Only Pretend by Nora Flite Read Free Book Online Page B

carried the plates to Leonide. "Here, sir," I said, putting his in front of him. Without slowing, I set mine down and fell into a chair.
    His foot shot out, toppling me and the seat to the tile. Though I cried out, not one of the women stopped their tasks. Sprawled there, I gawked up at him, not hiding my fury. "Why did you—"
    "A good wife always asks if her husband—or anyone she serves—needs anything else before she sits down to stuff her fucking face," he snapped.
    Blood thumped in my temples. Slowly I stood, setting my chair back. Leonide sat with his back straight, and so help me, the threat in his body language was daunting. I cleared my throat. "Can I get you anything else, sir? "
    He was up, his chair scraping. "You can get me a girl who listens." Though I managed a step back, my cuffs prevented speed. He didn't need the advantage; he was already quicker.
    I felt small, his hand forcing me to the floor. Still no one moved, no one once tried to step in and help. Like robots they worked; eyes down, minding their own business.
    Leonide was whispering in my ear, guttural as a rabid wolf. "I told you to obey, you fucking said you would , Celeste!"
    "I obeyed!" I whined, the tile hurting my chin. I was becoming acquainted with all of the floors in this house. "I did like you said, sir! I did it!"
    "Oh? You think your scalding sarcasm when you emphasized my title was obeying?" Kneeling on my shoulder blades, the rain of spankings on my sensitive ass was explosive. "Or did you think I was oblivious and wouldn't notice your tone? Was that it?" Every slap cracked my armor. "You think I'm slow, Celeste? Stupid? Am I stupid? "
    "No! No, you're not, you're not! Please stop, god, stop! Just stop, sir!" I couldn't control my babbling; the pain, the shame, it was too much.
    Releasing me, Leonide scoffed. "You're correct. I'm not. Get up, you reckless girl."
    Sniffling, I wiped my nose and knelt. He pulled me up the rest of the way, eliciting another whimper.
    Gripping my shoulders, Leonide looked down into my red-rimmed eyes, waited until he had my full attention. Softly, he rubbed the outside of my arms. "The answer I was going to give was that, no, I don't need anything else." He pulled out a napkin, dabbed the remaining wet smudges on my face. "Now. Sit down, eat, and don't make such a fuss."
    I had no grace left; I settled into my seat, cried out from the sting. I needed to eat, but embarrassment and scalding flesh ruined my hunger. The first forkful was pure effort. Strength. I shoveled more in. I need strength.
    Leonide banged the table, my fork falling in my distress. "Eat proper," he said crisply. "A lady doesn't cram it down her gullet. Small bites, dainty bites."
    It was actually a good call on his part. I didn't care about eating 'properly' but my belly wasn't ready to handle the speed. As I worked through the meal, I took the time to peek around.
    Sunlight streamed through a number of windows. It was a very white kitchen, peaceful and quaint. The women were still talking, cooking up a storm. Russian. Does that mean—no. Impossible. I covered my mouth, stared at the yellow bits on my empty plate. I couldn't be that far! I was in Vegas, how the hell could anyone get me from there to fucking Russia?
    Leonide must have a house with Russian servants, immigrants, that was all. That had to be all.
    "What are you thinking?"
    I crushed the utensil in my hand, not lifting my eyes. "Nothing, sir."
    "Don't lie to me."
    Fine. He wants to play mind reader? Squinting at him, I thumbed the fork. "I was wondering where we are."
    "Ah." Leonide pushed his plate away, most of it not eaten. "Easy. My home."
    "But where is your home, sir?"
    Even in the sunlight, his irises looked like pools of shadow. "You don't need to know that yet."
    Dropping the fork, I didn't drag out the argument. If he didn't plan to tell me, this wouldn't be the way to get the information. Let him feel superior. I'll learn where I am eventually.
    Sliding his chair