Chapter 48 Bella
BELLA
The elevator opens onto darkness. The pressure around my throat is familiar and intimate. My blood sings in my veins from his touch, even as ice touches my heart.
"Show me." He releases my throat, voice low and dangerous. "Show me exactly how you did it."
I turn toward the hallway leading to his office, but he holds a hand out to stop me before I can even take a step.
"On your hands and knees," he whispers.
I look back at him, feeling a shiver of anticipation running down my spine at his words. His expression is still. His eyes are on my face and they look like the sky before a storm breaks it open.
"Crawl," he says. "Like the dirty little sneak that you are."
My knees are already bending before my brain finishes processing the instruction. Keeping my eyes on him, I lower myself to my knees, and then slowly fall forward until I'm on all fours.
The hardwood is cool and smooth under my palms.
Slava's fist closes in my hair.
He winds the way I like it—once, again, and again until every strand is under his control—and then walks beside me, using it like a leash.
I get wetter with every foot of ground I cover.
And as I crawl, the glue thumbprint burns against my palm.
It doesn’t take long for us to reach his office. When we do, Slava guides me around his desk until my face is staring at the safe that I had been so eager to open just a few days ago. I open my hand, slip the thumbprint on, and press it to the sensor.
A second later, the safe opens.
His hand tightens in my hair, tugging at every strand harder than before. Tingles rush down my back and turn to heated desire between my legs. Shame rushes my face, and I close my eyes.
He looks at the open safe for a moment but says nothing. Then, he releases my hair, letting the long black strands fall like a curtain around my face. His hand finds the back of my neck, fingers tracing the gold chain.
"I should've known." He breathes. "This whole fucking time."
I'm certain, for one suspended second, that he's going to rip it off me. That this is the thing that will break his control. But he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers start moving down, lower and lower, until they slip under my dress.
I hear the seam rip before I feel it. Fabric surrenders to force.
His hands keep moving, working down my spine with an angry, methodical patience.
My lips tremble, and when his fingers brush my skin, a new fire starts to burn.
He works in silence, ripping my dress seam by seam, until it lies in tattered strips on the floor.
Then he does the same to my bra and panties until I'm naked except for the necklace and my heels.
“Up.” His voice is hard.
I obey, and as I rise, I try to turn.
He grabs the back of my neck and snarls. “I didn’t tell you to fucking look at me.”
His hands are trembling, I realize. I try to see him without looking back, but I can’t. Charged silence settles between us, and behind me, I hear the sound of a belt clinking open, and the unmistakable buzz of a zipper being pulled open.
My heart skids in my chest when I feel a new throbbing heat behind me, and smell his masculine scent.
"What are you waiting for?" My voice is soft but steady. "Do it. Ruin me. Destroy me. Hurt me."
I mean it.
And then he pushes me back onto the desk. The motion is quick, and I gasp in surprise at how quickly the cool wooden surface meets my body. A burst of wetness rushes between my legs, and he holds me there while I turn so that my face is pressed against the cold surface.
"This is what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?"
It is.
I can't say that.
I spread my legs further.
His hand shoves between my thighs and I’m already soaked.
Long fingers stroke me from top to bottom, and then one of them buries itself deep inside me.
I moan like a whore as my pussy clenches around it.
Another finger joins it, and I spread my legs further, my body arching to bring him deeper in to sate my own appetite.
“You’ve wanted me to hurt you this whole time, haven’t you?” He snarls as his fingers work me relentlessly.
“Yes…” I say as I writhe, but his hand continues to pin me down.
He bends over me, lips brushing over the shell of my ear, and bites his way down my neck, along my shoulder while wet obscene sounds fill the office.
His mouth and hands drive me at a pace that leaves no room for thought, which is exactly what I want—sensation to replace logic, feeling to burn away my guilt. Here, at last, with my betrayal fully laid out before him, I can savor his rough touches.
The orgasm builds faster than I expect and crashes through me harder than I'm prepared for.
I come with a sound that I bite back too late—it's already in the room before I can catch it, real and undefended—and I'm furious at myself for it, and I don't care, and both of those things are true simultaneously.
I scream loudly, fire burning the air out of my lungs. My hands reach forward to claw at the desk as I come harder than I’ve ever come before. He pulls his finger out of me and grabs both my hands, coating them with my pleasure, and pins them behind my back.
“No you don’t, malyshka.” His mouth is at my ear again, dripping dark honey as he snarls. “You don’t get to have that mercy."
And then, he enters me from behind.
Hard.
I cry out, involuntary and helpless. The sound punches out of my throat before I can stop it. My body stretches to accommodate the sudden rough intrusion, and my eyes roll into the back of my head as I moan loudly.
It feels so good. So pure. I ride that edge where pleasure and pain mix until they become indistinguishable, and my moans turn into screams.
That’s when he releases my hands, and closes his wet hand over my mouth. A finger slips into my mouth and I suck greedily to taste myself on him. He’s dominating me completely, stripping away all choices—exactly like how I want him to.
I didn’t have to ask him for this, didn’t even have to beg him for it. He knows that this is what I wanted— to be held down, covered, silenced, to have him take control of even the sounds I made.
It’s freeing and exhilarating.
He sets a pace that's relentless and deliberate and I love it.
I love the way he's holding me down. I love the ruthlessness of his cock pumping me in and out.
