8. Chapter 8
8
Konstantin
S he won’t fucking look at me.
The elevator doors hiss open, and she’s a statue—silk dress fused to her skin, every curve a tight, trembling tease that’s got my hands burning to rip it off. That slit up her thigh flashes pale flesh with every step tonight, and my cock’s been a coiled beast since the ballroom—thick, hot, pulsing against my zipper like it’s clawing to break free. I want to shred that silk, slam into her right here, feel her choke me with that wet heat, but I lock my jaw instead. I’ll unravel her slow, make her beg ‘til her voice cracks.
She hasn’t looked at me once since we left.When I drag my thumb over her wrist, there’s a tiny hitch in her breath—fast, sharp, almost hidden—but her feet keep moving. I lean in, close enough that my nose brushes the silk of her hair, my mouth skimming her ear.
“Time to go,” I murmur, low enough to scrape down her spine. She stiffens for half a second, muscles pulling taut, then forces herself forward like nothing happened.
The floor’s empty—mine—and the suite’s a heartbeat away.
I brush past her, my shoulder grazing hers, and her sharp inhale slams into me like a fist to the balls. My cock jerks, a hot throb, and I unlock the door with a hand that’s steady only because I’ve beaten it into submission. It swings open—golden light bleeding over velvet shadows, the Pacific air snarling beyond the glass like it’s daring me to fuck her against it.
She hesitates, just a breath, her hand lifting halfway like she doesn’t know whether to steady herself or shove me away. Then she drops it, swallowing hard, the barest flick of her teeth catching her bottom lip before she squares her shoulders like she’s walking into a goddamn war.
That split-second pause, the way she bites her lip and squares her shoulders like she’s ready to fight me off—or pull me closer—fuck, it’s a spark that lights me up. Her defiance, that sharp edge in her trembling stance, is hotter than any surrender, and it’s got me aching to break her open.
She steps in, silent, heels stabbing the marble, then sinking into the rug. Her reflection in the window’s a gut punch—shoulders bare and gleaming, dress sucking her skin like it’s wet, those buttons down her back a cruel taunt I want to rip off with my teeth. And she doesn’t turn around—but I see her shoulders tighten, a sharp flex under that silk.
Fuck, she’s feeling it—fear, excitement, a cocktail of both buzzing through her. She’s anticipating this, bracing for me, and it’s got my cock throbbing harder, a thick ache begging to claim her.
Not yet, I snarl at myself, teeth grinding. Break her first.
“You gonna keep pretending I’m not here, krasotka ?”
She doesn’t turn, spine rigid, anger rolling off her like heat off asphalt.
“Fuck off, Konstantin.” It’s sharp, but it cracks—need seeping through, and my cock twitches, a jolt I feel in my balls.
I stalk closer, boots thudding, letting her feel me coming.
“That’s not how this works, wife.” I’m on her now, chest brushing her back, her scent hitting me—musky, sweet, making my mouth water.
My fingers skim her shoulder, barely grazing. “You don’t shut me out. Not tonight.”
She tilts her head, a flicker of defiance. “I signed up for a deal, not a leash.”
“You’re leashed.” My hand clamps her hip hard, yanking her back, and—fuck—her ass slams into my cock, the pressure a white-hot spike up my shaft. My balls clench, a searing jolt I taste in my throat.
She chokes on a gasp, the sound ripping straight from her chest, and my grip turns brutal without even thinking.
“Feel that? That’s how bad I’ve wanted to fuck you, standing there like you don’t crave it too.”
She twists, jerking against me, and my cock throbs harder—painful, begging.
“Let go,” she snaps, fists curling, but she’s not shoving.
“No.” My other hand snakes up her arm, slow, feeling her shiver, then fists her hair. I yank, sharp, tipping her head back, and her throat’s bare—pulsing, begging for my teeth. “You’re mine. Every fucking inch. And I’m done waiting.”
Her breath rips out, wet and shaky, her pulse slamming under my fingers—wild, matching the throb in my cock.
