14. Chapter 14
“What does that mean?” I ask, breathless. “You’re going to fuck me senseless and not run tomorrow morning like last time?” I need to hear him say it. I need to know this isn’t going to end the same way it did before.
Viktor smirks. Actually smirks—that rare, dangerous little curve of his mouth that makes my brain go fuzzy.
Without a word, he reaches down and grabs my ankle, yanking me sharply to the edge of the bed.
I slide across the sheets with a surprised sound, heart slamming against my ribs.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my sweats, and in one smooth motion he pulls them down and off, leaving me completely bare under his stare.
“Exactly like that,” his eyes rake over me, hungry and unfiltered for the first time in years.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, the word barely out before my arm shoots out on pure instinct.
My fingers fist in the front of Viktor’s shirt and I yank him down hard, pulling all that massive weight on top of me.
He comes willingly, crashing down between my spread legs as I wrap them tight around his waist, ankles locking behind his back like I’m afraid he might disappear again if I don’t hold on.
My mouth finds his instantly, kissing him messy and desperate, tongues sliding together, the piercing clicking against his teeth as I pour every bit of frustration and need into it.
I'm already shoving at his shirt, tugging it up his back with impatient tugs. “You better not fucking run this time,” I gasp against his lips between kisses, biting at his bottom lip hard enough to make him growl. “I swear to God, Petrov, if you disappear again after this I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.” My fingers drag the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him as my palms slide over all that warm, scarred skin I’ve been dying to touch for years.
I arch up into him, grinding against the hard line of his cock through his pants, moaning into his mouth as my legs squeeze tighter around him.
“Don’t you dare hold back. Not anymore.”
“God, you talk so much,” Viktor groans against my mouth. He doesn’t sound annoyed. He sounds wrecked. Fond. Like he’s finally letting himself enjoy the chaos that is me.
I open my mouth to fire something back, but then one of his big hands slides between us, fingers slick with spit as he starts opening me up — so careful it makes my breath hitch.
Two thick fingers press inside me at once, stretching me open with that patient precision he uses on the ice, like he’s memorizing every reaction.
A broken moan tears out of me as I arch into his touch, legs tightening around his waist.
At the same time, he leans down closer, his lips brushing my ear, and starts speaking in Russian. “I’m not running. Not this time, magpie. I can’t anymore.”
The words sink into me like heat, curling low in my belly even as his fingers crook inside me, brushing that spot that makes my vision spark white.
He keeps murmuring against my skin, filthy promises mixed with soft confessions in his native tongue, telling me again and again that he’s staying, that he’s done fighting this, that he’s mine.
I can barely focus on anything except the stretch of his fingers and the sound of his voice — finally saying the things I’ve waited years to hear.
My hands are shaking with pure need as I fumble between us, fingers clumsy but determined as I undo Viktor’s belt and shove his pants down as far as I can reach.
I don’t care about finesse anymore. I’ve waited too long, hurt too much, and now that he’s here — solid and real and touching me like I’m his — I need all of him.
I push the fabric past his hips, groaning when his thick cock springs free, heavy and hot against my stomach.
Viktor makes a low, dangerous sound and presses his fingers harder against that spot inside me. “Does Alex know you’re not a fucking top, Cole?” he asks as he watches me fall apart.
I curse loudly, a broken “Fuck—!” ripping out of me as my back arches clean off the mattress, hips jerking helplessly into his hand.
Pleasure shoots up my spine so sharp it borders on pain, my toes curling, thighs trembling around his waist. I’m whimpering, shameless and needy, but I refuse to let him win that easily.
“You’re such an asshole!” I protest as I wrap my fingers around his thick length.
I stroke him slow and tight, dragging my thumb over the head on every upstroke, deliberately torturing him the way he’s torturing me.
My grip is firm, teasing, drawing out the pleasure until I feel his hips twitch and his breath stutter against my neck.
“Always gotta run your mouth at the worst fucking time—”
He bats my hand away from his cock with a low, frustrated growl, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into me.
Before I can even protest, he lines himself up.
His dark eyes lock onto mine — completely unguarded for the first time in years.
I barely have time to breathe before he pushes inside in one slow, deep thrust.
