18. Cathy
18
CATHY
I van leads me out of the room and down a long corridor. We take a set of stairs upward. The air feels different in this part of the mansion—thicker, more charged. When we reach a doorway, he opens it, ushering me in with a hand at my back, his fingers resting firmly, possessively, against me.
The dim light from an overhead chandelier fills the bedroom in golden shadows, casting an almost eerie glow across the rich, dark furniture. The curtains are drawn, enclosing us in this private world, where even the walls seem to lean in, watching.
Ivan closes the door behind us, and I can feel his gaze sweep over me, heavy and assessing. He doesn’t move toward me right away; instead, he watches from a few paces back, allowing the quiet to stretch between us, his expression unreadable yet intent.
I stand still, barely daring to breathe as his eyes trace over me, the weight of his presence filling every inch of the space.
“Take off your dress,” he says finally, his voice low and commanding, his words lingering in the air like a challenge. There’s no question in his tone, no room for negotiation.
A spark of defiance flares up in me, but it fades almost as quickly as it appeared. The intensity in his gaze, the dark possessiveness—it all sends a shiver down my spine.
My heart races as I reach for the back of my dress, fingers trembling slightly. I lower the zipper, letting the fabric slip from my shoulders, and feel the cool air against my skin as it pools around my feet.
I stand there, feeling vulnerable and exposed, yet strangely powerful under his watchful gaze. There’s a thrill to it, a sense of control I hadn’t expected.
His eyes never leave mine as he steps closer, his expression both approving and possessive. He doesn’t say a word, but I can feel the intensity radiating from him, as if he’s drawing me into his world with every breath.
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a dark whisper that sends another shiver through me.
He moves closer, his hand lifting to trace the edge of my collarbone, his touch both firm and gentle. “You are now mine,” he says softly as he kisses the ring on my finger. I find myself nodding, the reality of those words settling over me, a strange mix of safety and surrender.
My hands lift to his shoulders, fingers brushing the fabric of his suit jacket, hesitant but determined. His gaze is fixed on me, piercing and unwavering, watching every move, every flicker of emotion in my eyes.
Slowly, I slide the jacket from his shoulders, feeling the fabric slip down his arms, revealing more of his strong, solid frame with each passing second.
With every piece of clothing I remove, I feel a shift between us, an unspoken understanding settling in the air. My fingers trail along his shirt, brushing against the fabric, reverent.
The distance between us narrows as I reach up and start unbuttoning his shirt, inch by inch.
My hand reaches his chest, and I trace a scar that cuts across his skin, following its rough path. He stands still, allowing my touch, watching me with an openness that feels rare, even sacred.
I’m suddenly aware of the quiet consent in the air, a trust that feels new, unspoken. I glance up at him, searching his eyes, and I find the confirmation I need.
“Do you know what these marks mean?” he asks, his voice low, like a quiet invitation.
I look up at him, my heart beating faster. “They mean you’ve been hurt,” I murmur, feeling an unexpected connection bloom between us, a sense of empathy that feels raw and real.
His expression softens, just slightly, and it makes my heart lurch. “And yet here I am,” he says with the faintest hint of a smile. “That should tell you something.”
He grips my wrist, pulling me closer until our bodies are flush against each other. The heat from his skin sears into mine, and I can feel his erection pressing insistently against my lower belly.
“You belong to me now,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear as his hand slides down to cup my ass, squeezing firmly. “Every part of you. That ring binds your soul to mine.”
His words send a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through me. I nod, unable to speak, my throat suddenly dry.
His grip on me tightens, and he pushes me back onto the bed. I land softly, the mattress giving way beneath me, and I watch as he crawls up my body, his movements predatory and deliberate.
He reaches my thighs and pauses, looking up at me with those intense eyes. “Spread your legs,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for refusal.
I obey, spreading my legs wider, exposing myself to him. His gaze burns into me, and I feel a flush of embarrassment mixed with something else—something darker, wilder. He leans down, his breath hot against my inner thighs, and I bite my lip to stifle a gasp.
“Such a good girl,” he whispers, his voice dripping with approval. “So eager to please.”
His tongue flicks out, tracing a line up my thigh, sending jolts of electricity through me. I arch my back, my hips lifting off the bed in response to the sensation. He chuckles softly, the sound low and rumbling, and moves higher, his tongue finding the delicate flesh just above my pussy.
