Chapter 48 Sima
SIMA
Petyr’s words echo in my head long after we stop talking.
He didn’t yell at me, or let anger get the best of him. He was mature—the kind of mature I’d taught myself not to expect from him. Not anymore.
For once, I believe every word.
The relief that spreads through me feels strange, almost unreal. For so long, I’ve been waiting for things to fall apart again. For one wrong word or one bad night to send everything back into chaos. But now, sitting beside him, I can finally imagine something different. A bright, whole future.
I picture Lilia growing up in a home that doesn’t feel like a cage. Where she can laugh too loud and never worry whether her parents are going to snap at her for it. She’ll learn that love isn’t something she has to earn. That it’s a gift.
When I think of my own childhood, the contrast makes my chest ache. My mother’s fear, my father’s anger. His voice tearing through the walls while she whispered apologies for the smallest things, while he never said a single sorry. Not even after the parades of mistresses.
He didn’t see us as people. We were tools, proof of his control.
I used to think that was all there was. That every man turned love into ownership.
But Petyr isn’t that. I see that now. He’s not gentle by nature—he’s sharp, built to fight—but he tries. Every day, he tries.
And that’s what matters.
I glance at him now, at the quiet strength in his posture, the way his hand rests over mine even when he’s not speaking. There’s something different in his eyes tonight. A kind of calm that wasn’t there before.
I breathe out slowly and whisper, “We’ll be okay, won’t we?”
He looks at me. A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah. We will.”
I believe him. For the first time in a long time, I believe him without a shred of doubt. If this is what rebuilding looks like, maybe it’s enough. Maybe, finally, we can stop running and start living.
I’m not sure which one of us starts the kiss. Maybe it’s both of us. A collision neither one could hope to stop.
Then Petyr angles my head just right, and our kiss turns filthy.
His mouth claims mine, hard and certain. His tongue licks inside, and suddenly, I can’t think anymore.
Everything else falls away. My mind scatters until there’s only the sound of our breathing and the press of his body against mine.
“You belong to me, lisichka.” His hands work fast on my clothes. “I’ll make sure you remember that.”
I couldn’t forget if I tried. Every touch of Petyr’s hands brands me his. He’s claiming me with every inch of his body, and God, I want him to. Want to be his. “Petyr—”
“Say it,” he snarls. “Say you’re mine.”
The words send a shiver down my spine. “I’m yours.”
He flips me over like I’m a doll. One second, I’m straddling his lap, and the next, I’m belly-down on the mattress. The sheets are cool against my heated skin. I take a deep breath and try hard not to moan just from this.
I fail.
Petyr’s hands grip my hips and pull me back until I can feel the heat of his body behind me. His palms are rough against my ass. He’s yanking me all the way back into his lap.
I squirm, embarrassed, but he holds me there. “Stay still,” he commands.
Silently, I obey.
Then—
Crack!
His palm meets my skin in a slap. Not a cruel slap, but a loud, meaty thwack that vibrates straight through my ass.
It takes me a second to realize what he’s doing.
He’s spanking me. My cheeks—both sets—flush a deep crimson. He’s—
I don’t get to think any longer. His palm comes down again, sharper this time.
I yelp and squirm. But when I stop to check in with what I’m feeling, I realize the sting isn’t quite as painful as I expected from the noise. Or rather, it is, but it’s a good kind of pain. It burns sweetly.
The ache blooms into warmth. Spreads through my body until I can hardly breathe. My pulse is racing. This should be humiliating, but all I feel is the thrill of not knowing when he’ll strike me next.
Slowly, my uncertainty turns into anticipation.
Petyr strikes me again. I squirm, but don’t try to move.
He makes a pleased noise in his throat. Then he leans close enough for his breath to brush my ear. “This is to teach you a lesson,” he rumbles. “Never run from me again.”
With my last scrap of lucidity, I think maybe Petyr and I should have another talk. The kind where I explain to him what “deterrent” and “incentive” mean respectively, and how he’s definitely mixing them up, because—
Crack! His palm strikes me again.
Petyr makes another sound. Deeper, huskier. I have no idea how I must look to him, ass bare and up in the air, flushed six ways to Sunday and then some, but going by his reaction, he must like what he sees.
The thought makes me wet in seconds.
Petyr’s hand lingers on me. His touch is firm, controlled. Stay, he’s telling me.
I don’t even think of disobeying.
