Chapter 35
CHAPTER 35
MARINA
A shock of pleasure ripped through me, yanking me from the abyss of exhausted sleep with a gasp. My body trembled, caught between the lingering shadows of trauma and the ruthless, all-consuming need igniting in my veins.
It took a second for the fog to lift, for my mind to catch up to the raw sensation coursing through me.
Kostya was on top of me. His weight pressed me into the mattress, his body a tether to the present, keeping me from spiraling into the dark void that had almost swallowed us both.
His fingers were buried deep inside me, curling, stroking, owning, while his tongue flicked over my breasts, tracing each peak with torturous devotion.
A deep, low sound rumbled in his chest—half growl, half prayer—his need an echo of my own.
I was already lost before I fully woke up.
“Kostya,” I moaned, his name a confession, an exorcism of everything we had just endured .
The sharp press of his teeth against my nipple sent a shock wave through me, a firestorm of sensation that clashed with the phantom memories of blood and chaos.
I should stop this. I should say something—anything—but the words turned to ash on my tongue when he moved lower, his lips dragging a reverent path down my stomach, his breath hot and unrushed.
Every argument, every shred of logic, was obliterated by the way he worshipped me with his hands, his mouth, his hunger.
“Say it again, babygirl,” he commanded, his voice rough, almost feral. He bit down on the tender flesh just beneath my navel, making me cry out, a pulse of arousal shooting straight to my core.
“Say what?” My voice trembled, caught between pleasure and something far darker, something primal.
“My name.” His demand was a purr wrapped in steel, laced with possession, and when I moaned it again, he rewarded me with another finger, stretching me, claiming me.
My breath hitched as he withdrew, my body tightening around the loss, only to watch in hypnotic horror as he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, his eyes locked onto mine the entire time.
“Sweet little thing,” he murmured, his voice raw with hunger. “You taste like you were made for me.”
I shivered in equal parts pleasure and fear.
Because in this moment, as I lay beneath him, trembling and lost, I wasn’t sure if he was worshiping me… or devouring me .
And worse?
I didn’t care.
Kostya was trying to kill me.
Not with violence, not with brutality, no, with something far more devastating.
He was burning me from the inside out, stoking the fire of my pleasure until I was nothing but smoke and ash, consumed in his hunger, drowning in the heat of his mouth, his fingers, his body.
“You are so fucking sweet,” he growled against my slick skin, his breath hot, his words raw with possession. And then he shoved all three fingers back inside me, stretching me, claiming me. “I could spend the rest of my fucking life eating this perfect pussy.”
A broken moan tore from my throat as my back arched, my thighs parting wider for him in blind surrender.
I was powerless against him, against the relentless thrust of his fingers, against the way his mouth latched onto my clit and sucked with ruthless intent. My body was undone, splintering apart under the sheer force of sensation.
He didn’t just touch me, he commanded me. Owned me.
I wasn’t sure if I was chanting his name as a prayer or a plea, but I couldn’t stop. His name was all I knew, all I could hold onto while he shattered me over and over again.
I had thought I understood pleasure. Thought I knew what desire felt like, what it meant to crave. I had read the books, imagined the dark, filthy things a man could do to a woman, but none of it compared to this.
Not a single fantasy, not a single secret midnight read could prepare me for what it meant to be at the mercy of a man like Kostya.
Even the dirtiest, most depraved men crafted by women who understood the hidden hungers we buried deep inside ourselves. None of them could touch him. None of them could ever be him.
I tried to pull away. Tried to retreat from the pleasure that had tipped over into something too sharp, too overwhelming.
He didn’t let me.
His fingers withdrew, but before I could catch my breath, his tongue replaced them, plunging deep inside me.
It was too much. My thighs shook, my body spasmed, every nerve raw and frayed. I tried to move, but his grip was unrelenting, fingers digging into the tender flesh of my thigh, holding me open for him.
