Chapter 69The Devil Unleashed
The Devil Unleashed
Isabella
He’s seated in the chair by the window when I step into the room, his silhouette framed by moonlight and the steady fall of snow just beyond the glass.
He’s still wearing his suit from earlier, only the first button of his shirt undone, tie slightly loosened, as if he let himself unravel just enough to wait for me.
His hands rest on the arms of the chair, casual, composed.
But his eyes—those impossibly dark, inhuman eyes—snap to me the moment I enter. They drag over every inch of my body like a stormfront devouring dry land.
I’m wearing only a sheer black lace top that clings to my skin and leaves my nipples clearly visible through the fabric. No bra. Nothing to hide. Just the whisper of lace. And below, only a matching black string that disappears between the curve of my hips.
I walk slowly toward him, deliberately, letting each sway of my hips speak before my mouth does.
His gaze never leaves me. Doesn’t blink.
I stop in front of him. Our eyes lock. My pulse hammers in my neck, and I swear he hears it.
“Sit still,” I murmur, voice a velvet ribbon.
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.
I climb into his lap, one knee on each side of his thighs, straddling him. My lace-covered chest hovers just above the collar of his shirt. His breath flares, but he doesn’t touch me.
Not yet.
I reach for his tie.
Slowly.
I slip it from beneath his collar, dragging the silk free with exaggerated care. His lips twitch, like he knows where this is going.
I undo the buttons of his shirt one at a time, exposing that powerful chest, each inch of inked skin a map of the monster I once feared, and now crave.
When I open his shirt all the way, I lean in. My lips brush his neck, then down to his sternum. I press kisses between the tattoos. My fingers slide down, nails scratching lightly over his abs, and he breathes harder.
My mark, I.M.B.
“Good girl’s feeling bold tonight,” he says softly, voice like thunder held back by will.
“You’ll get your turn, monster.” I smirk. “But first, mine.”
I take his tie, guide his arms back behind the chair. He allows it. Arms flexing. Watching me.
I loop the silk around his wrists, cinching it tight. He could break free easily, but he doesn’t. That’s the power I hold in this moment.
I lower myself, grinding my hips over the hard line of his cock beneath his pants.
He growls. But stays still.
I press my breasts to his chest, my mouth brushing his ear.
“You like watching, don’t you?” I whisper.
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
I slide down his body, my mouth following the trail of ink on his stomach. My hands work the belt. The zipper. I free him from the confines of his slacks. He’s already hard. Thick. Hot. I wrap one hand around him and drag my tongue slowly from base to tip.
His breath hisses between his teeth.
I smile.
Then I take him in my mouth.
Slow. Deep. Wet.
He groans, the sound feral and strained. His hips buck, restrained only by his control, and that thin strip of silk.
I suck harder, letting spit drip down my chin, stroking him with both mouth and hand, until I feel his restraint begin to slip. Until he growls something in Russian that sounds like a curse and a warning.
I pull back with a wet pop.
He’s glaring now.
Still restrained.
“Untie me,” he says, voice deadly soft.
I shake my head, running my hands up his thighs. “Not yet.”
His eyes darken. “Isabella.”
I press a kiss to the head of his cock, then stand and walk backward, slowly. “Come and get me, devil.”
It takes him less than five seconds.
The tie falls to the ground like it never mattered.
He’s on me.
I barely have time to gasp before he’s behind me, one hand in my hair, the other on my throat, pulling me back against his chest.
“You think you’re in control, little brat?” he growls against my ear. “You think I’d let you have me and walk away like that?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Wrong.”
He spins me toward the bed, grabs my wrists, and drags me to the post. Leather cuffs are already hooked to the frame, always prepared. Always.
He binds my wrists above my head, buckling the straps tight. My back arches. My nipples brush the cool air.
He steps behind me, palms skimming down my sides.
“Such a fucking tease,” he mutters. “Touching me, licking me, then leaving me tied like a bitch in heat.”
He delivers the first strike—his hand against my ass—loud and brutal. I moan. My thighs clench.
“Count.”
“One,” I gasp.
Another.
“Two.”
By five, my legs are shaking. He drags a finger between my thighs, chuckling at the wetness coating them.
“This is what you wanted. Filthy little girl soaking herself just from sucking her devil’s cock.”
“Yes, sir.”
He pulls something from the drawer. I hear the snap of leather. The flogger. A soft warning kiss to my shoulder.
Then the first strike.
The leather lashes over my back, sharp and beautiful. I moan. My eyes roll.
He doesn’t stop.
He paints me in sting and praise.
“You take pain so well.”
He leans in, his breath still hot on my skin. “My own personal submissive slut,” he murmurs, voice gravel and satin. “Only for my eyes.”
A slow smile curves my lips, defiant, teasing, breathless. “If I’m your personal slut,” I pant, “you don’t pay that well. I could be rich by now.”
He pauses, then chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that slithers down my spine. He pulls back, his gaze smoldering with something darker than amusement. From the pocket of his slacks in the corner of the room, he retrieves a black leather wallet, worn at the edges, unmistakably expensive.
He moves closer again. Then, smoothly, deliberately, he pulls a sleek black Amex card from the folds and slides it between my lips.
“Three-seven-two-nine,” he says quietly.
I hold it there, eyes wide, pulse screaming through my throat.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Memorize it, solnyshko .’’
He kisses my neck again, slow, possessive, like he’s claiming every inch of me. I moan, soft and broken, the sound slipping out before I can stop it. The card slides from between my lips, falling to the bed beside me like a dropped jewel.
“I should have kept you in that basement and fucked you every night.”
He leaves me like that, naked, panting, cuffed to the bed, my skin still stinging from the leather’s kiss, body pulsing with need and surrender. I watch him through the veil of my lashes, barely able to catch my breath.
The tattoos catch the low light—black snakes, Slavic script etched across the ridges of his abdomen, every line of ink sharp, brutal, deliberate. His body is a map of violence and vow, of battles won and lost, and now, it’s mine.
He positions himself between my legs. Presses himself against my heat.
“You ready to be destroyed?”
“Yes, sir.”
He drives into me in one brutal thrust. My cry echoes off the walls.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t hold back.
He pounds into me, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing with my moans. The cuffs rattle. My body bends to his will.
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours!”
“Say you’ll never belong to anyone else.”
“I’ll never belong to anyone else!”
My orgasm slams into me like lightning, white-hot and endless. I scream, body clenching around him, sobbing into the sheets.
He follows with a roar, spilling inside me, holding me as if I’ll disappear.
We stay like that. Breathing. Shaking.
Then he unties my wrists gently. Kisses the marks he left. Pulls me into his chest, breath still ragged.
“My Devil,” I whisper, lips against his throat.
“My girl,” he growls. “Forever.”