Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALEKSEI
She pops the button of my pants and drags the zipper down, and all I can think about is that mouth. I want her on me, lips wrapped around my cock, giving me the kind of pleasure that wipes out every thought in my head.
She’s becoming an addiction.
No, worse. A disease I don’t want cured.
It’s almost sadistic, how much I want her. Like fate dropped her in front of me just to see how far I’d go before I snapped.
But the way she’s beginning to obey, beginning to understand the way this is going to work, it’s too perfect.
She’s mine to command. To mold. To bend until her mind breaks and the only thing she begs for is me.
When I kick free of my pants and shoes and my cock springs loose, she wraps her small fist around it, her fingers unable to circle me completely.
The crown pulses hard under her touch, a raw throb of need, and when her thumb skims the king’s crown piercing, a curse breaks from my chest. Her tongue flicks out, tracing the metal, circling the swollen head in slow, wet drags that make my vision go black at the edges.
“Blyat…” The word snarls out of me as my hand clamps on the back of her head. “Take it all.”
I need that tightness. Need to feel her throat stretch around me until she forgets how to breathe.
She parts her lips and slides down over me, eyes glued to mine, and my body answers with a violent shudder I can’t stop. I don’t even try.
Clutching her hair, I push her deeper, driving her down until her gag vibrates around me. The sound is perfect, and I hold her there, my cock pressed to the back of her throat, watching her struggle to take it.
“That’s it, detka,” I growl. “Swallow every inch. Choke on it.”
Her eyes water, mascara running in dark streaks down her cheeks, and the sight only fuels the hunger tearing through me. She keeps going, taking me deeper, bobbing her head, tongue flicking over the metal at the tip while her other hand toys with the pubic piercing.
The thought of her doing this for another man makes my vision go white.
Jealousy is not something I’ve ever felt before, not over any woman. Yet with her, it hits like a knife under the ribs.
Why her? This is the last thing I need. I want to rip her out of my goddamn subconscious.
The harder she takes me, the tighter her lips seal, her muffled moans vibrating around my cock until I’m fighting not to spill down her throat. Her gaze hooks mine, tongue sliding out to circle the skin around the head.
“Nu blyat…tvoy rot…” Fuck…that mouth…
The fire in her eyes flares hotter at the words, her grip tightening, sucking me harder like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Too good at it. Too proud of it.
Another curse rips out of me as I tug on her hair and drag her off, my cock sliding from her lips, slick and throbbing.
My jaw locks, every muscle straining to hold back because I refuse to finish anywhere but inside her. Where she will feel it, remember it, know who filled her.
I drag her up by the leash and rise to my feet, walking her toward the bondage table like the filthy little prize she is. I flip her over, chest pressed to the leather, her elbows bent beneath her, ass in the air.
“How many men have had that mouth?” I give the leash a sharp tug.
She laughs—that same taunting, reckless laugh she’s given me before. “Too many.”
Rage floods me like venom. I grab the cuffs and shackle her wrists, locking them down, then her ankles, securing her wide to the table.
“You think that is funny?” My hand knots in her hair and yanks her head back, making her gasp. “We’ll see who’s laughing soon.”
“What does that mean?” she pants, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, that maddening mix of anticipation and defiance twisting through her features.
A low, feral chuckle escapes me as I walk to the table across the room, grabbing a crop. But not just any crop. This one’s fitted with an electromagnetic charge I have been meaning to try.
What a perfect little canvas to test on.
I stalk back toward her, dragging the crop up the curve of her ass and watching her shiver. “If you don’t like it, tell me and I stop. Understand?”
She nods for only a second before I strike. A clean, snapping blow across one cheek. She flinches, but doesn’t make a sound.
That won’t last.
I hit her again. And again. Her skin begins to pinken, the marks blooming under my control.
Then I flip the switch. This time, when the crop lands, she jolts, a gasp slipping from her lips, followed by a desperate moan, a sound that makes my cock twitch.
