CHAPTER EIGHT
Lev
THE MORNING AIR always has the scent of coffee; brewing it is one of Dima’s jobs before I wake up. But today, there is something savory. Unusual. I step into the kitchen, and the sight before me stops me in my tracks. The table is set—pristine, deliberate. A plate of food sits waiting, arranged too perfectly, like a goddamn magazine spread.
My gaze shifts to Alina. She stands at the counter, her back to me, a bathrobe barely secured around her waist. The silk clings to her, teasing at what’s underneath. But that’s not what holds my attention.
She made me breakfast.
I don’t trust anything at face value—not people, not gifts, sure as hell not food. Moving closer, I lean down, inhaling slowly over the plate. My expression gives away nothing as I straighten, locking eyes with her.
"Didn’t know you could cook," I say, voice flat, unreadable.
Her fingers fumble around a coffee mug as she turns, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before she forces a smile. "I thought...you'd like it."
Would I?
I slide into a chair, my movements slow, deliberate. She’s nervous. It’s obvious in the way she grips the mug, in the tension tightening her shoulders. But why? Because she wants to please me? Or because she’s waiting for something in return?
As I eat, I don’t take my eyes off her. The way she moves around the kitchen unsettles me. She acts like she belongs here. But she doesn’t. Not yet.
She keeps scrubbing at a counter that’s already clean, her breath coming unevenly. The longer I let the silence stretch, the more she unravels. I watch, intrigued, dragging out every second.
I left her alone last night, for no other reason than I wanted her in my bed too much . That’s dangerous. I won’t be led around by the dick by some female I know less than nothing about.
Best to put a little distance between us.
I’m sure it was confusing, given my behavior earlier in the day, but that could be a good thing…I think this one needs to be kept a little off balance.
Finally, she turns, her lips parting slightly, her chest rising and falling faster than before. Then, with trembling fingers, she reaches for the knot of her bathrobe.
I don’t move. I don’t say a damn thing.
The robe slides off her shoulders and pools at her feet.
Red lace clings to every inch of her, delicate and daring. It barely conceals anything, and my blood heats instantly. My jaw tightens as my gaze rakes over her, slow and unrelenting. She steps forward, something flickering in her eyes—defiance? Determination? Whatever it is, it’s the final push.
I shove my plate toward the center of the table and drag the napkin across my lips, my eyes never leaving hers. A slow smirk tugs at my mouth as I lean back, tapping my thighs. “This must be my morning dessert?”
She hesitates for a second—just a flicker of resistance that makes my blood hum—but then she steps forward, deliberate, her hips swaying as she positions herself over me. One knee to the left, one to the right, her thighs flexing as she straddles me. Her warmth sinks through my pants, her soft, soaked pussy pressing against the rigid length of my cock.
Her gaze is distant at first, her mind still catching up to the moment, but I see it—the flicker of surrender. Another blink, and her gray eyes darken, her lips parting slightly as her need takes over.
Good girl.
Her hips shift, rolling against me, teasing, testing how much control she has. She thinks it’s hers, but she should know better.
I reach up and wrap my hand around her throat, the pressure light at first, a warning. Her breath catches. I tilt her chin down, forcing her to meet my gaze, but I don’t close the distance. My lips hover just out of reach. She bends toward me, instinctively chasing, but I tighten my grip, keeping her there. A small, frustrated sound escapes her lips.
She tries again.
I smirk.
Her pulse beats fast beneath my palm, her body shifting, rubbing against me, testing my patience. And fuck, I have patience. Restraint. Control.
But with Alina, it snaps.
A growl rumbles in my throat as I crush my mouth to hers, the kiss punishing and raw, my fingers flexing around her throat before I drag them down her body. I grip her ass, digging my fingers into the soft flesh, grinding her down harder against my cock. She gasps into my mouth, a needy, desperate sound that fuels the fire already burning inside me.
I stand with her wrapped around me, her legs locked tight at my waist, and with one swift motion, I clear the table. The sharp shatter of glass explodes through the air, dishes clattering to the floor, splintering and forgotten. She gasps, fingers digging into my shoulders, her body jolting from the impact of chaos.
I spin her, bending her over the table, her breath coming in sharp, uneven pants. My fingers bite into the plush curve of her hips, holding her still as she writhes beneath me, caught between want and wariness. I own that hesitation.
