Chapter 8 Nadya #2
I can't tell him that because it would be a lie.
The attraction between us has grown stronger with every encounter until standing this close to him makes my skin burn and my breaths come short.
I want him with an intensity that terrifies me, want him despite every rational reason to run.
"This is insane," I whisper.
“Insanity is the logic of a troubled mind, little bird."
He's so close, I can smell the vodka on his breath.
"Bierce?" I ask, not realizing this man actually read those books on his bookshelves, and that's what does it for me.
He's not a ruthless, mindless killing machine.
Xander is somewhat cultured, and my gut is melting now.
When he leans down to kiss me, I don't resist.
His mouth captures mine with hungry demand, and I open to him, letting him search my mouth with his tongue.
He's greedy and strong, using his fingers hooked around the back of my neck to pin me in place.
I respond with equal fervor, my hands fisting in his shirt as I pull him closer.
Every logical objection my mind produces gets overwhelmed by physical need.
His body against mine feels right in ways that make no sense, dangerous man or not.
His kiss bruises, his tongue devours, and when I try to pull back for air, his hand fists in my hair and drags me closer again.
“You fight me even now,” he mutters against my lips, breath hot.
His hand leaves my waist, drops low, and cups me through my jeans.
“But your body doesn’t lie.”
A gasp rips from my throat when his fingers press harder, dragging over the seam until I can’t stand still.
He smirks, then seizes my wrist and yanks me across the living room.
I stumble after him, sweater half undone, hair tangled, pulse hammering as he hauls me down the hallway.
“Xander—”
“Bedroom,” he snaps, pushing the door open and shoving me inside.
The room is stark but enormous, windows revealing the river lights, bed dressed in black sheets.
He kicks the door shut behind him, slams me against it, and pins me there with his weight.
My back hits the wood, his thigh wedges between mine, and I grind down without thinking, desperate for friction.
“You see?” His voice is a growl, gray eyes feral.
“You’d sell me hate with your mouth, but your cunt is begging.”
His mouth takes mine again savagely, while his hands rip at my sweater until it comes free.
The bra goes next, straps tugged down, fabric yanked until the cups collapse and my breasts spill into his palms.
He groans, bites my nipple, and I cry out, clutching at his shirt.
“On the bed,” he orders.
My legs move before my brain catches up, dragging me toward the mattress.
He follows like a predator, loosening his belt as he goes.
By the time I sink onto the edge, he’s got it free, leather whispering through his hands.
I freeze, but heat surges low in my stomach.
“Lie back," he orders, and I obey with shaky breaths as the mattress dips as he climbs over me.
His belt loops around my wrists before I can second-guess, buckled tight against the headboard.
I tug instinctively, but the restraint holds, forcing my arms up, chest arched high.
“You belong tied up, Ptichka,” he murmurs, pressing his cock hard against my jeans.
"So you can't fly away from me."
His mouth drags down my stomach, teeth scraping sensitive flesh as his hands wrench my jeans open.
Denim peels down my legs under his impatient touch, panties torn aside a moment later.
His tongue replaces his fingers before I can catch my breath, lapping through my folds.
“Oh, God.”
My back bows, thighs clenching, but he grips them hard and forces me open.
His tongue stabs inside, then drags slowly over my clit, sucking until I scream.
"Oh, fuck!"
It's all happening so fast, so much attraction and arousal, and I don't want him to stop.
God fucking help me, I want this man to make me come undone.
“Already dripping,” he says against me.
“So needy for the man you swear you hate.”
He devours me relentlessly, his tongue circling, stabbing, sucking until my whole body trembles.
I writhe against the belt, begging without words, and when he adds two thick fingers, thrusting deep, the pressure explodes.
My orgasm hits with violent and sudden shudders, tearing through me while he doesn’t stop, milking every drop.
By the time he lifts his head, his mouth glistening, I’m gasping for air.
He rises, unfastening his slacks, and frees himself—thick, hard, flushed.
My eyes widen despite myself.
“Don’t look away,” he orders, stroking himself slowly.
“Watch what you’ve done to me.”
I can’t breathe.
My eyes lock on the hard length of him in his fist, and shame coils with want until I’m dizzy.
Heat floods my cheeks as my bound wrists ache to be free, not to run but to touch, to guide, to feel.
Every stroke of his hand makes my thighs tremble, and the voice in my head won’t shut up—telling me this is wrong, telling me to stop watching—yet my body is already clenching around nothing, desperate for him.
My lips part but no sound comes.
He grips my thighs, yanks me to the edge, and positions himself.
The blunt head pushes against my entrance, stretching me, and then he drives in hard.
My scream echoes off the walls as he buries himself to the hilt, splitting me wide.
