Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire - Chapter 62: Chapter 62
You are reading Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire, Chapter 62: Chapter 62. Read more chapters of Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire.
Elena’s POV:
The ride back from the doctor’s felt like shedding a second skin. The weight of the bandages was gone, leaving behind raw skin, fresh nerves, and the undeniable presence of scar tissue.
I kept glancing down at my hands, opening and closing them slowly in my lap, watching the way the skin wrinkled, pulled. The angry pink lines etched across my palms were grotesque.
I sighed, resting my forehead briefly against the cool window of the car as the city blurred past us, neon lights smearing like oil paint on a wet canvas. The evening air outside had cooled.
Nikolai hadn’t said much during the appointment, just watched the doctor remove the gauze with laser focus. When they gave me the all-clear and handed over the aftercare instructions—including the ointment I had to apply three times a day—he was the one who asked all the questions. Me? I’d just stared at my hands.
People never do realize how blessed they are until they lose something, do they?
After this incident I had realized that I was not an exception to that. I had been so upset that my family was in debt, that I had suffered from a heart condition, that my boyfriend cheated on me, and I had forgotten that I also had other things that I hadn’t lost.
Now? Having to depend on someone, even just to go to the bathroom, it made me realize that I never really appreciated the things I already had in my life. Like my working limbs, my intelligence, my mother, and also…
I turned to look at the man driving the car. He seemed lost even as he drove. As though he too, was busy in his own mind.
Now, in the soft hum of the car, I broke the silence. My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be.
“Hey, Nikolai?”
“Hm?” His eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to the road, one hand casually gripping the wheel, the other resting on the center console.
“Can we... get gloves?”
He didn’t respond at first. Just a slight crease between his brows, like he didn’t understand. I kept my eyes on my hands, twisting them in the faint light from the dashboard, watching the shimmer of medicated lotion catch the reflection.
“They’re ugly,” I mumbled. “The scars. They look... I don’t know. Disgusting. Like I dipped my hands in acid or something.”
But I was also only human, and being grateful and patient, I had realized, was easier said than done.
The car rolled to a soft stop at a red light. I felt the weight of his gaze before I turned my head. He was already looking at me. That expression on his face—the one that made my stomach flutter and my throat tighten.
Then, gently, he reached over and took my hands in his.
He brought them to his lips and kissed the center of each palm, soft, reverent.
“You don’t have a single thing to hide,” he said, voice low and rough. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll have some good quality ones delivered tomorrow. Any color you want. Silk, leather, cashmere—whatever feels best.”
I swallowed hard. His touch lingered, and I was grateful for it. Grateful I didn’t have to say thank you aloud because it was already written across my face.
The light turned green, and he released me slowly, returning his hand to the wheel.
“Thanks,” I whispered, voice cracking a little. “I... I really didn’t want to go out shopping like this. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
Nikolai gave a low chuckle. “Good. Then I don’t feel guilty doing this.”
“Doing what?”
Before I could ponder on what he meant, the car eased into the underground parking of his building. He parked, turned off the ignition, got out without another word, and came around to my side.
And then—
He opened the door, leaned in, and scooped me up.
“Hey!” I shrieked, my arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. “Nikolai, I can walk, you know!”
But he didn’t flinch. He kicked the car door shut with the heel of his shoe and turned toward the private elevator, holding me like I weighed nothing.
“I don’t want you away from me for even a second tonight,” he said smoothly, pressing the button with his elbow. “So stop fighting and enjoy being spoiled.”
I huffed. “That’s not—You can’t just... I’m not going to fight, but you really don’t have to carry me. I’m not fragile, you know?”
“You are to me,” he said.
Oh.
Shit.
I buried my face into his neck and tried not to combust. His scent—clean and spicy—wrapped around me like a drug. I closed my eyes and pretended I wasn’t melting.
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. He stepped in without hesitation.
As the lift ascended smoothly to the penthouse, he kissed me. Deep. Slow. His lips moved over mine like he had all the time in the world, tongue teasing, teeth nipping, his grip firm but careful. By the time the doors opened again, I was dazed.