I love not being able to move my hips or voice anything except what he allows to escape between his fingers.
Fire moves through my veins from the base of my spine. Another orgasm is already building.
This is what I wanted, and it’s also exactly what I’m losing.
Both things live in the same body and I can't separate them, and I decide I'm not going to try.
The orgasm crests. I'm almost there.
But maddeningly, I can’t reach it.
Something shifts in Slava’s pace—a minor adjustment but it makes all the difference between a man who's punishing and a man who's starting to remember something he's trying to forget. The edge begins to dull, and the rhythm starts losing the vicious intent behind it.
He's not fucking me hard enough.
Which means he still doesn't hate me enough.
The monster has a crack in it. As long as the monster has a crack, the man is still in there, and the man will want to find a way out.
I can feel it in the way he’s moving. He’s telling me to give him a way out. To tell him to stop. To let him stop.
But I can't let him stop. If I let him stop, then that means he won’t hate me, and I need him to hate me.
I start shaking my head back and forth, and bite down on my hand hard enough to taste blood. With a snarl, he draws back. And for a second, his pace resumes that punishing pace I’m chasing. His hand fists tighter in my hair. But as quickly as his hate returned, it’s already starting to fade.
"Is that all you've got?" I snarl as I start fucking him back.
The effect is immediate. His fist closes in my hair.
With a single hard yank, he pulls me by my hair off the desk.
My back presses into his sweaty body, and sparks fire along every nerve ending from the sudden contact.
His cock drives the breath from my lungs like this, and his hand reaches up to give my breast a squeeze, leaving me crying out loudly.
"Is that as hard as you can fuck me?" I challenge him. “I thought I told you to fucking hurt me.”
He pauses and drags his teeth across my neck, laving my throat with his tongue, before he whispers in my ear.
“Careful what you wish for.” He draws back until he’s almost pulled out and thrusts all the way in, and he thrusts me hard and deep with every word, balls slapping against my clit. “You just might get what you want.”
“Then stop talking about it, and fucking do it.”
He stills, and his hand releases my hair. My scalp tingles, and for a moment, uncertainty seeps into my heart that maybe he won’t. But then, without warning, he picks me up by my thighs until I’m suspended in mid-air.
With his cock still buried in me, he walks me across the office towards those floor-to-ceiling windows.
Every motion sends me bobbing up and down over him.
Ripples of pleasure spread from between my legs, send my toes curling, and make me throw my head back from how helpless I am in his hand like this.
And then, the cool glass meets my face, my sweaty breasts, and he pins me against the glass. He holds me by my wrists and my thighs so that the tips of my toes are scrabbling for purchase on the floor.
"You want me to hurt you?"
His voice is still quiet but the coldness is fading. I can feel his pulse through his palm against the back of my hand.
"Did I fucking stutter?"
He starts thrusting again.
The sound I make is unplanned and my head drops back against his shoulder as I cry out from how good he makes me feel.
I'm past pretending like I’m dignified. I have nothing left to hide. This time, the pace is closer to what I asked for, relentless and unsparing. My fingers slip and claw uselessly at the cold glass, and I try not to think about the fact that he's still, even now, holding something back.
I can feel it.
Even when his hand finds my throat again and his face presses against mine—I can feel him holding something back.
He's still fucking begging me.
Please don’t do this to me. But I don’t know who’s thinking it anymore. I don’t want him to stop, and he doesn’t want to keep going. But neither of us is willing to say it out loud so we’re trapped in this vicious cycle.
The only way to give him that is to not say the word.
"Fuck me like you mean it," I say, and my voice starts to break. "Fuck me like you hate me."
"Shut the fuck up," he says, and that’s the last warning before he suddenly flips me around without a break on his cock.
His gray eyes are dark now, and there’s a mad look in his eyes that I can’t quite read. And before I have a chance to figure out just what he’s trying to show me in his eyes, he kisses me.
It’s a deep and searching and desperate kiss.
His mouth crushes against mine and drains the air from my lungs until my head is spinning.
He fucks me and kisses me simultaneously and I can feel the contradiction tearing him apart at the seams. The relentlessness of his hips is a delicious contradiction to the tenderness bleeding through his mouth.
Violence and love run in parallel currents that his body can't keep separate no matter how hard he's trying.
And even though I know I shouldn’t, I kiss him back.
How can I not?
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, and I take this anyway, store every second of it, because I came here to be destroyed and I didn't understand until this exact moment that I'm the one doing the destroying.
That I have been this whole time.
My fingers rake his back, and I know I’m leaving long angry red welts over his muscles. Each streak of pain I leave on his skin gets him to move just a little harder, only for him to start slowing again. I kiss him harder, wrap my legs around him, and scream into his throat.
The final orgasm rips through us both, and I don’t dare break apart from the kiss as I cum.
I cling to his body as my pussy flutters around his cock.
And then I feel a deep rumble in his chest as a groan escapes his mouth.
A shudder rushes through us all at once.
My toes curl. His arms tighten around my waist.
Then a searing warm wet heat surges deep inside of me, and we come together in a mess of sweat and tears.
And through it all, he continues to hold me as his cock twitches inside of me.
After what feels like hours, he pulls out of me slowly, and I almost beg for him to come back and not leave me feeling so hauntingly empty like this.