Leaning over her, I take her earlobe between my teeth, sucking at first, slow, teasing, before I bite down. Hard. Hot.
She moans, her body trembling against mine as I press my cock against her ass, grinding, forcing her to feel every rigid inch of me.
“Do you want me to fuck your ass?” My voice is a low rasp, my teeth scraping her skin before I bite again, harder this time. Marking her.
Her body jerks, her nails clawing at the wood of the table. She spreads her legs wider, arching her back like an offering, but her voice is barely a whisper when she answers. “No.”
She’s breathless, unsure. We have time for that.
I release a dark chuckle, dragging my hands down her body, feeling every dip, every shiver of anticipation. My trousers and boxers hit the floor in one motion, my cock heavy in my grip. I pull her panties to the side, just enough to expose her soaked, ready-to-fuck, sweet pussy.
A slow stroke, my fist working the length of my cock, pre-cum slicking the tip. I smear it against her, teasing, pushing just enough that she shudders beneath me.
Then I slam inside her.
She gasps, her whole body jerking forward from the force. Her hands press against the table, one reaching back, a weak attempt to stop me—to slow me. But there’s no stopping. No going easy.
I wrap my fingers around her wrist, pinning it to her lower back as I fuck her fully, hard, unrelenting. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, raw and filthy, her moans breaking into cries as I take her. Own her.
She’s screaming for me, but she doesn’t tell me to stop.
She never will.
She feels so fucking good wrapped around my cock—tight, wet, made for me. I drag my nails down her thighs, leaving red lines in their wake before squeezing the soft flesh hard enough to bruise. She hisses at the sting, but instead of pulling away, she pushes back against me, her ass grinding into my hips, her pussy clenching around me like she never wants me to stop.
She doesn’t.
She wants it harder. Faster.
I snap my hips forward, slamming into her, fucking her with brutal, relentless force. The table creaks beneath us, the room filled with the obscene slap of skin against skin, the sharp sound of my palm smacking her ass again and again, each hit making her body jerk, making her walls tighten around my cock.
She’s perfect. Fucking perfect.
My body burns, muscles tight, sweat slicking my chest as I drive into her, taking her, owning her. Her moans turn to whimpers, her legs trembling, but she’s still taking me. Still begging for more even as she begs me to stop.
“Too much,” she chokes out, her fingers curling into the wood, nails dragging over the surface. “I can’t—”
But she can.
She will.
I fist my hand in her hair, yanking her head back as I pound into her, my breath rough against her ear. “You can. And you fucking will.”
She shatters around me, her pussy clenching, pulsing, soaking my cock as she comes, her body shaking, her screams muffled as I push her face down against the table. I don’t stop. I don’t fucking stop.
I own her pleasure, and I own her pain.
My hand cracks against her ass, turning her perfect skin a deep, raw red, heat radiating beneath my palm as I fuck her through it, through the aftershocks, through her desperate moans, until her legs give out and she’s trembling beneath me. Ruined. Wrecked.
By the time I finally come, I bury myself deep inside her, claiming her, marking her, fucking branding her from the inside out.
She collapses, her hair a tangled mess, lips swollen from biting down on screams, her entire body branded by my hands, my teeth, my fucking need.
I smirk, rubbing a hand over her raw, burning ass. Admiring my work.
Mine.
I press a kiss to the nape of her neck before whispering, low and dark, “That was delicious.”
I spin her gently, my hands still firm on her waist, guiding her until she’s facing me. She’s dazed, wrecked, utterly undone, her body trembling in the aftermath of what I just gave her. What I just took.
Her gray eyes flick up to mine, hazy with pleasure, her lips parted, swollen, begging for more even though she’s barely standing.
I cup her jaw, my thumb brushing along her cheek as I lean in, pressing the softest kiss to her lips—such a stark contrast to the way I just fucked her. She shivers, her breath hitching when I run my tongue along the seam of her lips, teasing, tasting the moans that still linger there.
She looks glorious.
Her skin is flushed, painted with the evidence of my teeth, my hands, my claim. Every mark I left on her body makes my cock twitch with satisfaction.
She’s mine.