We entered the penthouse and he didn’t drop me until we climbed the stairs and reached the bedroom.
That’s when I realized something was... different.
I gasped.
The bedroom was glowing.
Candles flickered on every surface, their golden light soft and inviting. Petals—roses—were scattered across the bed and lined the ground in elegant swirls, decorating the white linen and marble like brushstrokes of passion. The entire room smelled like roses and sandalwood and heat.
“What... is all this?” I whispered.
He carried me across the threshold like some ancient fairytale and set me gently on the bed. I sat up, heart hammering, gaze sweeping across the room in stunned disbelief.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, voice trembling.
He stood at the foot of the bed, loosening his tie, his expression soft. Then he smiled.
“There’s a custom in Middle Eastern weddings,” he said slowly. “The bride and groom’s room is decorated with flowers on the wedding night.”
My throat tightened.
“But why today?” I asked softly. “It’s not even our wedding night.”
He slipped the tie off his neck.
“If you’ll let me,” he said, eyes locked on mine, “I’d like to redo it.”
My breath caught.
“I didn’t do it right the first time,” he continued, voice rough. “We got married for the wrong reasons. The office—what we did that day—wasn't….love. But tonight, I want to make love to you, Elena. With no contracts. No obligations. Just us. Real. Honest.”
I stared up at him, my heart thudding wildly. Love. He’d actually said it.
“You don’t... have to, you know?” I whispered, feeling small. “I’m not really that into... soft l-love making.”
Just saying the words made my entire face burn.
To my surprise, he smirked.
“Oh, Malishka,” he murmured, stepping closer.
He reached for my hands, now free of bandages, and lifted them gently. Then, with smooth, practiced movements, he began to tie his silk tie around my wrists. Not tight—firm. Intricate. The knot kept my palms apart, my fingers open, useless.
Trapped.
My mouth went dry.
“I know exactly what you like,” he said, his voice sin incarnate. “And what my wife wants... my wife gets.”
His hands drifted to the buttons of my white dress. One by one, he undid them, revealing the ivory lace beneath. Bra. Panties. The matching set I’d worn because, well... I had a feeling tonight might end like this.
With a slow pull, he peeled the underwear from my legs and tossed it somewhere behind him. Then, without unhooking the bra, he leaned down.
And fell to his knees.
Right in front of the bed.
Right in front of me.
I gasped as he kissed the inside of my thigh. Then again. Higher. Higher.
And then his mouth was on me.
Hot. Devouring.
I fell back on the bed, my back hitting the mattress.
I arched violently, hands yanking at the tie as if I could break through it. I didn’t even register the pain.
His tongue moved with purpose. No teasing this time. Just raw, unrelenting focus. Oh fuck. Fuck. I’d been so horny. I knew I would last even a full minute with the pace he’d set.
My eyes widened when I felt his fingers come up to rub circles onto my clit and I moaned.
My orgasm soon hit hard.
My back bowed, my toes curled, and I cried out his name like it was the only word I knew.
“Niko~”
When he finally pulled back, he licked his lips with sinful satisfaction and looked up at me.
“What color?” he asked.
“Green,” I gasped. “Oh, f-fuck. So, so green.”
He grinned.
“We’re just getting started, Malishka.”
He turned and moved to the drawers. I tried to see what he pulled out, but his body blocked my view.
Then he returned.
His hands moved to my breasts, fondling them through the bra. He didn’t remove it. Not yet. Instead, he pinched my nipples through the fabric, making me gasp, the sensation sharp and wicked.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
I hesitated. “Why?”
His eyes darkened. “No questions. Are you going to be a bad girl and disobey?”
My breath hitched. A fresh wave of heat rolled through me.
I flushed, embarrassed, tingles racing up my spine. We were gonna do roleplay now? Oh god.
“I—No.”
“No what, Malishka?” he pressed.
I squirmed.
“No... I won’t be a...” My voice cracked. This was mortifying. But also thrilling. “A bad girl. Niko.”
His smirk was slow. Dangerous. Possessive.
“Do whatever you want with me.”
His pupils blew wide, black nearly eclipsing the gray.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
And I closed my eyes.