“You’re a bastard,” she chokes, but she’s melting, sagging into me, and it’s like a torch to my veins.
“Yeah, I am.” I drag my mouth down her neck, lips scraping—her skin’s fever-hot, salty, and I flick my tongue out, tasting her racing pulse. My cock’s a pulsing rod, begging to ram her, and I clench my fist in her hair, fighting the urge to rip her apart.
“And you’re dripping for this bastard, aren’t you?” My hand dives under the slit of her dress, clawing up her thigh—soft, trembling, slick with sweat—and I graze her panties, damp lace clinging. She jolts, a whimper husking out.
She twists, jerking against me, and my cock throbs harder—painful, begging.
“I said, let go!” Her breath’s quick, shallow, her body humming with that mix of dread and desire. She’s cracking, and I’m gonna split her wide.
“No. The rules are simple, my dear—I am the rule.” My thumb jams her lips, forcing them apart, and she’s panting, tits heaving.
“Strip. Off. Now.”
She glares, defiance flickering, but her hands move—shaky, clawing the buttons. The dress peels away, sliding down, and—Christ—she’s in black lace, tits spilling over the bra, nipples stabbing through like they’re daring me to bite. It hits the floor, and my cock jerks, a searing surge up my spine.
“Now, take off those panties.”
“N… No.” She bites her lower lip, trying to hold back tears.
I grab her wrists, yanking them above her head, my thigh wedging between hers—her heat seeps through my pants, scalding me.
“You don’t tell me no, Isabella.”
My free hand rips her panties down—wet, sticking—and I shove three fingers into her, circling her clit, rough and slow. It’s swollen, slick, pulsing under my thumb, and she’s dripping down my wrist, a sticky flood.
“Fuuuck.” Her hips buck, grinding into my hand. “I hate you,” she chokes out, voice breaking.
“Liar.” I spin her, bending her over the bed, ass up—round, pale, begging—and slap it—hard. The crack echoes, her yelp slicing through me, and I thrust two fingers inside her, pumping—wet, tight, gushing. My dick’s a steel beam, throbbing with every slick sound.
“Beg for my cock.”
“No.”
“No?” I smirk.
She tries to hold out, but I won’t have it. I slap her ass again, harder this time, leaving a red welt on her smooth skin. She gasps but still refuses. I thrust my fingers into her again, rough and deep, then pull them out, landing another sharp slap on her ass. The sound echoes, and she cries out, her body trembling. I repeat the punishment, slapping her ass until it’s red and raw, thrusting my fingers into her wet pussy each time until she finally breaks.
“Please,” she sobs, spreading wider—thighs quaking, pussy glistening. “Konstantin—please.”
I unfasten my pants and release my cock; it’s already thick, heavy, leaking a bead of precum as I rub it against her clit, slow, teasing. She whimpers, hips jerking, and my balls tighten, a hot surge I choke back.
“What do you want? Say it.”
“I want… I want you to fuck me,” she gasps, voice raw, and I could thrust in—deep, brutal, claim her ‘til she screams—but I don’t. Not yet. I want more. I want her shattered.
“Good girl,” I growl, stepping back. “But first, you got to earn it first. Touch yourself—exactly like that night you broke in. On my bed, fucking your fingers, dreaming of me.”
Her eyes widen, a flush exploding down her chest—excitement sparking, no dread—and her hand slides down, fingers brushing her clit, swollen and slick, then circling, slow, deliberate.
“I—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“You wanted me,” I rasp, voice thick with the memory—her sprawled on my sheets, legs splayed, moaning to my portrait like a desperate little thief. “What did you imagine, Isabella? Tell me.” My cock throbs, a relentless pulse, and I stroke it once—slow, fighting the urge to ram into her.
She moans, fingers plunging deeper—two, then three—her pussy sucking them in, wet, sloppy sounds filling the room—her shoulders relaxing, anticipation turning to need.
“You—fucking me,” she pants, hips bucking, eyes locked on mine. “Hard—pinning me down, splitting me open.”
“Keep going,” I snarl, voice gravel-rough, stepping closer, looming over her. “Did you want me to punish you? Slap that ass raw, tie you up, make you scream?”
