Sweet Love, Survive (17 page)

Kitty flushed deep rose in an agony of humiliation at the indignity of her position. Frantically she wondered how much more of this she could take. She longed for nothing more than to say, “Kill him, kill him, Apollo!” but she knew a valet always readied the general for bed, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t end this charade without calling down every soldier and guard on the floor. Escape would be impossible then.

Apollo did not know the exact schedule of the general’s life, but he knew that if Beriozov were found by his valet in the morning sleeping off the night’s imbibing—rather than dead—they would have several extra hours before the alarm
was raised. So he only smiled politely, pretending to ignore Kitty’s soft breast and the general’s invitation to touch it. Apollo’s nerves were strung out, the vodka firing his blood, but he forced himself with every ounce of will in his body to remain lounging casually in his chair.

“Come,” the general insisted, motioning somewhat drunkenly with his glass, splashing droplets of liquor over himself and the sofa. “Come. Put your hands on her.” He laughed indulgently. “A little treat for you, Colonel, with my compliments.”

Apollo didn’t move. “No, thank you,” he replied in a strained, quiet voice.

The general’s heavy brows met in the center of his forehead. “You prefer boys?” Chortling roughly at his cleverness, he continued with a keen-eyed look. “That’s why so timid?”

“No, not boys,” Apollo said flatly.

“If not boys …” The general’s pale gray eyes gleamed, and an instant distrustful anger put high color in his cheeks. Beriogov’s mood switched abruptly from benign good humor to brooding enmity. Five decades of bitterness now surfaced. He searched the fine-boned features of the young colonel opposite him, whose lean face seemed to take on an aristocratic cast. “Don’t you like her?” he asked belligerently. “Isn’t she good enough for you?” he continued with the oversensitive touchiness of the newly arrived. Drawing himself up somewhat unsteadily into a stiffly seated posture, he commanded in a voice like the crack of a whip, “Put your hands on her!”

The general’s mood was dangerous. Apollo sucked in his breath, and his knuckles tightened involuntarily on the painted bamboo of the chair. Then, leaning forward, he reached out slowly. “My apologies, General,” he said with a lazy agreeableness he hoped concealed the effort it took to voice. “The invitation was not unattractive. I was only concerned with encroaching on your property—otherwise I would have responded immediately. The beauty of the countess, sir, is above reproach.” Apollo found himself sweating as he placed his long fingers gingerly on Kitty’s bare shoulders, letting his hands rest lightly on the warm, pale skin.

The general relaxed instantly, his erratic goodwill immediately restored. Appraising Apollo’s tentatively disposed hands, he laughed. “She won’t break, Colonel.” He gave another guffaw and then cast a significant glance at Kitty. “We know that, don’t we, Countess?” Kitty shivered slightly, memories of the general’s silken whips uncomfortably vivid. Apollo’s eyes jumped to her face at the tiny shudder, but he learned nothing; her downcast lashes effectively shielded any expression. The general, however, had seen her quickly concealed fear, and it only encouraged a further round of chuckles from him. “No, Colonel,” he continued, his face creased into a leering smile, “she don’t break at all.”

Taking Apollo’s hands, he cupped them directly over Kitty’s breasts. The Red commander was obviously enjoying himself, enjoying the blush of shamed embarrassment on Kitty’s face, and sportive over the colonel’s unease.

Reaching over, he pulled Kitty’s dress down to her waist in one swift movement and Apollo saw the week-old bruises faded yellow on the white skin. Beriozov paid no attention to the marks of his temper. Repositioning Apollo’s hands, he jovially said, “Now you can really feel. Rub her, Colonel. An aristocratic countess. Like fine silk, isn’t it?”

Apollo responded with difficulty, for the instant his hands had touched Kitty’s breasts, had cupped themselves over the pliant mounds, her nipples had risen solidly against his palms.

“Rub them some more, Colonel. Soft and warm, eh?” the drunken voice intoned. The general was gratified by the other man’s appreciation of his prized possession. And Apollo’s traitorous hands obeyed the general’s order, brushing lightly over the tips of Kitty’s nipples again and again. Not soft at all, Apollo thought inadvisedly, the reflection further swelling his already throbbing masculinity. Searching Kitty’s flushed face, he knew he could bend his head and suck on them, and knew she would open for him. With a violent summoning of restraint he forced his mind back to the present situation.

