42. Lacey
42
LACEY
He enters me in one savage thrust and I cry out, both from pain and pleasure. His cock fills me completely, stretching me wide.
But even through his rage, I can feel him holding back. Like he doesn’t quite believe me that I want him to hurt me.
And when he starts moving, the motions are controlled, measured—and nothing like the brutal force I expected.
It's not enough.
Not nearly enough.
It urges me to fuck myself back onto his cock with desperate abandon. Each thrust drives me harder against the unforgiving floor, but I want more.
I need more.
I need him to break me apart so I can maybe, finally, be put back together.
"I told you to hurt me," I snap. "You promised you would if I asked."
"Not like this." He snarls by my ear, voice straining as he keeps himself in check.
"Why not?"
"Because you don't deserve to be hurt like this."
Frustration explodes through me. "I don't need you to tell me what I deserve! I don't need you pretending you're anything but the monster keeping me in this mansion. Stop holding me like I'm made of porcelain. I need you to fuck me until it hurts. Make the physical pain match the guilt tearing at my mind since Paris!"
"You don't know that!"
I slam my hips back against him, taking him deeper. "You don't get to tell me what I know!" I snarl as I start fucking him mercilessly. "I betrayed you, remember? I went to the cops behind your back. If anyone else did this, you wouldn't hesitate to hurt them. Why not me?"
"Because you're my wife!"
His words hit me like a slap. I let out a bitter laugh.
"I'm not your wife. I'm just a means to an end." My voice cracks but I force the words out anyway.
"If you're not my wife, then what are you?"
"Just a woman whose fiancé you killed."
His rhythm falters for just a moment. Then his hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back as his thrusts quickens until it starts to near the punishing pace I need it to be.
His control is starting to slip.
Good.
Recklessly, I keep talking. I goad him forward, knowing that it's only a matter of time before I finally push him over that edge.
"What, you can kill my fiancé without hesitation," I pant. "But fucking me is somehow crossing a line?"
"That's different."
"No, it fucking isn't. You took all my choices away." Even as I say it, I know it's a lie.
"I gave you the choice to leave after Paris." Vadim slams into me with bruising force. But even as his control balances on a knife's edge, I can feel his restraint. "You chose to stay."
He's right. I did choose this. All of it. But I can't admit that. If I admit it, he'll stop fucking me like this. He'll sweep me up into his arms, he'll kiss away my tears and tell me just how much I matter to him.
It'll be everything my heart wants to hear, but everything that my guilty conscience is unable to bear.
"Fuck you," I say instead. "I never chose. You chose for me. You took me from my life and my family. You made me play your games only to put blood on my hands. And now you're taking this final choice from me too."
"And what choice is that?"
"The choice to get hurt!” I shout. “It's the only choice I have left in this place and you won't even let me have that. I gave you what you wanted. The least you can do is give me what I deserve.
“You think this is what you want? What you deserve?”
“Isn’t it?”
“You want me to hurt you? I will. But remember, zvyozdochka , you asked for it."
“Shut the fuck up.” I shake my head. “Shut the fuck up and fuck me like you mean it.”
My words finally break through his iron control. His hips snap forward with bruising force, giving me exactly what I've been begging for.
His cock stretches me impossibly wide as he pounds into me. The marble floor scrapes my knees raw with each savage thrust, but the pain only heightens my arousal.
My body trembles, caught between pleasure and agony. The sensations war within me—the burning stretch, the delicious fullness, the sharp bite of his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks. Each brutal thrust drives me closer to the high I've been desperately chasing.
His pace turns punishing. The sound of flesh striking flesh echoes through the halls of Pankration. I can feel him losing himself to his rage, to his need.
My inner walls clench around him greedily, drawing him deeper. The angle changes slightly and I cry out as he hits that perfect spot inside me.
Lightning races up my spine with every slam of his hips. My arms struggle to brace against the cold floor. Sweat drips down my back despite the chill. Pain blurs with pleasure until I can no longer tell them apart.