“Fuck— Jesus Christ, Viktor— you absolute fucking bastard— shit, you’re so big— fuck me—” A string of colorful curses spills out of me, loud and broken, as he stretches me open so perfectly.
My back arches hard off the bed, nails digging into his shoulders as I try to adjust to the overwhelming fullness, the burn, the sheer pleasure of having him inside me after all this time.
Viktor snorts softly, the sound almost fond despite how wrecked he looks, and leans down to press his forehead against mine.
“That’s it,” he murmurs in English as he bottoms out completely, hips flush against me.
“Look at you. Taking me so well, soroka. So fucking loud for me. I missed this mouth of yours.”
I whimper, legs tightening around his waist as he stays buried deep, not moving yet.
My body is trembling, overwhelmed, pleasure and emotion crashing through me so hard I can barely think straight.
But I still manage to gasp out another curse, half-laughing, half-moaning, because it’s the only way I know how to survive how much I need him right now.
“Fuck— you feel so good, you stupid, massive— ah— Russian wall of a man,” I moan, hips jerking up to meet his slow thrusts, nails raking down his back. “Been waiting years for this and you’re still— shit— still being so fucking careful, like I’m gonna break or something—”
Viktor’s eyes flash with something dark and wild.
His hand moves fast, wrapping lightly around my throat, fingers pressing just enough to make my breath catch and my words stutter.
He doesn’t squeeze hard — just holds me there, possessive and steady, grounding me as he suddenly starts fucking me harder.
Deeper. Each thrust punches the air out of my lungs and sends sparks shooting up my spine.
The wet sound of skin on skin fills the room, filthy and perfect, and I whimper loudly, eyes rolling back as he drives into me with years of pent-up frustration finally breaking free.
“Quiet, birdie,” he growls, his thumb stroking over my pulse point while he fucks me like he’s trying to claim every inch of me.
His hips snap harder, the angle perfect, hitting that spot inside me over and over until I’m shaking and moaning helplessly under his grip.
It’s intense. Possessive. Exactly what I’ve been craving.
But even through the haze of pleasure, I can feel it — the way he’s still holding back, muscles coiled tight, movements powerful but not quite reckless, like he’s terrified of letting go completely.
I manage to gasp out between moans, hoarse from his hand on my throat, “Stop— fuck— stop holding back, you asshole. I can feel it. You’re still scared. Don’t you dare treat me like I’m fragile. I want all of you. Give it to me, Viktor. I’m not her. I’m not going anywhere.”
His grip on my throat tightens just a fraction, his eyes darkening further as he stares down at me, breathing raggedly, clearly fighting the last threads of his control.
“Please…” I whine as I arch up into him desperately. “Fucking do it, daddy!”
The nickname hits him like a spark. Viktor groans, deep and guttural.
His grip on my throat tightens just enough to make my head spin, and then he lets go — really lets go.
He starts pounding into me hard, deep, relentless thrusts that feel like years of pent-up hunger finally unleashed.
This is Viktor without the fear holding him back. Raw. Powerful. Brutal in the best way.
I yelp sharply on the first real thrust, my eyes flying wide as the force of it rocks my entire body.
“Fuck—!” My hands scramble for purchase, fisting the sheets hard as the bed actually slides an inch across the floor with every powerful snap of his hips.
I’m moaning, laughing breathlessly between the sounds, half-delirious with pleasure and relief.
“Yes— shit, yes, just like that— God, you’re so fucking good, Viktor— don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
He growls in response, switching to Russian as he fucks me like he means it, hips slamming against my ass with punishing rhythm.
The filth pouring out of his mouth in that low, accented growl makes my brain melt.
“Such a greedy little hole for me… taking my cock so perfectly… been dreaming about wrecking this tight ass for years… gonna fill you up until you feel me for days…”
I’m so fucking glad I learned Russian. Holy shit.
Every dirty word sends another bolt of heat through me, my cock leaking between us as I moan louder, body trembling under the onslaught.
I can barely form words anymore, just broken praises and curses and his name, over and over, while he rails me exactly the way I’ve always wanted him to — no holding back, no fear, just pure, devastating need.