Looking up, he replied with what he hoped was equanimity, “Very fine, indeed, sir.” But he was struggling with his self-control. Her breasts were so smooth, the points so hard.

“Kiss her,” the general insisted, delighting in his voyeurism, delighting in the discomfort of both parties. A peal of laughter followed.

Glancing at Beriozov, Apollo attempted to demur. How much self-discipline did he have? “General Beriozov, sir,” he began, clearing his throat, Kitty’s nipples burning into his palms.

Paying not the slightest heed to his guest’s wishes, the general pursued his idea. “Kiss her, I say,” he snapped viciously.

Apollo bent to do his bidding, daring not look into Kitty’s eyes. As their mouths were about to meet, the general curtly declared, “Not on her mouth.”

Apollo’s head came up sharply. “Good Lord, sir!” he exclaimed.

At which point, the general laughed uproariously.

Taking the opportunity to remove his hands from Kitty, Apollo leaned back in his chair.

In between chuckles, Beriozov gasped cheerfully, “Such … manners … my boy. Was your mama a schoolteacher? No more manners now! Gone, gone. If you could see your face!” He jovially beamed. “So you like my little countess after all.” He struggled upright to refill Apollo’s glass, saying in a thick-tongued rumble, “A toast to the comforts of the Revolution.” He winked heavily before draining his glass.

Kitty moved slightly to restore the bodice of her dress, tugging gently at the heavy silk. She had lifted the cream moiré to half cover her breasts when the general noticed her actions and roughly brushed her hands aside. “No!” he barked in an unmistakable voice of command. “Leave it down. I like the sight of a bare-breasted woman—and what other use do you have, Countess,” he said with an insulting sneer, “except to entertain us?”

Kitty prayed the humiliation would end soon. With increasing despair she wondered if she and Apollo really had any chance of escaping, knowing even while the speculation flowed through her mind that any chance at all was worth taking. If she was obliged to remain with the general much
longer, she would take his life herself, or die trying. She rallied to hold out a few hours more. Surely Beriozov must pass out soon; he was so terribly drunk already—but then she remembered the times he had lasted until dawn, and those memories forced her deeper into desolation.

The general, sinking further into inebriation, was in the mood to taunt the young colonel. Zveguintzev seemed so reluctant to touch or even look at the countess that the baiting was amusing. Perhaps he really did like boys after all. It wasn’t so unusual in this part of the world, what with the centuries of Persian, Turkoman, and Ottoman rule. And if it were not a question of preference, then this was a young man with too many scruples. In either case, the general always enjoyed exerting his power and authority.

In a deceptively amiable voice, but with eyes like flint, Beriozov said, “Get up, Katherine. Go and sit on the colonel’s lap. I want to see if he
does
like women.”

There was a crisp silence. The demand was deliberately perverse. It was catastrophic. Kitty froze, her face reddening. Apollo hardly breathed.

Their reluctance only encouraged the general. In fact, their shocked response to the depravity quite appealed to him.

Since neither stirred, Beriozov took matters into his own hands. Rising somewhat clumsily from his seat, he dragged Kitty up from the sofa and he pulled her forcefully over to Apollo, pushing her into his lap. “There now,” he pronounced, a proprietary hand on Kitty’s bare shoulder, “we’ll see if the colonel likes boys. Although,” he continued, chuckling roguishly, “the countess, I think, could induce even a eunuch to try.” Weaving back and dropping heavily onto the brocade sofa, the general said blandly, “And what does your manhood suggest now, Colonel, with the countess so close?”

“My manhood suggests the obvious,” Apollo replied dryly, “but not necessarily with you watching.”

“Nothing to be squeamish about, my boy. We’re all friends here. Isn’t that right?” Behind the piercing gray eyes was not a hint of friendship, only sadistic amusement and anticipation. “Hold her, Colonel,” Beriozov said comfortably, watching
him. “Kiss her. Fondle those big, naked breasts. Come now, we’re all friends.” His voice was heavy with overplayed camaraderie and underplayed authority.

Reluctantly, Apollo’s hands moved slowly up to Kitty’s shoulders; his touch was light, tentative, restrained.

“The breasts, the breasts, Colonel. For God’s sake. Radi Boga! Do I have to tell you everything?” Beriozov’s voice was snappish now, the abrupt and mercurial switch typical of his drinking mood.