“Relax,” he says, his breath warm against my folds. “Let me taste you.”
His words are a balm to my nerves, and I do as he says, sinking back into the mattress, my muscles loosening. His tongue delves between my folds, exploring my wetness, and I moan softly, my hands gripping the sheets.
He laps at me with steady strokes, his tongue flat and insistent, driving me wild.
“Ahh... Ivan...” I breathe, my voice trembling.
He continues his ministrations, his tongue moving faster, more purposefully. He finds my clit, circling it with precision, and I cry out, my body tensing.
The pleasure builds, a slow burn at first, then a raging inferno. He seems to know exactly where to touch, how to press, and I’m spiraling out of control, my orgasm cresting high above me.
“Yes, yes!” I scream, my hips bucking wildly as the wave crashes over me, flooding me with ecstasy.
He doesn’t stop, not even when I’m still shuddering with aftershocks. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, his tongue relentless, until I’m begging for mercy, for release. And then, just as I think I can’t take any more, he pulls away, leaving me gasping and shaking.
“Good?” he asks, his voice smug, satisfied.
I nod weakly, my eyes half-lidded, too overwhelmed to form words. He smiles, a predatory gleam in his eyes, and shifts his position, moving up my body until he’s looming over me. His cock, hard and glistening with precum, hovers just inches from my face.
“Open your mouth,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument.
I obey, parting my lips, and he guides his cock into my mouth. The head brushes against my tongue, and I instinctively close my lips around him, sucking gently. He lets out a low groan, his fingers tangling in my hair.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Take it all. Show me how much you want this.”
I follow his instructions, taking him deeper, my throat working around his length. He tastes salty, musky, and I find myself strangely addicted to the sensation. He begins to thrust slowly, his pace measured, controlling.
“Use your tongue,” he growls, his voice strained. “Lick me like you mean it.”
I do as he says, swirling my tongue around his shaft, pressing it against the sensitive underside. His groans grow louder, more urgent, and he starts to move faster, fucking my mouth with increasing intensity. I can feel his tension building, his muscles coiling with pent-up need.
“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he groans, his grip on my hair tightening. “But don’t get comfortable. I’m not done with you yet.”
With that, he pulls out, leaving me panting, my mouth aching from the suction. He doesn’t give me time to recover, though. Instead, he flips me over, positioning me on all fours. I brace myself, knowing what’s coming next.
“Hold onto the headboard,” he instructs, his voice sharp, commanding.
I do as he says, grabbing the ornate wooden bars, my knuckles turning white. He positions himself behind me, his cock nudging against my entrance. I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable.
“Ready?” he asks, though it’s not really a question.
Before I can answer, he pushes inside, filling me in one swift motion. I cry out, the sensation overwhelming, and he doesn’t stop, starting to pump in and out of me with brutal efficiency. Each thrust is hard, fast, hitting me deep inside. I can feel the bed rocking beneath us, the headboard banging against the wall.
“Ahh... Ivan...” I whimper, my voice barely audible over the sounds of our bodies colliding.
“That’s it,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips tightly. “Take every inch.”
He speeds up, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. I can feel another orgasm building, threatening to overtake me. He reaches around, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing it with merciless precision. The dual stimulation sends me over the edge, and I scream as I come, my body convulsing around his cock.
“Fuck!” he shouts. “I’m gonna...”
His movements become frantic, his grip on me almost painful. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he comes, spilling his release deep inside me as he roars in satisfaction.
We both collapse, breaths mingling, the air thick with the aftermath of our intensity. Every nerve in my body hums, but for once, there’s a calm, a strange peace between us that makes the moment feel whole.
"Stay still," he whispers, voice a deep murmur, his hands splayed on my hips, holding me firmly in place. He lingers, his body reluctant to part from mine.
I can feel the weight of his presence pressing down. When he finally withdraws, it's slow, as if savoring every last moment of our connection.
He props himself up beside me, eyes dark and contemplative, watching me with an intensity that feels like a silent vow. "You will give me an heir," he says, the words possessive, almost as though he’s claiming the future in a single breath.
The words don’t ignite the resistance they once might have. I’m not only listening, I’m answering, and the response that rises to my lips surprises even me.
"I will," I reply, the words soft yet assured. And this time, I mean it.