Chapter 51 #2
I line up at her entrance, the blunt head nudging her slick folds, parting them slowly.
The heat of her radiates against me, her wetness coating me in an instant, warm and inviting.
I pause there for a heartbeat—savoring the way she trembles in anticipation, the way her breath catches, shallow and quick, the way her fingers twist tighter into the sheets.
Then I thrust forward—deep, brutal, burying every inch in one unforgiving stroke.
The stretch of her around me is exquisite agony—tight, velvet heat gripping me like a fist, pulling me in deeper with every pulse of her walls.
Alena screams.
The sound rips from her throat, raw and jagged, echoing off the bedroom walls like a siren's call.
It sends a shiver down my spine, straight to the base of my cock, making me throb inside her.
Her fingers claw at the sheets, knuckles bleaching white, the cotton bunching under her nails with a soft tear.
Her back bows sharply, ass pushing back against me instinctively, taking me even deeper, her body chasing the fullness despite the burn.
I slap her ass—once, hard. My palm connects with a sharp crack that rings out in the quiet room, the impact sending a jolt through both of us.
Pink blooms instantly across her pale skin, a blooming handprint that warms under my touch when I let my fingers trail over it, feeling the heat rise like embers.
She moans, the sound broken and needy, vibrating through her core and around my cock.
“Harder,” she pants, voice wrecked, barely above a whisper, laced with that Balkan edge that always undoes me.
I give it to her. Another slap—slower this time, my hand lingering in the air for a beat, letting the anticipation build, the whoosh of it cutting the air before it lands.
Then again, drawing it out, each one jolting through her body like electricity.
Her skin heats under my palm, turning a deeper shade of red with every strike, the sting echoing in my own hand.
Each slap makes her pussy clench tighter around me—wet, rhythmic squeezes that milk my cock, pulling a low groan from my chest. The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping skin fills the room now, obscene and rhythmic, mingling with her gasps and the creak of the bedframe beneath us.
She takes it all, pushing back to meet every thrust, her body greedy for the stretch, the burn, the raw possession of it.
I slide my hand up her spine—slow, deliberate, tracing the dip of her lower back, the knobs of her vertebrae, feeling the fine sheen of sweat that makes her skin slick under my fingertips.
The warmth of her seeps into me, grounding me even as it drives me wild.
Then I wrap my fingers around her throat from behind—firm, possessive, my thumb pressing lightly into the hollow of her collarbone—and pull.
Her back presses flush against my chest, the heat of her skin searing into mine, her hair tickling my jaw as her head falls back onto my shoulder.
Her breath comes in short, frantic pants against my neck, hot and uneven, carrying the faint scent of smoke from her morning cigarette mixed with the salt of her sweat.
“Drogo—” she gasps, voice cracking on my name, rough with need. “You’re too big—for this position—now—”
Her nails stab into my forearm, sharp and desperate, carving thin red lines that sting like fire.
The pain grounds me, sharpens everything—the slide of her against me, the thunder of my pulse in my ears, the way her walls flutter around my cock.
I ease back an inch—just enough to let her breathe, to give her that sliver of space—but the beast inside me is loose now, feral and starving.
The need to claim her, to mark her, to make sure every cell in her body carries my name, my teeth, my come, is burning through every vein, every nerve, making my vision tunnel to the curve of her neck, the flush of her skin.
I lean in, lips brushing the shell of her ear first—soft, teasing—before my teeth graze the tendon there.
Then I bite—hard. Teeth sink deep into the soft flesh of her neck.
Skin gives way with a faint pop, warm blood welling up, flooding my tongue with coppery heat.
The taste explodes—metallic, intimate, primal—mixing with the salt of her sweat.
She moans, loud and shattered, the sound vibrating through her throat against my palm, her pussy spasming around my cock like it's trying to pull me deeper, keep me locked inside forever.
I fuck her harder. Deeper. Relentless. My hips snap forward, driving into her with punishing force, the bedframe groaning in protest under us.
The room smells of us now—sex and sweat and blood, thick and heady.
My free hand slides up her side, tracing the curve of her ribcage, the dip of her waist, before cupping her breast—full, heavy in my palm.
I pinch her nipple between thumb and forefinger—slow at first, rolling it, feeling it harden under my touch—then hard enough to make her scream again.
The sound is pure sin, raw and desperate, tearing from her like a prayer.
She comes instantly—wild, violent, uncontrollable.
Her walls flutter wildly, then clamp down in rhythmic pulses, milking me with a vise-like grip that pulls a guttural groan from my chest. Her whole body shakes against mine, thighs quivering, back bowing, a fresh gush of wetness coating me, dripping down my balls.
I feel every ripple, every spasm, every drop of her release—hot, slick, endless—seeping into the sheets beneath us.
I don’t stop. Can’t stop.
I flip her onto her back in one rough motion, the shift sending a fresh wave of sensation through me as I slide free for a heartbeat.
Her legs fall open, chest heaving, eyes glassy with aftershocks.
I hook one leg over my shoulder, then the other, folding her in half, opening her wide.
The morning light catches the flush on her skin, the sheen of sweat making her glow.
I slam back in—hard, deep, claiming every last inch with a thrust that bottoms out, my hips grinding against hers.
Her eyes fly open wide, lips parted on a silent scream that turns into a ragged moan, her hands flying to my shoulders, nails raking down my back.