The ride back from the doctor’s felt like shedding a second skin. The weight of the bandages was gone, leaving behind raw skin, fresh nerves, and the undeniable presence of scar tissue.
I kept glancing down at my hands, opening and closing them slowly in my lap, watching the way the skin wrinkled, pulled. The angry pink lines etched across my palms were grotesque.
I sighed, resting my forehead briefly against the cool window of the car as the city blurred past us, neon lights smearing like oil paint on a wet canvas. The evening air outside had cooled.
Nikolai hadn’t said much during the appointment, just watched the doctor remove the gauze with laser focus. When they gave me the all-clear and handed over the aftercare instructions—including the ointment I had to apply three times a day—he was the one who asked all the questions. Me? I’d just stared at my hands.
People never do realize how blessed they are until they lose something, do they?
After this incident I had realized that I was not an exception to that. I had been so upset that my family was in debt, that I had suffered from a heart condition, that my boyfriend cheated on me, and I had forgotten that I also had other things that I hadn’t lost.
Now? Having to depend on someone, even just to go to the bathroom, it made me realize that I never really appreciated the things I already had in my life. Like my working limbs, my intelligence, my mother, and also…
I turned to look at the man driving the car. He seemed lost even as he drove. As though he too, was busy in his own mind.
Now, in the soft hum of the car, I broke the silence. My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be.
“Hey, Nikolai?”
“Hm?” His eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to the road, one hand casually gripping the wheel, the other resting on the center console.
“Can we... get gloves?”
He didn’t respond at first. Just a slight crease between his brows, like he didn’t understand. I kept my eyes on my hands, twisting them in the faint light from the dashboard, watching the shimmer of medicated lotion catch the reflection.
“They’re ugly,” I mumbled. “The scars. They look... I don’t know. Disgusting. Like I dipped my hands in acid or something.”
But I was also only human, and being grateful and patient, I had realized, was easier said than done.
The car rolled to a soft stop at a red light. I felt the weight of his gaze before I turned my head. He was already looking at me. That expression on his face—the one that made my stomach flutter and my throat tighten.
Then, gently, he reached over and took my hands in his.
He brought them to his lips and kissed the center of each palm, soft, reverent.
“You don’t have a single thing to hide,” he said, voice low and rough. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll have some good quality ones delivered tomorrow. Any color you want. Silk, leather, cashmere—whatever feels best.”
I swallowed hard. His touch lingered, and I was grateful for it. Grateful I didn’t have to say thank you aloud because it was already written across my face.
The light turned green, and he released me slowly, returning his hand to the wheel.
“Thanks,” I whispered, voice cracking a little. “I... I really didn’t want to go out shopping like this. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
Nikolai gave a low chuckle. “Good. Then I don’t feel guilty doing this.”
“Doing what?”
Before I could ponder on what he meant, the car eased into the underground parking of his building. He parked, turned off the ignition, got out without another word, and came around to my side.
And then—
He opened the door, leaned in, and scooped me up.
“Hey!” I shrieked, my arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. “Nikolai, I can walk, you know!”
But he didn’t flinch. He kicked the car door shut with the heel of his shoe and turned toward the private elevator, holding me like I weighed nothing.
“I don’t want you away from me for even a second tonight,” he said smoothly, pressing the button with his elbow. “So stop fighting and enjoy being spoiled.”
I huffed. “That’s not—You can’t just... I’m not going to fight, but you really don’t have to carry me. I’m not fragile, you know?”
“You are to me,” he said.
Oh.
Shit.
I buried my face into his neck and tried not to combust. His scent—clean and spicy—wrapped around me like a drug. I closed my eyes and pretended I wasn’t melting.
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. He stepped in without hesitation.
As the lift ascended smoothly to the penthouse, he kissed me. Deep. Slow. His lips moved over mine like he had all the time in the world, tongue teasing, teeth nipping, his grip firm but careful. By the time the doors opened again, I was dazed.
We entered the penthouse and he didn’t drop me until we climbed the stairs and reached the bedroom.
That’s when I realized something was... different.
