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"Why can't you just do
as you're told?"

- Sergey
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Chapter 4 - Wrapped In Black

▪️N A T A S H A▪️

Upon entering the elevator, I hesitated on which button to press.

My eyes glanced across the crowded room one more time, envying the women who writhed in pleasure. I bit the inside of my cheek, doing my best to not let my mind wander, envisioning myself with a certain man.

A soft whimper escaped me as I pictured how his lips would feel against my body. It was almost ridiculous, the amount of time I had wasted dreaming about participating fully on one of the various levels.

Honestly, I did not care which one.

The second and third levels of The Purple Angel allowed people to freely to act out their wildest fantasies, from regular 'vanilla' sex to risky BDSM acts. There were also a few private rooms for those who did not wish for an audience as well as some exclusive guest rooms for the super VIP clients.

Basically, everyone I knew was a member of Aleksandr's sex club.

A part of me felt like going down to the first level which housed a nightclub that had strippers, both male and female, lining the walls. I thought about paying for a private dance, but then I remembered that Delilah was off work tonight.

With my finger still hovering over the elevator button, I contemplated going down into the dungeon to watch a scene or two play out. The dungeon area was for individuals who were into really extreme forms or torture and sexual play and as such was only accessible to a select few.

"Selena and Craig are supposed to be doing a scene tonight," I said to myself.

Selena was a thick woman in her mid-forties. The Latina was a forceful dominant, known for her strict commands, and she was very popular among the younger male submissives in the club. Craig, an Asian in his early twenties was her favourite sub and their scenes were always memorable.

Exhaling loudly, I did my best to clear my thoughts.

I had told Jade that I would go home, and I figured that would be the best option for me. Given the current headspace that I was in, I would probably regret whatever decisions I would make tonight.

Not taking any more time to think about it, I hastily stabbed the button for the underground parking garage. Tilting my head back, I briefly closed my eyes doing my best not to let my dark inner thoughts get the best of me.

Over the last ten years, I had battled with an intense self-loathing, believing that I was not good enough to be loved. Especially given what I had endured while being held captive in New York, I often wondered if there was something terrible and unpleasant about me.

I knew better than to listen to the voices in my head. What happened to me was not my fault and I did what I had to do in order to survive.

No matter what I had been though, I did deserve to be loved.

Seven breaths. 

In and out. 

Slow and steady.

After the first cycle, I began to feel more relaxed and I repeated the process until the sound of the elevator interrupted me.

When the sleek metal doors opened, the eerie silence of the car park stared back at me. Taking another deep breath, I squared my shoulders and held on to my clutch even tighter, my right hand moving inside of the bag.

Upon exiting the elevator, my black heels clicked against the cold concrete.

The fingers of my right hand tensed around my CWR 9 that lay hidden in my small bag. The compact 9mm gun had been a gift from Jade on my eighteenth birthday. It only had seven bullets in it, but like she taught me, I only needed one to take an opponent down.

With the cold metal pressed against my palm I felt a bit more secure and I softly spoke, telling myself that I was safe and that no one would harm me. The security around The Purple Angel was top notch, but no system was 100% foolproof.

A sudden shadowy movement out the corner of my eye had me drawing my weapon.

"Whoa!" Sergey said, his hands in the air.

Seeing his handsome face, I immediately put my weapon back into my clutch and tried my best to calm my racing heart. My previous anxiety was now replaced with a nervousness that I always seemed to experience whenever Aleksandr's second in command was around.

Quickly taking in his appearance, I admired the way his signature black suit fit him. His jacket was open as usual and the two top buttons of his black shirt were undone, allowing me to see hints of the beautiful dark tattoos on his chest. 

The man was an attractive package, always wrapped in black.

What I loved most about Sergey though was his hair. His thick, black, shoulder-length hair made my fingers itch every time I saw him, wanting nothing more than to run my hands through the silky strands.

He usually wore his hair in a top knot or a man bun as it was more commonly known. It was a style that could be considered cute on most men, but Sergey was too masculine to ever be referred to as cute.

The man was built for violence, and judging from his freshly bruised knuckles, it would seem that some unfortunate soul had been on the receiving end of his wrath tonight.

I knew that I should not be turned on by the thought, but I could not stop my body's reaction.

There was an almost feral roughness about Sergey that excited me and I had given up on trying to figure out why. He radiated an air of authority and an almost stifling self-assurance with every step he took and I acknowledged that those were qualities I liked about him. 

Sergey was the type of man that both men and women fawned over. 

There as just something tempting about him and his neatly trimmed stubbled beard gave his sharp jaw an even more rugged appearance. It was hard not to notice him whenever he walked into a room, especially with that body of his. Not even his expensive suits could hide how sculpted he was. 

Even if most of the words coming out his mouth were somewhat unhinged, people tended to overlook his rudeness due to his wealth and charm. Sergey just had a way about him that, even though he pissed you off, you just found yourself coming back for more.

I could admit that when he was not being a peevish asshole, he was a lot of fun to be around, especially when he had a few drinks in him.

As discreetly as I could, I slowly continued to admire his appearance and bit my bottom lip to stop myself from saying something stupid. I never thought that I would be attracted to an older man, especially Sergey Antonovich Gorky of all people.

God, he looked so good, I thought to myself, but my subtle staring was interrupted by the harsh sound of his voice.

"Fucking hell, woman! I swear, one of these days you'll really shoot me!"