He spanks me again. My skin burns where his palm landed, a dull ache that turns into a hum beneath the surface. I can feel my pulse everywhere, a dull throbbing that shoots straight between my legs.
“Count them,” he orders. “We’re at five now.”
“Five,” I gasp.
I can practically hear his smirk. “Good girl.”
His palm cracks against my ass, lighter this time, as if to reward me. But the change in pressure and pace is brutal, and I only feel it more.
“S-Six,” I whimper.
The blows keep coming. I keep counting out loud, but my mind isn’t in it. I’m lost. My thoughts blur, and all that’s left is the rhythm of his hand and the sound of my own breathing.
When he finally stills, I’m trembling. I don’t move. I don’t want to.
He leans closer. His breath grazes my neck. “You get it now, little fox?” I nod frantically, but I must have answered too quickly, because he only pinches my aching cheeks in response. “Who do you belong to?”
“You.” I swallow. “Only you.”
Something in him shifts. The tension in the air is changing, a different kind of charge.
His hand slides down my side. The touch is softer now. He traces the edge of my thigh, so feather-light I’m close to begging. I want to feel him. I need it so bad I’m in tears.
Then, finally, his fingers slip between my legs.
“Fuck,” he curses. “So wet already.”
I’m so wired up I can barely think straight. The first brush of his thumb against my clit makes me jump in his lap. It feels too good, too fast.
I roll my hips and whine. “Petyr, please.”
“‘Please’ what, lisichka?”
“Fuck me,” I gasp.
But he doesn’t. Not yet. Instead, he pushes knuckle-deep inside me and pumps two fingers in and out.
“Please,” I moan again. “I won’t run. I promise.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
But I can tell that he does. He just wants to make me work for it. To brand it into my mind—how good it feels to be touched by him. What I’m passing up if I leave.
“Please,” I repeat, because I’m too far gone to think of anything else. “I love you. I’m not gonna—ah!”
Petyr buries three fingers inside me. His throat works around a low rumble, so dark with want I’m trembling already. I know what comes next. I can feel it.
His fingers slip out of me. The emptiness is unbearable, but then he’s lifting up my hips, higher and higher. I hear the clink of his belt, his zipper.
When he spears inside me, I’m so lost I nearly come.
“Blyat’.” He pushes the head in with no restraint, then the rest. Inch by inch, I feel his cock stretching me full, a sweet drag against my walls. “You dirty little fox.”
His grip is vicious on my hips. He’s barely even moving himself. All he has to do is rock me back and forth, and just like that, he’s fucking into me.
I don’t resist. I take him over and over.
I’m blind with pleasure. I’m moaning so loud, it’s a miracle Lilia hasn’t woken up yet.
Or that Anya hasn’t called the cops on us.
Though I suppose no one in a Bratva household would ever do that, not even when it sounds like the master of the house is gutting his wife.
If only they knew what he was really doing to me.
Then again, they probably do.
I tip my head back and arch. Petyr’s fingers are conspicuously absent, his thrusts just off the spot I need. I’m writhing, desperate for release, but he won’t give it to me. He still wants something else.
“Petyr,” I whine. “Please—”
“You want to come?” His thrusts turn wild. “Then say it. Say who owns you.”
“You,” I gasp. “I’m yours. Always yours.”
Finally, his fingers slip to my front. He rubs my clit once, twice. Suddenly, his cock starts hitting me where I need it, a quick, dirty grind into my sweet spot.
Within seconds, I’m coming.
I moan into the duvet. There are tears streaming down my cheeks, but I don’t care. I’m just riding the wave as Petyr keeps fucking me through it, fast and merciless.
Eventually, he sinks deep inside me. His hips still. With a low grunt, he spills into me, hot and thick in my belly.
I should be thinking about birth control. Getting back on it, making sure I don't get pregnant again before I’m ready.
But as his cock pulses inside me, all I can think about is how badly I want him to breed me. To own me completely.
I may be my own person, but I’m still his, too.
When he rolls off of me, I’m too spent to make a sound. I barely feel him pad to the bathroom, bring back a washcloth, and wipe me over with it. The cool sensation makes me whine with relief.
“Sleep,” he murmurs. It sounds like an order, but not quite. “You were a good girl today.”
I’m always a good girl, my smart mouth wants to reply, but I’m too tired.
I just pull him into bed next to him, curl up against his chest, and fall asleep in seconds.