And then his other hand slid up my body, three fingers glistening in the low light, coated in the evidence of my complete and utter surrender.
I didn’t need him to speak to know what he wanted.
I obeyed.
My lips parted, and I took his fingers into my mouth, tasting myself, the sweetness laced with the salt of his skin, the smoke and sin of him bleeding onto my tongue.
At the same time, he groaned into my core, pushing me over again, dragging another orgasm from my trembling body .
I shattered completely.
Because at that moment, I wasn’t sure if he was feasting on me, or if I had become his.
My back arched hard enough to ache, my vision swam, and I moaned around his fingers, heels digging into his back, desperate to anchor myself in something—anything—but him.
How was it possible that I needed to come yet again.
The pressure inside me built and built, a relentless storm surging in my core, but this time I couldn’t release it. Wouldn’t. Not until he allowed it.
Kostya held me on the razor’s edge, dangling me over the precipice of pleasure, making me feel every agonizing second of the unbearable, devastating need. It was too much—too sharp—edging into something just shy of pain.
He made me confront that line, tested my limits, but wouldn’t let me break.
Sweat beaded on my forehead, my pulse hammered wildly in my chest, and my thighs burned from trembling so hard.
How was he doing this to me?
What did this mean?
How had I gone my entire life not knowing it could be like this?
How was I supposed to go on, knowing pleasure this soul-consuming existed, knowing I would never have it again?
“Kostya, please.” My voice broke, my body wrecked and raw. I felt the sting of tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. “Please, I can’t—it’s too—fuck.”
“Come for me, moy zaichonok. ”
The words rumbled against me, against my slick, swollen flesh, sinking into my skin, my bones. That was all it took.
The dam broke.
A scream ripped from my throat as I shattered again, this orgasm crashing through me like a tidal wave, dragging me under, wave after wave of pulsing, liquid fire. My body spasmed, pulsed, clenched, soaking his fingers, his mouth, his skin.
“Good girl,” he murmured against my stomach, his lips tracing soft, reverent kisses up my body.
But I wasn’t satisfied.
The pleasure he had wrung from me had been brutal, earth-shattering, but it wasn’t enough. It had only deepened the void inside me, making me ache for more.
For him.
His cock, thick and hard, brushed against my trembling thigh, and a desperate whimper tore from my throat.
I needed him.
I needed him to bury himself inside me, to claim me in the way only a man like Kostya could, like I was his, like I belonged to him. The orgasm had been devastating, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough but him.
“Beg, moy zaichonok .” His voice was dark, filled with wicked command as he scraped his teeth over my nipple, biting down just enough that I jolted with the delicious pain, my body instantly betraying me.
“Kostya, we can’t,” I gasped, the words barely a whisper. It was the last thread of my resistance, a feeble attempt at sanity, even though every cell in my body burned for him.
“We can. And we will.” His lips brushed over my throat, his breath hot and heavy, promising sin. “But I need to hear you beg for my cock. Beg me to fuck you the way only I can.”
“Kostya, please.” The plea escaped before I could stop it, before I even knew what I was asking for.
My body needed him. My heart called for him.
But my mind…my mind knew this was a mistake.
He exhaled a dark chuckle against my skin. “Shh, babygirl. I have you. I will always have you.”
I didn’t know what was more terrifying, the way his words felt like a promise, or the way I wanted to believe them.
My leg wrapped around his hips, a silent surrender, and I felt him line up against my entrance, thick and throbbing, poised to ruin me completely.
“Kostya, we shouldn’t?—”
My protest died in my throat as he thrust inside me, stretching me beyond what I thought possible, forcing my body to take all of him.
And God help me, I did.
The sharp sting of him stretching me, filling me, forced a tear to slip from the corner of my eye as he buried himself to the hilt. God, he was so big, and this angle, this ruthless, unrelenting claim, pushed him deeper than I thought was physically possible.