I could feel the skin of my cheeks burn as I retorted, "Yeah? Well, how many times must I tell you not to sneak up on me?"

"Pfft!" Sergey scoffed then continued, "I wasn't sneaking, I was walking! Not my fault that you're jumpy tonight."

My body tensed slightly.

I knew that his comment was not meant to hurt me. But his words stung either way, reminding me of how broken I truly was.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried, there would always be things that triggered me. However, that did not mean that I could not learn to manage my reactions and not let it take over my life, which was something that I was actively working on.

"I'm sorry, Master Sergey."

He must have sensed how his words affected me, or perhaps I had not done a good enough job of hiding my facial features before I turned to walk away.

Either way, the slight scowl on his face faded and he closed the distance between us, grabbing my wrist to pull me back into him. Upon feeling his body against mine, I briefly closed my eyes and inhaled the scent of his cologne.

The skin of my wrist tingled at the contact.

It was rare for Sergey to put his hands on me, even though he seemed to have no problem touching the other escorts. Whether he simple held their hand to help them stand or to give them a friendly pat on the shoulder, when it came to me, things were different.

Which is why I would often purposefully walk off on him mid-conversation, just to feel his long thick fingers encircle my small wrist. Although sometimes, like now, he would pull me with such a force that I would slam into his chest.

Clearly, I was a glutton for punishment and I had to bite back a smile as the sound of his irritated voice filled my ears.

"How many times must I tell you, Natasha, you're not my sub, you don't need to call me Master. I know you say it out of respect for my position at the club, but we're not in The Purple Angel anymore."

"I don't understand why it's such an issue though, you let the other girls call you Master, why can't I?"

Letting go of my wrist, he frowned, "Like I've told you before, don't ask questions that you don't want the answer to."

"But I do want the answer!" I countered.

"Prekrati!" Sergey lashed out in Russian, telling me to stop it. He then inhaled deeply and added in a gentler tone, "Why can't you just do as you're told?"

My mouth opened to argue, even though I knew that I should not. But I just could not help but want to understand why it was such a problem to answer my question. I really was just trying to understand.

However, before I could say anything, Sergey quickly cut me off with his next sentence.

"Enough talk of this! Come, I'll walk you to your car," he stated while taking a step back from me.

Knowing that it made no sense to try, I relented, "Fine..."

It always puzzled me how he had no problem when the other women called him 'Master' yet always seemed to hate it whenever I did. Even within the club, I would see him tense every time I addressed him.

From the way he often treated me, I would have thought that he hated me.

But many of the other women I worked with had insisted that he probably acted that way because he secretly liked me. Something which I always denied as it just never made sense to me.

Sure, I was still playing catch up where social relationships were concerned. But in my mind, if someone liked you, it usually meant that they would want to try and get to know you, not keep you at arm's length. Right?

Then again, human interactions were still an enigma. So, against my better judgement, I allowed the words of my co-workers to fuel my fantasy that maybe one day I would have a shot at being with him.

I did not know when exactly I started having feelings for Sergey, or why.

Thinking back, perhaps everything started to shift after the grand opening of The Purple Angel almost a year ago. 

Sergey had been shirtless, and his hair was out, flowing across his shoulders while performing some demonstrations. When I saw the black belt in his hand, my body had responded in ways that I had not thought to be possible.

To this day, I still do not know what really happened.

From that night, no matter how hard I tried not to, I found myself thinking about Sergey in ways that I never had before, which was something that had initially confused me.

After all, he was rude and brooding and I found myself wanting to throw my shoe at him for the snide remarks he would often toss my way.

Perhaps that was why I liked the temperamental Russian.

Sergey did not treat me like damaged goods, and he certainly did not kiss my ass the way most men did. My beauty did not seem to have any effect on him, but then again, that probably had to do with the fact that my breasts were not big enough for his liking.

To him, I was just plain old Natasha Tarasova, one of Aleksandr's best escorts.

Nevertheless, I knew that if I were in trouble, Sergey would do everything in his power to keep me safe. But I wanted to be more than just a responsibility to him. I wished that I mattered to him the way lovers do to each other.

Regrettably, I had no idea on how to make him want me, which was ironic given my profession. Just trying to think about a way to tempt him into my bed made me extremely nervous.

Seducing Sergey was a frightening task and I was clueless on how to achieve said goal.

Even though I kept my gaze forward, I could feel his grey eyes travelling over my body. His sight lingered on the thin straps of my short and fitted silver dress.

The entire expanse of my back was bare for him to see and it was as though he was touching me. His heated gaze caused the surface of my exposed skin to tingle and my breasts suddenly felt heavy as it pushed against the fabric of my dress.

When I snuck a glance over at him, I almost tripped.

Sergey was staring intently at me and I felt my throat constrict as his expression hardened the longer he observed me. I could see the muscle in the side of his jaw tick and when his gaze raised and he caught me looking at him, I could have sworn that I heard a low rumble in his throat.

Was he mad about what I was wearing?

Or perhaps was he upset that I dared to question him earlier.

Either way, I had no idea. All I knew was that his eyes looked like molten silver and I had to force myself to look away, afraid of what his penetrating gaze meant.

Maybe Sergey had been right.

One really should not ask questions they were not ready to hear the answers to.

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A/N: Thoughts on ship names?

The Russian word, "Prekrati" means to 'stop it' or 'cut it out' and is used when you don't want to listen to another person or see what they are doing.