I gasped.
The bedroom was glowing.
Candles flickered on every surface, their golden light soft and inviting. Petals—roses—were scattered across the bed and lined the ground in elegant swirls, decorating the white linen and marble like brushstrokes of passion. The entire room smelled like roses and sandalwood and heat.
“What... is all this?” I whispered.
He carried me across the threshold like some ancient fairytale and set me gently on the bed. I sat up, heart hammering, gaze sweeping across the room in stunned disbelief.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, voice trembling.
He stood at the foot of the bed, loosening his tie, his expression soft. Then he smiled.
“There’s a custom in Middle Eastern weddings,” he said slowly. “The bride and groom’s room is decorated with flowers on the wedding night.”
My throat tightened.
“But why today?” I asked softly. “It’s not even our wedding night.”
He slipped the tie off his neck.
“If you’ll let me,” he said, eyes locked on mine, “I’d like to redo it.”
My breath caught.
“I didn’t do it right the first time,” he continued, voice rough. “We got married for the wrong reasons. The office—what we did that day—wasn't….love. But tonight, I want to make love to you, Elena. With no contracts. No obligations. Just us. Real. Honest.”
I stared up at him, my heart thudding wildly. Love. He’d actually said it.
“You don’t... have to, you know?” I whispered, feeling small. “I’m not really that into... soft l-love making.”
Just saying the words made my entire face burn.
To my surprise, he smirked.
“Oh, Malishka,” he murmured, stepping closer.
He reached for my hands, now free of bandages, and lifted them gently. Then, with smooth, practiced movements, he began to tie his silk tie around my wrists. Not tight—firm. Intricate. The knot kept my palms apart, my fingers open, useless.
Trapped.
My mouth went dry.
“I know exactly what you like,” he said, his voice sin incarnate. “And what my wife wants... my wife gets.”
His hands drifted to the buttons of my white dress. One by one, he undid them, revealing the ivory lace beneath. Bra. Panties. The matching set I’d worn because, well... I had a feeling tonight might end like this.
With a slow pull, he peeled the underwear from my legs and tossed it somewhere behind him. Then, without unhooking the bra, he leaned down.
And fell to his knees.
Right in front of the bed.
Right in front of me.
I gasped as he kissed the inside of my thigh. Then again. Higher. Higher.
And then his mouth was on me.
Hot. Devouring.
I fell back on the bed, my back hitting the mattress.
I arched violently, hands yanking at the tie as if I could break through it. I didn’t even register the pain.
His tongue moved with purpose. No teasing this time. Just raw, unrelenting focus. Oh fuck. Fuck. I’d been so horny. I knew I would last even a full minute with the pace he’d set.
My eyes widened when I felt his fingers come up to rub circles onto my clit and I moaned.
My orgasm soon hit hard.
My back bowed, my toes curled, and I cried out his name like it was the only word I knew.
“Niko~”
When he finally pulled back, he licked his lips with sinful satisfaction and looked up at me.
“What color?” he asked.
“Green,” I gasped. “Oh, f-fuck. So, so green.”
He grinned.
“We’re just getting started, Malishka.”
He turned and moved to the drawers. I tried to see what he pulled out, but his body blocked my view.
Then he returned.
His hands moved to my breasts, fondling them through the bra. He didn’t remove it. Not yet. Instead, he pinched my nipples through the fabric, making me gasp, the sensation sharp and wicked.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
I hesitated. “Why?”
His eyes darkened. “No questions. Are you going to be a bad girl and disobey?”
My breath hitched. A fresh wave of heat rolled through me.
I flushed, embarrassed, tingles racing up my spine. We were gonna do roleplay now? Oh god.
“I—No.”
“No what, Malishka?” he pressed.
I squirmed.
“No... I won’t be a...” My voice cracked. This was mortifying. But also thrilling. “A bad girl. Niko.”
His smirk was slow. Dangerous. Possessive.
“Do whatever you want with me.”
His pupils blew wide, black nearly eclipsing the gray.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
And I closed my eyes.
End of Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire Chapter 62. Continue reading Chapter 63 or return to Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire book page.