Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire - Chapter 64: Chapter 64

Elena’s POV:
It was easy to forget.
Forget that once upon a time, I thought sex was just... functional. Quiet. A thing you did to please the other person, a thing to tick off the list of what made a “successful relationship.”
Yes, Dmitri had taken my virginity.
But Nikolai?
He was the one who made me feel.
He’d torn through every illusion I’d ever held, replacing them with something raw, carnal, and real. The way he looked at me during sex—as if I was something sacred, something owned—haunted me even when I closed my eyes. It wasn’t just lust. It was obsession. Passion. This delicious kind of corruption that made me burn from the inside out.
He’d given me so many firsts that my head spun trying to count them.
First time bent over his office desk, the thrill of being fucked against the glass window overlooking the entire city, or the fear of his secretary hearing us outside.
First time pressed against the marble in his shower, steam curling around us like fog, his mouth on my throat while the water sluiced down our bodies.
First time I’d been pinned on the bed, in a private jet while he made me come during takeoff.
My thighs clenched at the memory.
He’d turned me into this sex-crazed maniac who could get wet just from the sight of the veins on his hands. Those hands. Those impossibly elegant hands that had been inside me, spanking me, claiming me—ruining me.
And what he’d said last night. Love. He loved me. Would I be able to say it back? After not even a full month of me promising myself not to fall in love again?
I sighed softly, my eyes fluttering open as the sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains. Thin streaks of gold danced across the white sheets, casting long patterns over the edge of the bed.
The scent of pancakes drifted toward me—sweet and warm, with a hint of vanilla and something spiced. Cinnamon?
My stomach rumbled on cue.
The bedroom door was cracked open, and I could hear soft movement from the kitchen—the clink of a spatula against the pan, the soft hiss of something flipping, and Nikolai’s low voice humming... was that Frank Sinatra?
I turned to check the time and blinked. It was only eight a.m. Still early.
Thank God it was the weekend. No class. No responsibilities.
Just a rare, beautiful, quiet morning.
Except for the six orgasms I’d had last night. That part wasn’t quiet at all.
I groaned, covering my face with both hands as heat crept up my neck.
Six.
Six fucking times.
I had never, ever come that many times in one night. Not even close. By the fourth, I’d been shaking. By the fifth, crying. The sixth? I could barely speak. And that last orgasm? He’d teased me for so long, edging me over and over again, pulling away just before I toppled off the cliff—until I begged.
Literally begged.
“Please, Nikolai. Please, let me come—don’t stop, I need to—please—”
Shameless. Absolutely fucking shameless.
I sighed again and rolled over to reach for my phone, only to freeze when I saw the screen light up with missed calls.
Oh no.
My mother.
Guilt twisted in my chest. I’d completely forgotten to call her last night. She must’ve been worried sick.
I quickly tapped her contact and held the phone to my ear, silently praying she wouldn’t chew me out.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Elena? Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” I rushed to say, already wincing. “I’m so sorry, Mama. I should’ve called. I—”
“I got worried,” she interrupted, her voice immediately softening. “But Nikolai texted me, said you were spending the night at the penthouse. I figured... well.”
There was a pause.
“You sound like you had a rough night.”
I groaned. “Mom.”
She chuckled, clearly amused. “What? I didn’t say anything. But, well, if you two keep having more ‘rough nights’ like that, I expect to hear about grandchildren soon.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Mama!”
More laughter from her end.
I pressed my forehead to the pillow, mortified beyond belief. There was so much I could’ve said. So many ways to shut her down. But my mind zeroed in on one thing—the thing I hadn’t told her.
That I’d already gotten birth control treatment.
Because I was an adult.
Because it was none of her business.
And because the conversation would be too awkward to survive.
She thankfully moved on. “I’ve got the day off today, and I’m making lunch. Why don’t you and Nikolai come over?”
My lips curved into a smile despite myself.
“Sure. But don’t go overboard, alright? If you get tired—”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Let me enjoy cooking for my daughter and her ridiculously handsome husband.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed. “We’ll be there.” Warmth pooled in my belly at her addressing Nikolai that way. It showed that she was finally opening up to him. Not just for show.
After ending the call, I finally peeled myself out of bed, stretching slowly as soreness bloomed across every inch of me. My thighs ached. My shoulders ached. Even my damn abs ached.
That’s when I caught my reflection in the mirror.
And froze.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
There were bruises across my neck, collarbone, shoulders—actual bruises. Not hickeys. Not faint little love marks.
Bruises.
I turned sideways and pulled up the hem of Nikolai’s T-shirt—the one he’d tugged onto me last night after helping me into a warm bath I barely remembered. My breath caught.
There were more bruises on my stomach and upper thighs. Some were reddish-purple, others darker, more yellow around the edges. A few angry handprints stood out stark against my skin.
I looked like a goddamn crime scene.
I ran a hand down my side, feeling a twinge of pain in the motion, but also something else—a memory. A flash of what we’d done. Of his eyes above me, the way they burned. Of the tie around my wrists. The vibrators. His voice in my ear.
Had I slipped into subspace?
I’d read about it. How sometimes, when things became too overwhelming, the mind retreated to protect itself, retreating into something fuzzy, floaty. I didn’t remember the details clearly, only the feelings. The pleasure. The surrender.
I moved slowly to the closet and grabbed a pair of soft cotton trousers, wincing again as I stepped into them. No way was I letting my mom see the constellation of bruises all over me. She’d kill Nikolai on the spot.
I tied my hair into a messy bun and padded downstairs barefoot, the wood floor cool under my soles. The scent of pancakes hit me instantly, stronger now, warm and sweet. And there he was.
Nikolai Vetrov.
In the kitchen.
Wearing nothing but grey sweatpants and a white apron.
Once again, the sight nearly made me trip.
His back was to me, but he turned as I stepped into the room, a smile already forming on his face.
“Good morning, Malishka,” he said, walking over to kiss my cheek. His lips were warm and soft. “You’re just in time. Pancakes are almost done.”
“You’re too domestic,” I muttered, taking a seat at the island counter.
“Only for you,” he replied without missing a beat as he flipped another pancake.
I watched him work, still a little dazed. “Mom’s making lunch, by the way. Invited us over.”
“Did she say what she’s making?”
“No. But she told me I sounded like I had a rough night.”
He glanced at me over his shoulder, smirking. “Did you deny it?”
“I tried.”
He laughed, stacking pancakes onto a plate. “Well, if she wants us over, we’ll go. I’ll clear my schedule.”
“Do you have work today?”
His smile faltered. “Yeah. Actually, I’ll be busy most of the day.”
I nodded, trying not to show disappointment. “Anything major?”
“There’s a charity ball tonight,” he said as he poured syrup over the pancakes. “Hosted by a friend of mine.”
I blinked. “Are we going?”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to,” he said honestly, sitting beside me. “You’re still recovering.”
I paused, then shook my head. “If we don’t go, it’ll look like we’re hiding or that we’re scared. We should go.”
He looked pleased by that. “I thought you’d say that.”
“Who’s your friend by the way, the person hosting?” I asked as I cut into the pancakes, the syrup soaking through the fluffy layers.
“Seraphina Legacy.”
I choked.