It's like I actually tear or something.
The pain is hot and fast, but it relaxes into the deepest pleasure after only a few thrusts.
“Oh, shit—”
His hand clamps over my mouth.
“Quiet. You’ll wake the city," he hisses, and I expect his hand to move, which it does, but only barely.
It slides to my neck where his fingers curl around my pulse and squeeze.
He thrusts deep again, pace merciless, the slap of skin against skin filling the room.
The belt cuts into my wrists as I arch, desperate for every stroke hitting deeper than I thought possible.
“Your pussy takes me like you were made for it,” he growls, hips pounding into me.
"Squeeze me, little bird. Clench those muscles around my cock."
I whimper under his palm, body quaking, pleasure building again.
His grip intensifies, squeezing just enough to make my vision spark.
“You’ll come for me, Ptichka. You’ll come knowing you’re mine.”
His thumb rubs hard against my clit, his cock hammering deep, and I can’t hold back.
The orgasm rips through me violently.
My scream is raw, my body clenching tight around him.
My head spins with heat, dizzy from the way he fills me, from the way his control over me makes me lose myself.
I think of nothing but the raw stretch of him and the pulsing aftershocks dragging me higher.
He curses through clenched teeth, sweat dripping onto my skin as his thrusts grow ragged, his eyes fixed on me as though I’m the only thing in the world.
The bed creaks, my wrists burn against the belt, and still I can’t stop arching into him, desperate for every punishing stroke.
He drives harder, chasing his own release, and the look on his face sears into me—possessive, unyielding.
“Fuck!”
His grip finally relents with one final brutal drive, and he spills inside me, filling me until it leaks down my thighs.
He stays buried, chest heaving, hand still resting on my throat as though daring me to deny what just happened.
For long seconds, only our breathing exists.
He finally eases back, pulling free, his cum slick on my thighs, his belt still locking me to the bed.
He studies me, then leans down and kisses me again—slow this time, claiming, sealing what he’s taken.
“You belong here now,” he whispers against my mouth.
His words frighten me, but they also send a thrill through my exhausted body.
The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty with which he claims ownership—it awakens something primitive in me that responds to his dominance.
"I'm not a possession," I say, though my protest sounds weak even to me.
"You are now."
He lies down on his side facing me and pinches one of my nipples.
"You're mine, Ptichka. Your body, your mind, your secrets. All of it belongs to me."
Part of me wants to argue, to assert my independence and autonomy.
But a larger part thrills at his declaration of ownership.
In his world, being claimed by the apex predator means protection and power.
It means no one else can touch me without facing his wrath.
I'm just not sure if that's something I want.
I tug at the restraint and his eyes flick up to see how he's tied me down.
A dark smirk crosses his features as he pinches my nipple again, and I wince.
"Ass," I hiss, but I smile at him and he reaches up to undo the belt.
As soon as my hands are free, I rub my wrists and then turn on the bed to face him too.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now you stop pretending this is temporary. Stop acting surprised when I call. Stop lying to yourself about what you want."
His finger drags down the side of my face and he holds my jaw in his hand.
"You accept that this is your life now."
"My sister will know something's changed. She reads people too well to fool indefinitely."
"Then we'll handle that when it becomes necessary."
He pulls me closer, until our legs are tangled and his thigh is slicked with the moisture from between my legs.
"For now, sleep."
I rest my head on his chest as he pulls the blanket over us, but I still feel uneasy about this whole thing.
Irina will be so ashamed, so heartbroken over this.
But I don't even know if I have a choice in all of this.
The previous cleaner, the first man whose body I helped dispose of—he died just for wanting to buy his way out of this.
What happens to me now that I've fucked this man if I don’t want to do this anymore?
Will he still kill me if I try to walk away?
I'm not a fool.
Men like Xander Morin don't just let you walk away when you know their dirty little secrets.
"Are you going to kill me now, Khishchnik?" I use the same vague metaphor he's been using.
I'm the little bird, he's the predatory cat. And like a wolf tucking its tail down and its ears back, I press a kiss to his chest in sheer terror, hoping he will see that I don't want any trouble.
I don't know him well enough to know what he's thinking.
"A cat doesn’t kill every bird it catches. Some it cages, some it devours, some it keeps only to hear them sing. I haven't decided which you are."
His arm covers me and his body relaxes, but somehow, his words only frighten me more.
For now, I'm lying here in his arms, safe enough.
But who knows what tomorrow will bring, or if my body will betray my better judgement again.
I should never have come here with him, but the alternative might have been worse.
I could be dead, slaughtered by his enemies.
Instead, my core is still pulsing with the best release I've had in years, and I know I will live to see another sunrise.
What happens after that is anyone's guess.