myself.
Nikolai’s father found us first.
“Ah,” he said, voice smooth and too loud. “Nikolai.”
He approached with a firm handshake, dressed in a three-piece black suit with gold cufflinks, his remaining salt-and-pepper hair slicked back.
His eyes were sharp.
His smile? Fake.
And as he clasped Nikolai’s hand and pulled him in for a stiff shoulder-hug… he looked straight through me.
Didn’t speak to me. Didn’t acknowledge me.
Like I was made of smoke.
I stood there, dumbstruck, for a half second too long.
Then my grip on Nikolai’s arm tightened.
Just a little.