Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire - Chapter 49: Chapter 49

Elena’s POV:
The first thing I noticed was the pain.
A dull ache radiated across my back like I’d been tackled by a herd of linebackers in stilettos. My eyes cracked open. The hotel room was soaked in a sleepy gray light filtering through the half-drawn curtains. I groaned softly as I tried to move, only to immediately wince.
"Oh, for fuck’s sake," I muttered.
My body felt like it had been in a slow-motion car crash. Every joint groaned in protest, every muscle throbbed. I tried to stretch, regretted it instantly. My thighs. My hips. My lower back.
"God, what the hell did we—"
I froze mid-thought and slowly turned my head to look down at myself.
My eyes widened.
Hickeys. Not just on my neck—oh no. That would’ve been far too merciful. But all down my chest, my stomach. My thighs. Faint bruises traced my hips like he’d marked me on purpose, like he wanted me to remember every second of last night by simply existing in my body.
Which I very much was.
A flash of memory sucker-punched me—
Me on all fours, gripping the headboard like a lifeline, gasping for breath as Nikolai pounded into me from behind.
“Count,” he’d growled against my ear.
“Wh-what?” I’d barely managed to say.
And then his palm had cracked across my ass.
Oh my fucking god.
“One,” I’d gasped.
Another slap. “Two.”
Ten. He made me count to ten.
My palm flew to my face. “What the fuck, Elena.”
I had never in my life thought I’d be the type of girl to get spanked. I used to roll my eyes at BDSM. Always thought it was some try-hard Fifty Shades cosplay. Borderline cult behavior. Absolutely not for me.
Except now?
Now I had marks. And flashbacks. And worse—I had liked it.
A lot.
The bathroom door clicked open. I scrambled to yank the blanket up to my chin like some Victorian maiden, despite the fact that Nikolai had already seen every inch of me—in positions I was still trying to mentally process.
Nikolai stepped out, towel slung low around his hips, damp hair slicked back. The second he saw me, he smirked. Not the cocky smirk he gave the world—this one was softer, knowing, intimate.
I buried my face further in the blanket.
He laughed. Actually laughed. "Really? After everything, now you're shy?"
"Shut up," I grumbled.
He walked over to the dresser and pulled out a robe, tossing it onto the bed beside me. "Want to head back home today?"
I blinked at him. "What do you mean? Haven’t you already booked a flight?" Wait. Did you even need to book flights for private jets?
"We can do that. Or... we could drive."
My head snapped up. "Drive?"
He grinned, like a devil making a deal. "Six hours, tops. I thought you might enjoy a little road trip."
I blinked once, then again. A giddy sort of excitement started bubbling in my chest.
"Can I drive?" I asked, suddenly bouncing a little.
"I mean, you’ll have to fight me for the wheel," he teased. "But yeah."
"Oh my god. Yes. Yes. Please."
He looked at me in that way that made the butterflies riot in my stomach—like he knew me too well already. I clamped my mouth shut before I said something stupid and darted for the bathroom, snatching the robe on my way.
Inside, I turned on the shower and tried not to look at myself in the mirror for too long. My skin was littered with evidence. Physical proof of how deeply I had fallen down this rabbit hole.
Still, when I turned around and dried off, I found a Les Clefs cropped shirt hanging on the back of the bathroom door. My mind went back to the whispers I had heard as Nikolai conversed with someone while I slept. I think it was only a while before I woke up. It seemed the receptionist had sent this up—at Nikolai’s request. I didn’t want to know how much it cost. Probably more than my rent. For half a shirt.
I slipped it on anyway, along with the designer skinny jeans I didn’t recognize but couldn't deny were the most comfortable pants I’d ever worn. I looked like some kind of effortless influencer.
When I stepped out, still towel-drying my hair, Nikolai was already dressed in all black, as usual. But on the bed lay a jacket. Black leather. Cut for a woman.
While also matching the leather jacket he wore.
I frowned. "Why are we dressing like we’re about to star in a fashion campaign?"
He glanced over. "This hotel’s one of the best in Beacon Hills. A lot of the banquet guests are probably staying here. I figured we shouldn’t exactly roll out looking like we just had the dirtiest night of our lives."
I flushed immediately. “You’re horrible.”
“Mm,” he agreed. “But I’m right.”
Then he walked over and plucked the towel from my hands.
"Hey—"
"Sit."
I sat.
He flicked on the hair dryer that he pulled out of nowhere—or maybe the cupboard—and began carefully, gently drying my hair. His fingers raked through the strands slowly, methodically. I stayed quiet, suddenly unsure of how to breathe.
God. He needed to stop being this nice.
When the heat died down and the dryer switched off, he didn’t stop. His fingers stayed tangled in my hair, his touch grazing the side of my neck—right over a particularly dark hickey.
I shivered.
And then I felt him parting my hair.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
"Braiding."
My voice cracked. "You learned how to braid?"
He shrugged. “I have an eidetic memory. I only need to see something once to learn it.”
My head whipped around. "You what?"
He gave a lopsided grin. "Surprised?"
“Yes! You never told me that."
He tugged gently to keep me still. "You never asked."
I sat there stunned as he tied off the braid with a tiny elastic and let the curtain bangs fall around my face.
How was he like this? How could he be both ruthless and gentle, possessive and considerate?
A knock sounded at the door.
We both turned.
Nikolai frowned. “I didn’t order anything.”
He stood and walked over to open it. A hotel server wheeled in a breakfast cart stacked high with covered dishes and steaming coffee. On top sat a white envelope, sealed with gold wax.
The server gave a tight smile. “A gift from Mr. Vetrov.”
My stomach plummeted.
Nikolai’s eyes darted to me, that frown deepening.