Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Vivienne
I left the waiter's shouts behind and bolted down the rusted iron stairwell.
Following the signs plastered on the walls, I sprinted straight to the locker room.
I slammed through the door just as Nikolai walked in from the other side. The rusted iron door banged shut behind him. He locked it without looking.
"Jesus Christ, you were incredible up there!
" I threw myself at him, eyes blazing, breath coming in ragged bursts.
"I just had an entire chapter explode in my head!
Aleksei in chapter 15—that underground casino scene—he needs that exact left hook you just threw!
And that look you gave the balcony when you dodged that punch?
Perfect. That's exactly how Aleksei would look at his enemy. That focused, brutal intensity..."
I was lost in a creative frenzy, hands sketching his movements in the air.
Nikolai stood there, chest heaving. He didn't rage like some arrogant tyrant. He just dragged the back of his hand across his split lip, utterly exasperated and violently annoyed.
"You're a heartless little shit, Vivienne."
He closed the distance in one stride, his massive frame backing me straight into a row of cold metal lockers. His hands slammed down on either side of me, rough breaths mingling with sweat and blood, raw male musk wrapping around me completely.
"Out there chatting it up with Kostya, laughing at me.
" He bent down, bloodied mouth twisting into a smile full of savage possession and barely controlled fury.
"I'm up there bleeding and sweating, cracking some asshole's ribs, and all you can think about is your goddamn fictional boyfriend?
Even if Aleksei is based on me, I'm pissed as hell right now. "
I froze, staring at his flushed, sweat-slicked face inches from mine. Something inside me went completely soft.
"Jealous of yourself, Mr. Volkov?" I arched a brow, bold enough to reach up and trace my fingertip across his split lip. "You're really going to fight yourself over this?"
"Fuck Aleksei."
He growled, no more words, his taped hand gripping the back of my skull as he crushed his mouth to mine with brutal force.
It was a kiss with every defense stripped away. Raw with post-fight adrenaline, salt of sweat, and unapologetic conquest. He pried my mouth open and drove in deep, sucking every last breath from my lungs.
"Mmm..."
My knees buckled. My hands, which had been pushing against his chest, twisted into his belt and held on for dear life. All that pent-up excitement from watching him fight exploded into pure, primal need.
He grabbed my thigh with one hand, lifted me bodily off the ground, and slammed me back against the rusted locker. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.
The cold metal bit into my back, but his scorching body burned me alive.
He didn't bother removing the tape from his hands. The rough fabric scraped along the tender inside of my thighs, raising goosebumps that made my scalp tingle. My leather jacket was ripped open. My dress shoved up to my waist.
"Get that fucking Aleksei out of your head." His voice rasped against my ear as he drove into me in one brutal, unforgiving stroke. I arched back and screamed.
"Ah—"
The narrow, rundown locker room swallowed us whole.
What little space existed between the row of dented lockers and the scarred wooden bench was instantly flooded with the filthy, obscene sounds of raw fucking—the wet slap of his hips slamming into mine, the slick, sticky squelch of my pussy gripping every brutal inch of him.
Each thrust drove the air out of me in sharp, humiliating gasps.
His tape-wrapped hands dug into my ass, holding me pinned against the cold locker door like I weighed nothing.
The lingering ferocity from the fight still burned in him, turning every snap of his hips into something almost punishing, like he was claiming me, wrecking me, erasing every other man from my body and mind.
"Fuck, Nikolai!" I choked out, my nails clawing at his sweat-slick shoulders. My breasts bounced with every violent stroke. The rough tape on his fingers scraped my thighs raw, sending sparks of overstimulation shooting up my spine.
He didn't slow down. If anything, my voice only fueled him.
He fucked me harder, driving his thick cock into my dripping cunt with deep, punishing strokes that made the old iron locker door rattle and bang behind me.
The metallic crashes mixed with the wet sounds of my arousal coating his shaft, dripping down to soak his balls and the floor beneath us.
Outside, the distant roar of the fighting arena crowd surged like thunder—men shouting, fists hitting flesh, the frenzy of violence bleeding through the thin walls and feeding the storm between us.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and uncontrollable.