I don’t stop. Each shock sharpens her cries, each blow coaxes more. I drink in the sight of her trembling beneath me, her fists clenching against the cuffs, her body straining toward something she will never ask for.
Until I lower the crop between her thighs.
Her clit is already swollen and flushed. I flick it, and she bucks.
Then I strike it, just once, and her moan turns into something jagged and needy, like pain and pleasure tangled into one desperate scream.
I do it again. And again. Each cry breaking louder. Each jolt dragging her closer to the edge. Until I decide when she goes over it.
And not a second before.
My cock throbs to feel her wrapped around me, but that’ll wait. I’m not done with her yet.
I leave her trembling against the table and move to the dresser. My fingers work the combination on a bound leather case, anticipation crawling under my skin. When I take what I want from inside, her eyes go wide.
The sight of her fear and curiosity sends a dark satisfaction flooding through me.
“You have no idea what I’ve got planned for that tight cunt of yours.”
She squirms against the cuffs, hips shifting, glistening and spread for me like a feast. I click the vibrator on and press it to her clit, teasing circles until the tip slides inside.
Her moans dissolve into panting whimpers as I push it deeper, feeding her more with each pass, watching her unravel.
She throws a glance back at me over her shoulder, hair sticking to her damp skin, breath stuttering.
I grab a fistful of it, dragging her head back, my mouth trailing across her ear. “You’re a perfect little toy, moya ptichka.”
“I’m not your toy.” Her eyes flash, denial dripping from every word, a last spark of insolence I want to taste.
“You’re whatever I decide you are.”
Before she can answer, I slam the vibrator deep until it’s seated in her. Her knees buckle, nails digging into the leather.
And then, slowly, I push my cock in beside it.
Her strangled gasp breaks into a moan. “Oh my God, what are you—oh f-f-fuck!”
“Such a filthy whore,” I growl, sinking deeper. “Taking everything I give you.”
My palm cracks across her ass, and she whimpers. I start to thrust, slow at first, then harder, keeping the toy where it is until she’s screaming her yeses into the leather, her body collapsing under the weight of it.
I don’t let up. I keep pounding into her while the vibrator thrums inside, pushing it deeper with my other hand, keeping her pinned open and helpless until she’s clawing at the table, trembling on the edge.
Her walls clench, taking me in deeper. Her cries sharpen, turning needier, more desperate.
“Oh God, yes, don’t stop.”
“Mm…” My voice drops to a low command against her neck. “Beg for it, ptichka. Tell me how badly you need my cock to finish you. Tell me how desperate you are.”
Her groan claws up her throat, and I sink in harder, grinding through the need.
“Beg,” I snap, my fingers curling in her hair. “Or I’ll leave you like this—tied up, aching, dripping—until you ask me properly.”
She gasps, hips jerking, but I hold her in place, still buried deep, with the toy pulsing alongside me.
“You want to come?” I roll my hips once, nice and slow, pushing into her. “Then let me hear it.” I give her another ruthless thrust. “Beg like a good girl.”
She whimpers. “Please…please, I—I need to come.”
My eyes close on the sound of her voice quivering, cracking under the weight of her own desire. That surrender in her tone, the way she falls apart just to get a taste of release, it feeds something unholy in me.
Everything she owns is already mine. And soon, she will be too.
With a low snarl, I shove her face into the leather and slam into her again, losing myself as rage, desire, and months of bottled-up obsession pour through every hard thrust.
She made me like this. She twisted something inside me. And now I’ll break her with it.
When she finally comes, it’s with my name torn from her throat like a curse, her body convulsing as she comes so hard she soaks the floor beneath her.
And I keep going. Driving into her again and again until she’s shaking, sobbing, drained of everything but the memory of me, the feeling of my cock, the bruises I left, and the truth she can’t escape.
She’ll hate herself for how much she wanted it. And I’ll make sure she never forgets who made her this way.
FIONA
The air hangs heavy with the stench of sex and my own shame. It clings to my skin like a second layer, wrapping around me tighter than the cuffs he’s just now unlocking.