Apollo exhaled quietly, his fingers obeying, slipping down over the high fullness of Kitty’s magnificent thrusting breasts, and when his thumb and forefinger, quite by reflex, closed gently over one rosy nipple, the general was pleased to see the reaction he’d been waiting for. Although Apollo’s teeth were clenched, Beriozov heard a strangled moan.

“Ah … you do like my pretty little pigeon.”

“She’s very nice,” Apollo managed to say with some semblance of calm. His erection, hard and insistent, ground into Kitty’s soft buttocks.

“Kiss her, Colonel. I haven’t seen you kiss her yet. I think I’d like that.” Apollo’s gaze slowly locked with the general’s. Beriozov smiled. “Kiss those breasts.” There was a short silence. Not a muscle moved in Apollo’s face. And then he complied. This was a command performance in every sense of the word.

Lowering his head, his lips brushed Kitty’s tantalizing nipple. A searing sensation burned through Kitty and she was terrified. Her body was betraying her, as it always did at Apollo’s touch.

“Come, Colonel, you can do better than that. Make the countess feel more than that. Take one of those hard, pointed nipples in your mouth.”

Apollo’s mouth closed over one peaked tip and very delicately his tongue, seemingly of its own accord, traced a silky pattern that warmed and aroused.

No! Kitty thought frantically, I must resist! I can’t let this happen! But heated blood was already racing to her tingling erect nipples, stirring, agonizing, gradually spreading an
unwonted arousal through her body. Tears of shame and frustration sprang to her eyes.

The general chuckled then, reminding them both of where they were. He gave a low, satisfied laugh. “Oh, yes, you’re making real progress, Colonel. I can see the countess is quite taken with you. Such hard nipples, dear Katherine—a tantalizing sight. And you who are usually cold as ice. Do you like an audience? Is that it? I’ll have to keep it in mind. And now, my boy, I think it would be amusing to have you kiss her on the mouth. Such a full, succulent mouth,” he mused almost to himself, and then, jerking back from a drunken reverie, he abruptly snapped—suddenly vicious—“Kiss her!”

Apollo glanced at the general, then bowed his head faintly, acknowledging the command. Both his hands gripped Kitty’s shoulders and slowly, very slowly, he drew her to him, her eyes closed now, her breathing rapid. Near her lips, his voice was no more than a warm murmur. “When he passes out, we’ll leave.”

Kitty’s eyes clenched tighter. Fear and tremulous desire paralyzed her. She could do nothing but play out the game and hope desperately they gained their freedom.

“What was that?” Beriozov grunted.

“I said the countess has a lovely mouth.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” the general lazily agreed, an audacious light kindling in the flat gray eyes. “And you’ve just given me an idea.” He laughed crudely, having a cheerfully perverted mind. “Never mind the kiss. Lift up her skirts, Colonel,” he ordered.

Apollo looked once briefly at the general, met a hard, uncompromising stare, and pushed aside Kitty’s full moiré skirts.

His breathing stopped.

Under Kitty’s voluminous taffeta skirts, welded tight, barbarously golden, medievally anachronistic, girdling her creamy flesh, was a chastity belt.

The general’s smooth voice broke through Apollo’s stupor. At the sound Apollo dropped the skirt back into place, and then, because he was near suffocation, he refilled his lungs.

Outrage filled his brain. He wanted to kill the general at once, and if it were only his life he was risking, he would have. He had nerveless confidence in his ability to extradite himself from any tight situation, but he couldn’t risk it with Kitty. If he had to travel fast and brutally, she’d never be able to keep up. So, with roaring affront echoing like the wails of whirling dervishes, he said with rigid, icy calm, “Interesting.”

“I thought so.” The general was smug.

Apollo thought himself sophisticated enough to have seen about everything in the unblushing, flourishing world of erotica, but until now this little subtlety had escaped him. “Yes, very clever,” he said. His golden eyes swept Kitty’s body with deliberate slowness, and then a hint of malice crept into his deliberately bland voice. “Is it really necessary?” he asked gently, and saw Kitty crimson from breast to brow.

“She only wears it when she goes out of the suite or when we have guests,” Beriozov explained, smiling thinly. “It’s the only way to ensure fidelity with such faithless creatures. So you see,” he continued agreeably, “it’s not
such
a monstrous thing. A temporary safeguard occasionally, nothing more.”

All this time Kitty sat quietly rigid, trying to ignore, to black out the pleasantly deriding voice discussing her. She had learned over the past weeks to put up outer defenses which couldn’t be breached. That ability to withdraw within herself was all that saved her sanity.