My dick’s screaming too, balls tight as I watch her—juices slicking her thighs, her fingers pumping faster. I lock my eyes on her—my own hand moves with desperate need, gripping and stroking my cock in a fervor that matches hers.
“Yes,” she moans, thighs trembling, spreading wider—excitement driving her voice, her hand. Her eyes slide down to my cock, eyes wide when she sees the size of it.
“I wanted you to—fuck—punish me. Tie me up, fuck me ‘til I couldn’t move, ‘til I begged you for more.”
Suka . My cock surges, a hot spike up my spine, and I’m clawing at control—want to give her that, mark her, break her—but I hold it, savoring her unraveling.
“How bad did you want it?” I growl, yanking my tie free, the silk hissing through my collar. “How bad did you want my cock choking you, my hands owning you?”
“So bad,” she pants, fingers frantic—her clit’s pulsing, her pussy gushing, a sticky mess on the sheets. “I—please—I needed it—needed you.”
“Good girl,” I murmur, kneeling between her thighs, gripping them—soft, slick, shaking—and wrenching them apart. I seize her wrists, her dripping fingers slipping from her pussy, and bind them with my tie—tight, the silk biting into her flesh, her hands pinned above her head. She gasps, eyes widening with a flood of excitement and lust, all trace of fear obliterated. I bare my teeth in a savage smirk, my voice a dark promise. “You’re mine now. I’m going to wring every last drop of pleasure from you, slowly, until you’re a begging, sobbing mess.”
I plunge three fingers back into her—stretching her, invading her, circling her clit with brutal precision. Her walls clamp down, hot and wet, like a vise trying to crush my fingers. She thrashes, her wrists tugging against the tie, her shoulders slack with surrender as I pin her down with my other hand.
“Tell me,” I demand, my voice a low growl, lips brushing her ear, my cock grinding against her thigh—thick, pulsing, leaking. “Did you come that night thinking of me?”
“Yes!” she screams, her hips bucking wildly, eyes ablaze with need. Her pussy is a gushing river, soaking my hand, her clit throbbing under my thumb. “Konstantin—fuck—yes! I came so hard—”
“Then do it again,” I command, my fingers pumping faster, circling harder. Her body is a convulsing, trembling mess, tied, spread, completely at my mercy. “Come for me, Bella. Let me feel that tight little cunt cramping around my fingers, and you better scream my name when you do.” Her walls begin to spasm, clenching my fingers in a chokehold.
“Konstantin…” Her cry rips through the room—raw, needy, my name a jagged plea—and her pussy clamps down, a hot, wet flood pulsing around my fingers. My cock’s screaming, balls aching, but I hold it—watching her shatter, tied and eager, melting as excitement wins. It’s the most unforgettable thing I’ll ever give her, and I’m still not done.
I don’t hesitate for her to be fully prepared. I grasp her hips, turn her over onto her stomach, and position her hips so her alluring backside is raised toward me. Her skin feels as soft as my sheets and twice as indulgent. Eager to leave my mark, I use both hands to guide myself, gliding the sensitive tip along her, teasing her clit, and sending shivers through us both.
Her wrists stay bound, the silk tie biting into her skin, but her fingers clutch the sheets—white-knuckled, desperate—while her lush, trembling ass presses back against my cock, hot and eager. She’s a brazen little siren, every twitch screaming she wants me.
I land a sharp, teasing smack on her bare ass—firm enough to sting, playful enough to tempt. She jolts forward with a gasp, a high-pitched sound that cuts through me, my handprint blooming red against her pale, silky skin—a mark I’d tattoo there if I could. My cock pulses, balls tight, and I don’t give her a second to catch her breath—I grip her hips hard and thrust deep inside her.
Her cry rips out—“Fuuuccckkk! You’re a giant!”—half shock, half moan, a sound I’d kill to hear again.