This is what I need—to be used, to be punished, to atone through suffering—and only he can deliver it.
His rhythm grows erratic, primal. The force of his thrusts has me sliding across the polished marble. Only his iron grip on my hips keeps me in place as he claims me with savage intensity. My mind fragments, splintering under the onslaught of a panoply of sensations.
Nothing exists beyond this moment—the stretch of him inside me, the bruising grip of his hands, and the sweet agony of getting exactly what I asked for.
"Is that all you got?" I taunt him as he drives the air from my lungs with every thrust. "Fuck me, you bastard! Stop treating me like a queen and start fucking me like a cheap whore."
My breath catches as Vadim suddenly withdraws. The loss of him leaves me aching, empty. A whimper rises in my throat but I swallow it down, refusing to beg. Before I can react, he flips me onto my back, the cold marble shocking against my heated skin.
Looking up at him, my heart clenches. The raw anguish etched across his face makes me want to reach for him, to take back every cruel word I said.
I can see how much this hurts him to treat me this way. Tears well up in my eyes unbidden, but I blink them back furiously. I've come too far to stop now. The guilt churning inside me demands this punishment.
His voice comes out rough and dangerous. "You want me to fuck you like you're a cheap whore? Like you're my cheap whore?"
The tenderness hidden beneath his harsh words nearly breaks me. But I can't let him be gentle. Not now. Not after everything.
"Did I fucking stutter?" I spit the words at him like venom.
Something dark flashes in his eyes. His hand wraps around my throat. "Then shut the fuck up and take that cock like a good fucking whore."
His cock drives into me again and I shriek at how exquisite it feels. My eyes flutter closed as waves of ecstasy wash over me.
A sharp sting across my cheek makes my eyes fly open.
The slap wasn't hard—just hard enough to shock me.
It doesn’t scare me that he slapped me. It scares me how good being slapped like that felt.
I had no idea how desperately I'd been craving him to do something like that. It’s like a hidden part of me knew I wanted it, but never dared to breathe life into that request.
"Open your fucking eyes," Vadim growls. His hand around my throat tightens ever so slightly, thumb pressing against my pulse. "If you say that I've taken away every one of your choices, then I'm taking this one as well. You don't get to close your eyes and imagine that I'm making love to you."
My body betrays me, clenching around him at his words. He feels it too. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the slight hitch in his controlled rhythm. His grip on my throat tightens enough to make breathing an effort, but not enough to truly restrict it.
Each thrust drives me higher, closer to that edge I'm teetering over. I don’t look away from his face, don’t hide from the intensity burning in his eyes. He may think he’s the one who forces me to stay present and acknowledge exactly who is fucking me.
But I’m the one who’s forcing him to give me this sweet torment I begged for.
The pressure builds, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until I can barely breathe. My body trembles on the knife's edge of release, every nerve ending electrified. The cold marble beneath me, the heat of his body above me, the bruising grip of his hands—it all blends together into a swirling chaos of sensation, impossible to disentangle.
"I'm coming," I gasp, my voice breaking. "Oh god, I’m?—”
The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, more intense than anything I've ever felt before. A scream tears from my throat as my inner walls squeeze and flutter around him.
His hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my cries.
"Shut the fuck up!" He roars. "Shut the fuck up and keep taking that cock."
My body convulses beneath him as waves of pleasure crash through me. I can't think, can't breathe, can only feel as he fucks me through the most intense orgasm of my life. Tears stream down my face, soaking into his palm still pressed firmly over my mouth and scream uselessly against it. My nails rake down his back as I come.
I shake my head frantically, desperate to scream. My body is still quaking from the first orgasm when I feel another one building impossibly fast. His relentless pace drives me higher and higher.
“Come!” He growls. “Come like the desperate fucking whore that you are."
The words send me flying over the edge. My back arches off the marble as the second orgasm crashes over me with devastating force. Stars burst behind my eyes, and indescribable pleasure sets my body on fire.
My lungs burn for air. His hand is still clamped firmly over my mouth, denying me the release of screaming. Something primal takes over and I bite down on the meat of his palm. Hard.
The metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.
A savage growl tears from his throat, but he doesn't pull his hand away. Instead, his fingers dig deeper into my cheeks as he holds me in place.
I force my eyes open, meeting Vadim's gaze. The sight of unshed tears in his storm-gray eyes nearly breaks my resolve. But I can't let him see how much it affects me. I pour all my anger, all my guilt, and all my pain into my glare, wielding the unspoken emotions between us like a weapon.
I know what I'm doing to him. I can feel it in the way his fingers are trembling around my cheeks.
I can hear it in the uneven rasp of his hot and heavy breath with every relentless thrust. And I can smell it from the drops of sweat dripping from his brow onto mine.
I'm asking him to become the ghost of the monster haunting every corner of this mansion.
I'm forcing him towards the edge of becoming something he hates.
And I know that once I bring him to the edge, I have every intention to push him over it until both of us are falling headlong into that darkness.
My teeth sink into his palm again, harder this time. The taste of blood fills my mouth again.
His hand jerks away and a scream finally rips free just as another wave of pleasure crashes through me.
"Fuck you!" The words tear from my raw throat as I come, spitting them out like poison. Each repetition punctuates another unrestrained pulse of my orgasm. "Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!"
This is exactly what I wanted.
A sweet agony that makes me forget everything else.
My body convulses beneath him as the pleasure washes away every other sense. I keep screaming those two words until my voice gives out. Until the waves begin to ebb and my throat feels like sandpaper.
His mouth crashes against mine, stealing what little breath remains in my lungs. The metallic tang of his blood mingles on our tongue, marking me as surely as he's marked every other part of my body.
His hands find mine, fingers intertwining, and the slick warmth of his blood coats our palms.
The irony isn't lost on me. After everything that's happened, I'm the one who drew his blood. I put it on his hands before he can put it on mine.
My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper to deny him the right to cum anywhere but inside. His thrusts grow desperate, uneven. Gone is the measured control from before. This is pure animal need, primal and raw. I lock my ankles behind his back, using the leverage to drive him impossibly deeper, urging him toward his own release.
His lips tear away from mine. I hear his ragged breathing and feel his body tensing above me. His hands grip mine, fingers tightening as his rhythm grows erratic. I squeeze my ankles around him and clench my pussy, urging him on. A low groan tears from his throat as his hips snap forward one final time.
Warmth floods through me as he releases deep inside. The sensation triggers another small aftershock that has me crying out beneath him in a hoarse whisper through my aching throat.
His forehead drops to rest against mine, and our harsh breaths mingle in the space between us while thunder rumble outside of Pankration's walls.
I barely notice the cold marble floor against my back or my wet clothes clinging to my body. I’m lost in the feeling of being so completely claimed, so utterly filled.
Vadim’s body covers mine like a shield, protecting me even now when I've done everything to push him away.
I want to hate how right this feels. How perfectly we fit together, even in our brokenness.
But I can't.
“Fuck you, Vadim Stravinsky…”
Hot tears spill down my cheeks as reality crashes back. This was what I wanted—to be used, to be hurt, to feel something other than the crushing weight of guilt.
But the cost...
I forced him to become everything he hates and fears. Made him act like the father whose shadow he's spent his whole life trying to escape.
His hands still grip mine, our fingers interlaced, sticky with drying blood from where I bit him.
More tears flow as I realize just how deeply I've wounded him. Not with my teeth or my nails, but with my words. With the way I used the vulnerabilities he showed me against him.
I got exactly what I wanted. But I had to break him to get it.
A sob catches in my throat as the full weight of what I've done hits me. How can I face him after this? How can I look into those storm-gray eyes knowing I deliberately pushed him toward his darkest fears?
His body still covers mine, but the intimacy feels wrong now. Tainted by the realization of what I made him do.
"Look at me, zvyozdochka… " he begs, and I obey.
Above me, Vadim's eyes remain locked on mine, filled with an emotion I'm not ready to name.