“Kostya, we can’t,” I tried to argue, my voice barely there, a futile attempt at resistance. My hands pressed against his shoulders, trying, pretending to push him away.
He silenced me with his mouth.
His lips crushed against mine, devouring my protest, turning my resistance into nothing but a muffled moan. His kiss tasted like him, dark, warm, spicy, but now, mingled with the taste of me on his tongue, it went straight to my head. Intoxicating, dizzying, breaking me down from the inside out.
He grabbed my hands, lacing his fingers through mine and pinned them above my head against the sheets.
A quiet act of dominance.
A warning.
Then he rocked his hips.
Slow. Deep. Claiming me.
His cock forced my body to accommodate him, and I had no choice but to surrender. I melted into him, let his thrusts wring more pleasure from my exhausted body, let his kiss soothe something even deeper.
Giving in to him wasn’t just pleasure. It was my purpose.
It made me feel whole. Like I had finally found where I was meant to be, who I was meant to be. Like I was made to be the woman Kostya lost himself in. Like he was made to be the man who took me, who owned me, who protected me.
" Moy zaichonok ,” he growled against my lips. “I could spend my life between your thighs. Your sweet pussy is milking my cock, begging for my seed.”
Something snapped through the haze of pleasure.
Panic .
Cold, sharp fear sliced through the molten heat in my veins, dragging me back to reality.
“No, Kostya, you can’t.”
He let out a dark chuckle, something sinister and knowing. “You keep telling me what I can and can’t do.” He punctuated his words with a brutal thrust, so deep my eyes rolled back. “I have to admit, I enjoy proving you wrong.”
I fought it.
Fought the pleasure, the dangerous pull of him.
“We’ve been reckless enough,” I gasped. “I’m not on birth control. What happens if it takes? We can’t let that happen.”
His hips slowed, but only enough to torture me, to make me feel every inch of him dragging against my sensitive walls. His eyes darkened.
“Let that happen?” His voice was a rumble of amusement, his lips curving into something dark, something possessive. “I want it to happen.”
Another thrust. Deeper.
“I can’t wait to see your belly swell.” His words dripped with something terrifying. Something final. “You’ll be so fucking beautiful carrying my children.”
A sharp, humiliating pulse shot through me. My traitorous body clenched around him, tightening, wanting. Some dark, forbidden part of me wanted exactly that.
Kostya’s child.
It was wrong. It was so wrong.
“Kostya, no,” I whimpered, trying to fight the heat rising inside me, trying to fight him. “I can’t carry your bastard. Please. It’s?— ”
He reared up, his grip on my hands shifting, his fingers tightening around my wrists, pinning them higher above my head.
My body stretched beneath him, completely exposed, utterly defenseless.
His other hand found my throat.
His thumb and index finger gripped my jaw, forcing my head back, forcing me to look at him while he fucked me harder, while he owned me.
“Wrong?” His voice was nothing but gravel and sin.
His hips snapped against mine, his cock hitting impossibly deep, dragging me back under, drowning me.
“You belong to me, moy zaichonok .” His grip tightened just enough to leave me lightheaded, enough to make me feel how easily he could take my air, take my choices, take everything.
“My children will never be bastards,” he growled. “And I’ll kill anyone who dares to say otherwise. As your husband, it’s my right to fill your womb, and I intend to take full advantage of that.”
His thrusts turned brutal, almost punishing, as if he were driving his claim deeper into me. His jaw clenched, his body tensed, and with a guttural growl, he spilled inside me.
His hand left my jaw, sliding down to rub my clit. The sharp friction shattered me, pleasure detonating through my body.
I came with him, my cries swallowed by his kiss, my body pulsing around his.
I couldn’t have stopped it, even if I had wanted to.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat, my head resting against his chest as we caught our breath.
The weight of his words settled into my bones.
I sat up abruptly, breaking free of his embrace, my heart hammering as I stared down at his beautiful, arrogant face. “What do you mean, as my husband ?”