Everything else fades—noise, duty, the weight of the Bratva—all of it dissolves into a dull hum. There’s just the wet, rhythmic slap of my skin on hers as I drive harder, sinking deeper, every inch of my cock finding its place in her scorching, tight heat. She’s a furnace, a perfect vise, and—fuck—she’s unforgettable, unraveling me with every pulse.
Bella’s a quivering mess beneath me, limp against the bed—shaking, panting, a living flame of need—but inside, she’s molten, her walls rippling along my length like she’s trying to drag me over the edge before I’ve even started.
Yob tvoyu mat, this little minx wants my climax, wants to own me, and it’s a fight to keep control as I thrust, pulling her closer, our bodies locked in a relentless, primal rhythm.
Her gasps turn to whimpers, then to trembling pleas—my name spilling from her lips like a prayer between shudders.
A soft, gritted “Shit…” spills out, her voice rough as she bites her lip harder, her shoulders tensing under my grip like she’s bracing for a storm.
This is what I crave, what I fucking need.
I want her to feel me so deep in that gorgeous body that every man before me is erased—gone, ash.
I want her to take me so hard she’ll limp tomorrow, every step a reminder of me. She’s my wife—signed, sealed, mine to fuck whenever I damn well please—and that contract, her clean little signature on every page, hums in my blood. I can have her anytime, anywhere, and it’s a satisfaction that’s been my anchor. But now—fuck—now it’s more. I’m craving her like a junkie, her body a fix I didn’t know I’d need this bad.
“Damn…” She grinds me harder. “This… is too much.”
She tightens around me, a hot clench that pulls a grin across my face—dark, triumphant. I grip her hips tighter and haul her back as I bury myself balls-deep in her trembling core.
“Yes, you’re so wet it’s driving me insane.” My hands roam up, tracing her soft, sweat-slick sides, thumbs brushing the curve of her ribs. “Now, come for me, krasotka ,” I rasp, voice husky, thick with want.
She breaks—eyes rolling back, body seizing in wild, wet spasms that grip my cock like a fist. Every shudder tests me, every ripple a razor’s edge against my restraint, pushing me to the brink. Goddamn. I can’t let her tremors fade—I pull out, flip her onto her back in one swift move, and plunge back in, deep and hard. She arches, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat, and I wrap my arms around her, mouth latching onto her nipple—sweet, taut, perfect—sucking as I thrust with feral hunger.
But it’s not enough. Her spasms flare again, raw cries spilling as I drive her further into oblivion, her bound hands clawing the air, tugging at the tie. Her fingers snag my hair, yanking, and it’s a spark to the fire raging in me—an itch, a hunger I can’t scratch deep enough. I quicken my pace, burying my face in her neck—licking the salt off her skin, sucking the pulse thumping there, tasting every inch of her glistening heat.
If these walls weren’t soundproof, her screams—our storm—might sound like war to the world outside. Bella, the sharp-tongued thief who broke into my life, turns into a whirlwind here—a tempest of lust I can’t tame. And tonight, I do something stupid: I kiss her. We’ve kissed before—hard, possessive pecks to seal the deal—but this time, I lean down, claiming her mouth, and she kisses back. Fuck, it’s too good—sweet, warm, her tongue curling against mine, a taste so electric it shorts my brain. I regret it instantly—she grabs the back of my hair, our sweaty bodies fusing, and for a split second, that craving eases, and I’m drowned in her.
But it’s a lie. The moment shatters, and the need slams back—harder, fiercer. I’m teetering on my own edge, thrusting into her pulsing heat, and that contract flashes in my mind: she’s mine, my wife, my right to take any time. It’s always been enough—knowing I can fuck her when I want, how I want—but now it’s a curse. I want her more, in every filthy way, in every hidden corner, and it’s eating me alive.
I cling to her, my growls muffled against her neck as the orgasm rips through me—hot, searing, spilling into her with a force that blanks my mind. Her final shudder locks us together, a shared explosion that shakes the bed. I signed up for control, for a wife I could fuck on demand—decent, predictable, mine. But this? This is a wildfire, a soul-deep burn that makes me feel untouchable, alive, and it’s all her fault. I’m hooked.