“You are mine,” I roar, voice raw and primal, tearing from my throat like thunder.
“Yes!” she screams between moans, eyes wild, feral, perfect—locked on mine, burning with the same madness. “Yes—yours—fuck, Drogo—yours—”
I hold her throat tight—not choking, just owning—my thumb pressing into the frantic beat of her pulse, feeling it race like a trapped bird under my skin.
The heat of her neck seeps into my palm, her skin fever-hot, slick with sweat.
I thrust once—slow, deliberate, savoring the drag—twice, grinding deep—then come—hard, deep, flooding her so completely she cries out, the sound edged with pain this time, too much fullness, too raw, too everything.
The release rips through me, wave after wave, hot and endless, spilling into her until I feel it leak out around us, warm and sticky on her thighs.
My head drops to her chest, forehead pressing into the valley between her breasts.
Her heart is hammering against my ear, fast and frantic, like it’s trying to break free of her ribs—a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the thunder in my own chest. The scent of her skin fills my nose—salt and smoke and sex—mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood from her neck.
“Babe… did I…?” My voice is wrecked, breath ragged against her skin, guilt already creeping in like cold water, mixing with the haze of satisfaction.
She smiles—slow, dangerous, satisfied—her fingers threading gently through my damp hair, tugging just enough to make me shiver. “It was perfect.”
I laugh—breathless, shaky, relieved—the sound rumbling low in my chest. Then I lift my head just enough to see it: the thin line of blood trickling from the bite on her neck, dark red against her pale skin, a single drop welling up slow and lazy before sliding down toward her collarbone.
“Fuck, babe—”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, voice husky and sure, pulling me down with a hand at the nape of my neck. She kisses me deep—slow, filthy, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips, tasting the blood and sex and us, drawing out the flavor like she's savoring a secret.
Her pussy clenches around my now half-hard cock—lazy, deliberate flutters that send fresh sparks up my spine. The sensation is overwhelming—too sensitive, too raw, every tiny movement like fire licking at overexposed nerves. I groan into her mouth, hips twitching involuntarily.
“Give me every drop,” she murmurs against my lips, voice low and filthy, her breath hot and minty from the toothpaste she used this morning.
I smile into the kiss—dark, hungry—already feeling myself harden again inside her, the pull of her body like gravity I can't fight.
She’s mine.
And I’m never letting go.
We’re still tangled together, her legs wrapped loosely around my waist, my cock half-hard and buried deep inside her, slick with both of us.
Her chest rises and falls beneath me in slow, heavy breaths, the rapid flutter of her heart slowing against my ear.
The room smells like sex—thick, musky, intimate—mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood from her neck and the clean morning light filtering through the curtains.
Her fingers trace lazy circles on my back, nails grazing just enough to make my skin prickle.
I lift my head to kiss her again—slow this time, savoring the taste of her lips, the faint salt of sweat, the copper ghost of blood. She sighs into my mouth, soft and content, her pussy giving one last lazy clench around me that pulls a low groan from my throat.
Then—
Knock.
Sharp. Urgent. Three quick raps on the bedroom door.
What the actual fuck?
They know the rule. No one comes to the bedroom unless it’s life or death. No exceptions. Not ever.
My body goes rigid in an instant. Instinct kicks in before thought.
I roll off her, yanking the sheet up over her naked body in one swift motion, covering every inch of her from view.
My gun is already in my hand—pulled from the nightstand drawer before I’m even fully upright—safety off, barrel trained on the door.
In Russian, low and lethal, I bark, “Что?”
Konstantin’s voice comes through the wood, tight, urgent, stripped of any formality.
“Klaus is ten minutes away.”
The words hit like ice water poured straight into my veins. Shock locks my muscles for half a heartbeat. Ten minutes. He’s here. In my city. In my territory. Ten fucking minutes.
I turn to Alena.
She’s sitting up now, sheet clutched to her chest, eyes wide and dark with sudden fear.
The black diamond on her finger catches the light, glinting like a warning.
Her lips are still swollen from kissing, her neck marked with my bite, a thin line of blood already drying. She looks vulnerable. Beautiful. Mine.
“Babe,” I say, voice steady even though my pulse is roaring in my ears. “Get dressed. Now.”
She nods, quick and silent, the fear in her eyes sharp but controlled.
I lean down, cup her face with my free hand, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “Whatever you hear—whatever happens—know I will protect you. I love you. You will be okay. Okay?”
She nods again, swallowing hard, her throat working under the mark I left.
I press my forehead to hers for one brief second, breathing her in—smoke, sex, her. Then I pull back, eyes locked on hers.
“Babe,” I whisper, fierce and low. “I will take a bullet to the heart and keep going if it’s for you. Don’t be scared. Okay?”
“Okay,” she breathes, voice small but steady.
I kiss her—hard, fast, like it might be the last time—tasting fear and love and everything we’ve built in seventeen years.
Then I stand.
Fuck.
Klaus is here.
That means he knows. If not everything, then most. He’s not coming for a casual visit. He’s coming because he smells blood in the water.
He must have men tailing us. Watching. Reporting. Worse—he might have a traitor. Someone inside my circle. Someone who’s been feeding him pieces of the truth.
My city. My family. My wife.
He’s walking into my territory thinking he still owns it.
He’s wrong.
I grab my shirt from the floor, pull it on, holster the gun against my ribs, and head for the door.
Time to end this.