The pleasure bordered on pain, too intense, too much, yet I couldn't stop rocking my hips to meet him, chasing every brutal plunge.
"Please, Nikolai, it's too much! I can't—ahh!
" I screamed, my voice cracking as another devastating thrust ground against that perfect spot inside me.
He pretended not to hear, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. Every powerful snap of his hips carried the purest wildness, the raw, animal hunger of a man who had just won a war with his fists and now took his prize with his cock.
"Look at me, firecracker," he growled, the words vibrating against my skin. He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with me, his gaze dark and feral, pupils blown wide with lust. "Now it's not some fucking novel hero fucking you. It's Nikolai. Say it."
I tried, but the next thrust stole my words, turning them into a sobbing moan. My legs tightened around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as my pussy fluttered and clenched around his pistoning length.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he snarled, shifting his grip so one hand could slide between us.
His thumb found my swollen clit and rubbed tight, merciless circles, never once easing the savage rhythm of his cock splitting me open.
"This little cunt was made for me. Squeezing me like you never want me to stop. "
I was falling apart. My head thunked back against the locker, tears streaming freely now as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.
The arena crowd roared again, a wave of distant cheers crashing over us like approval for the depravity happening in this filthy corner.
It pushed me closer, the filthy thrill of it all—being railed so hard in a public-adjacent space, the risk, the raw power of him.
"Nikolai, please, I'm gonna—oh god, I'm begging you—" My voice broke into high-pitched cries, each one punctuated by the wet slap of his hips and the metallic clang of the locker.
I was shaking, my walls rippling around his massive cock as he drove deeper, grinding against my cervix with every stroke.
"Don't you dare look away. Eyes on me when you come."
I obeyed, staring into those stormy eyes as the orgasm crashed over me like a freight train.
My whole body seized, pussy clamping down on him in powerful, rhythmic spasms that milked his cock.
A raw, broken scream tore from my throat, echoing through the locker room.
My vision whited out, tears pouring as wave after wave of blinding pleasure ripped through me.
My thighs quivered uncontrollably around him, juices gushing out around his thrusting shaft, making the sounds even messier, wetter, filthier.
Nikolai groaned, low and primal, but he didn't stop. He fucked me through it, prolonging my climax until I was a sobbing, oversensitive mess, every thrust sending aftershocks jolting through my nerves.
"Fuck, yes, just like that," he rasped, his rhythm turning erratic, hips snapping with desperate force. "Milk my cock, firecracker. Take every fucking drop."
With a guttural shout, he slammed into the hilt one last time, holding me impaled as he came hard.
Thick, hot pulses of his cum flooded my spasming pussy, filling me until I could feel it leaking out around his shaft with every twitch.
He kept grinding deep, as if trying to push every last bit inside me, marking me from the inside out.
His body shuddered against mine, muscles flexing under my hands, sweat pouring off both of us.
We stayed locked together like that for long moments, panting, trembling.
The locker room fell quieter, but the sticky sounds of our combined release still echoed softly as he shifted.
His cock, still half-hard inside me, twitched with the aftershocks.
I could feel his cum dripping down my thighs, mixing with my own wetness on the dirty floor.
He finally lifted his head, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss on my neck before capturing my mouth in a deep, claiming kiss.
His tongue tangled with mine, slow and possessive now that the frenzy had peaked.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing the same heated air.
"Mine," he whispered roughly, thumb brushing away the tears on my cheek.
The air in the cramped locker room finally settled, but the sticky heat—sweat and raw hormones—felt branded into my bones.
We straightened ourselves up hastily and walked out of that blood-soaked underground fight club. My legs were still jelly.
I assumed we'd head back to the estate. After all, he'd just cracked two of someone's ribs in an octagon and still had blood smeared at the corner of his mouth.
But the car glided smoothly along the Potomac and stopped in front of an exclusive French restaurant I'd never been to.
The entire top-floor VIP room was ours alone. Candlelight flickered in expensive crystal glasses, deep burgundy wine breathing richly, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows the Potomac reflected the glittering night of Washington.
The contrast was insane.