I can feel it in every breath I take. The filth. The humiliation I try to swallow down.
My legs barely hold me as the restraints fall away, muscles twitching in ways I don’t want to examine too closely.
Used. Open. Branded by his touch.
And I let it happen. Again.
I can’t look at him. I can’t even look at myself. Not like this: flushed and sticky and ruined in a way that’s as emotional as it is physical.
What the hell is wrong with me?
My fingers rub at the red welts on my wrists, trying to remember the version of myself who didn’t melt when he touched me or crawl into the fire just to feel something.
Behind me, Aleksei moves without a word, reaching for his pants and getting dressed like this is just another day for him. Like none of it meant a damn thing.
And maybe it didn’t. Not to him.
But it meant something to me. Because I don’t just sleep around, especially not with men I attempt to put in prison.
I’m really winning at life lately.
I turn away, not wanting to look at him anymore, reaching for my dress instead and fumbling with the fabric. My stupid, traitorous hands shake as I sweep it over my body. I don’t like being rattled this way.
Why the hell do I keep coming back for more?
Because he gives you the best orgasms.
Am I seriously that easy?
His footsteps approach before I feel him behind me, the heat of his body brushing my spine.
“Need help?” He tugs the zipper up slowly.
His voice is low, smooth, and impossible to ignore. It still lights me up from the inside out. My nipples tighten. My jaw locks. I despise the way my body still answers to him like it’s his fucking possession.
He continues zipping the dress, his hand brushing the nape of my neck before trailing down to my thigh, and I flinch.
But he doesn’t stop. His fingers catch the hem of my dress, tugging it down with infuriating care like I’m some delicate artifact instead of the mess he made me.
When he’s done, he doesn’t move. His palms remain against my hips. Familiar. Possessive. Unwelcome.
Or at least that’s what I try to tell myself.
Because my eyes flutter shut the moment he touches me. My body doesn’t care how wrong this is. It only knows his hands, what he makes me feel.
“Aleksei…” I breathe, trying to step forward, to break the spell.
But his arm snakes around me, dragging me back into him like I’m his to hold.
“This was a mistake. All of it.”
He hums, low and unbothered, his mouth skimming along the side of my neck. “Is that what you tell yourself after every time you scream my name?”
His words cut deeper than I want to admit. Because he’s not wrong.
“You beg for it, then pretend it didn’t happen.” His exhale fans down my throat, and I feel it everywhere. “You act like fighting me makes it less real. Like losing to me doesn’t make you wet.”
My cheeks burn. My stomach twists. Disgrace twines inside me, but not for the reasons it should.
Because he made me feel wanted. Desired. Worshipped and defiled in the same breath. And I loved it. I loved it all.
Even now, I want to lean into him. Let him fuck me again. But I won’t.
“I don’t want you,” I whisper. “I’m using you.”
He laughs under his breath, then flips me around so fast I stumble. That large, masculine hand wraps around my throat, caging me, making me ache all over again.
“Either way…” he says, rough and possessive. “You belong to me, detka.” His lips slowly drop to mine, teasing them slowly. “You can hate it. You can fight it. But I’ll always be in control. You will never be rid of me.”
My pulse slams against his palm.
“You haven’t won,” I grit out. “You haven’t won a goddamn thing, Marinov. Trust me.”
His smile is crooked. Poisonous. Like he knows something I don’t. And the chill that slips down my spine tells me he might.
“Hope you got your fill. Because I’m done. With this. With you. With all of it. And I mean it this time.”
My words don’t waver, gaze sharp.
He drops his hand away and simply watches me. That same maddening smile. Like he’s already rewritten the ending I’ve yet to read.
“Oh, Ms. Clark…” His eyes gleam. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
The words hang in the air long after I rush out, impossible to shake. And for the first time, I’m not sure if I’ve just ended something…
Or if I’ve walked straight into a trap I’ll never dig out of.