I drag my gaze over her, drinking in the way she sways slightly, the way her body still trembles, and then I bend down, picking up her gown from the floor. But before I rise, I press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to her bare, soaked pussy.
She sucks in a sharp breath, her fingers twisting into my hair on instinct, but I’m already moving, already standing, handing the gown to her like I didn’t just make her entire body clench with that single touch.
She swallows, her fingers curling around the fabric as she steps back, careful to keep away from the broken glass while putting space between us like she needs to breathe, to think.
“I’m going for a shower.”
Her voice is quiet, controlled, but the slight shake betrays her.
She slips the gown over her raw, marked body, covering the bruises, the bites, the bright red fingerprints I left on her ass. Hiding my work.
I smirk as I pull my trousers back up, fastening my belt with slow, deliberate movements. I have a meeting soon, and normally, I’d be focused on business.
But now?
Now, all I can think about is what will be waiting for me when I get home.
My fingers flex as I adjust my shirt cuffs, my mind already working through how to make this meeting as quick as possible.
Because I know exactly how I plan to spend my night.
And she won’t be walking away from me so easily next time.
An hour later, I lean back in my chair, fingers wrapped around a glass. The room is dim, shadows cutting across Koka, who sits across from me. He’s one of mine, but tonight, he’s also the reason for the unease scratching at my brain.
His smirk grates on me as he speaks. “I upped the price. A hundred grand now. The girl already paid fifty, but we managed to squeeze her for another fifty. Which, of course, benefits you, boss.”
I don’t react, don’t move, though my grip tightens around the glass. My face remains unreadable, but inside, I’m already picking apart his words. Fifty was the debt. That was the deal. No one mentioned doubling it. No one ran it by me.
“When exactly did we decide to up the price?” My voice is even, controlled, but I watch him closely, noting the slight shift in his expression.
“Yesterday,” Koka answers, too quickly, too confidently. “We messaged her, told her fifty wasn’t enough. She didn’t even argue, just asked how soon she needed to pay.”
I go still.
Yesterday.
Alina didn’t hesitate this morning. That makes sense now. The way she accepted everything so easily, the lack of resistance—it wasn’t fear, not entirely.
Koka mistakes my silence for approval, grinning like he’s just done me a favor. “Figured she’d pay up. Pretty girl like that, she wouldn’t want her sister getting hurt. Easy money.”
My jaw tightens. There’s a fine line between making money and making a mess. Koka thinks he’s smart, playing his own little game, but he doesn’t see the bigger picture. Doesn’t realize that forcing people into desperation doesn’t always end in profit. Sometimes, it ends in blood.
“The debt is cleared,” I say, voice smooth, final. “But you don’t tell her that. And no harm comes to her sister.”
A flicker of confusion passes over his face. He doesn’t question it, just nods. “Okay, boss. Whatever you want.”
But I see it. The way his mind ticks, weighing the money against my orders. He thinks he got away with something. He thinks I’ll let this slide.
He’s wrong.
He leaves, and yet, the tension in my chest doesn’t ease. If anything, it tightens.
The morning replays in my head. The nervous energy in Alina’s movements. The red lingerie. The way she laid herself out in front of me, so willing.
Was she working up the nerve to ask me for the money?
The thought sinks into my gut, heavy and bitter. Irritation creeps in, but so does something else. Something darker. A curiosity that coils around my spine.
Did she think she could play me?
I roll the idea around in my head, letting a plan form. I won’t confront her. Not yet. Let her squirm. Let her wonder how to bring it up, all while I watch, waiting to see how far she’s willing to go. It’ll be a test.
A game.
I leave the office building and slide into the driver’s seat of my Aston Martin, the leather cool against my palms as I grip the wheel. The engine growls to life, a deep purr that vibrates through my chest. I pull out of the lot and make my way home.
The iron gates glide open as I approach, the motion sensors recognizing me instantly. I park to the left of the mansion before climbing the two steps to the front door.
The doors swing open before I can reach for them. Dima, the housemaid, stands just inside, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Where's Alina?" I ask, my voice low, clipped.
She hesitates, her gaze flickering up to mine. "She left a while ago, sir."
I go still. The air thickens between us, heavy with unspoken words. My jaw tightens, but I don’t respond. Instead, I step past her, moving deeper into the house, the silence pressing in around me.
She’s right. She’s gone.