Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Noelle
"Get in the car."
Kholod's voice cut like a Siberian gale, icy and unrelenting.
I hadn't even recovered from the bloody chaos at the tea room when he hoisted me over his shoulder, rough as hell, and shoved me into a black SUV. The door slammed shut with a bang, sealing off the outside world.
Through the window, I caught sight of Lorenzo being dragged away by a couple of guys in the opposite direction. His face was a mangled mess, the gash from his brow to his jaw deep enough to expose bone, looking gruesome under the streetlights.
"Lorenzo—" I tried to shove the door open.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder, pinning me back into the seat.
"Don't move." Kholod's tone was flat, emotionless.
"He's going to die!" I struggled against it. "Please, at least take him to a hospital—"
"None of your business," Kholod said it stone-faced, then pulled out a black strip of cloth and tied it over my eyes.
"No—"
Everything plunged into darkness. The car roared to life, engine growling low.
I slumped against the seat, fists clenched in my skirt, nails digging in like they might tear through the fabric. It was all over. Isabella's meticulously planned "surprise," Lorenzo's obsession, Kholod's rage—it all twisted together, obliterating my last shred of hope.
The drive stretched on forever, winding through endless turns. I felt the car descend a slope, the air growing colder, heavier, more oppressive.
Finally, it stopped.
The door yanked open, and I was hauled out, my feet hitting cold, hard ground. Someone gripped my arm, guiding me forward, my heels echoing in the vast emptiness like an ominous countdown.
"That's enough." Kholod's voice broke in.
The blindfold came off, and blinding white light forced me to squint.
It was a basement. Concrete walls, smooth and frigid, with embedded LED strips casting a harsh, unforgiving glow. A dark gray leather sofa dominated the center, while a metal table and chairs huddled in the corner.
The worst part was the suffocating silence. Thick soundproofing isolated us completely from the world above.
Kholod lounged on the sofa, legs crossed, cigar smoke curling lazily from his fingers. Those amber eyes gleamed through the haze, piercing and intense.
"Everyone out," he ordered Dmitri.
"Yes, boss."
The heavy metal door thudded shut with a resounding boom, sealing us in.
Now, it was just him and me.
"Come here."
I stood frozen, my legs heavy as lead.
"I said, come here."
I gritted my teeth and stepped toward him. Each click of my heels echoed sharply, like a timer ticking down to my doom.
I stopped three paces away.
He flicked his cigar, ash crumbling to the floor.
"You'd better spill everything." He sounded like he was interrogating a condemned prisoner.
I drew in a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "I already told you, Isabella said it was a surprise! I had no idea Lorenzo would show up. Kholod, why won't you believe me?"
"Believe you?" He cut me off, then laughed.
That laugh was ice-cold, devoid of any warmth.
"Noelle Bellucci, you really think I'm that stupid?" He rose to his feet, advancing step by step. "Hand-delivering your old flame as a surprise? You think I'm blind?"
"He's not my old flame!"
"Oh?" He sneered, now right in my face, seizing my chin with a grip so tight I could barely breathe. "Then why did Isabella arrange the meeting?"
"I don't know!" I twisted, trying to break free. "I really don't!"
"Still lying!" Fury ignited in his eyes. "You think using Isabella as a shield will make me buy it?"
"I'm not lying!" Tears welled up in my eyes. "She just invited me for tea—how could I have known—"
"Enough." He released me, stepping back, his gaze a turbulent mix of disappointment and rage. "I'm done listening to your lies."
"Kholod, I really didn't—" I reached for his arm.
He swung his hand sharply, shoving me away. I stumbled back into the cold wall.
"You know what I hate most?" He closed in, trapping me between the wall and his body. "Being played for a fool. And you, Noelle, you've tested my limits over and over again."
"I didn't—"
"Shut up!" His roar echoed deafeningly in the sealed space.
I flinched, tears finally spilling down my cheeks.
He stared at me for a moment, then seized my wrist and flung me onto the sofa.
Before I could react, he was on top of me, one knee pressing into the sofa's edge, his massive frame completely overshadowing mine.
"No—"
His palm clamped over my mouth, rough and unyielding.
"I don't want to hear another word." His voice was hoarse, eyes blazing with wild fire. "Every damn thing from your mouth is a lie. If that's all it's good for, keep it shut."
I thrashed my head, struggling desperately.
The sound of fabric tearing pierced the air. He hiked up my skirt, hooked the edge of my panties, and ripped them off in one brutal yank.
No hesitation—he unbuckled his belt, yanked down his zipper.
He thrust into me without warning, raw and brutal, no preparation whatsoever.
Pain exploded through me, white-hot and excruciating, like I was being ripped apart from the inside.
I wanted to scream, but his hand muffled it into desperate whimpers, my body arching in agony as he drove deep, his movements heavy and merciless.
"Why'd you betray me?" he growled, slamming harder with each accusation, his hips pounding against mine. "Is it better with Lorenzo? Does he get you this fucking excited?" Another savage thrust. "Which of your words are even true, Noelle?"
I shook my head frantically, tears streaming, but he didn't let up, his weight pinning me down, every brutal motion sending shockwaves of pain tearing through my core.
Finally, he pulled his hand away from my mouth.
I gasped, words spilling out in broken fragments. "I didn't—I swear, Kholod, it wasn't like that—"
He silenced me by ripping my bra down in one vicious tug, exposing my breasts. His hands clamped onto them, kneading roughly, fingers digging in deep. "You're just a lying bitch," he snarled, twisting harder as he kept pumping into me, the friction building despite the lingering ache.
I was furious, desperate, and then—my asthma flared up. I wheezed, my chest tightening, air escaping me. He reached into his pocket, yanked out an inhaler, and shoved it into my mouth mid-thrust, not slowing his rhythm for a second. "Breathe," he barked, forcing the puff as he rammed in deeper.
Relief flooded in quickly, but so did something else. With each punishing stroke, my body started to betray me—growing slick, heat building despite the pain. I felt the shift from pure torment to a twisted blend.
He noticed immediately. "Even like this, you're getting off?" he taunted, his voice thick with mockery. "Look at you, soaking wet already. What a slut."
Shame burned through me; I wanted to vanish, to crawl into some dark hole. "It's not—it's not like that," I choked out, but my hips bucked involuntarily.
"Then why are you getting wetter?" He accelerated, thrusts turning frantic and punishing. His fingers latched onto the tattoo on my chest—the mark claiming me as his—and pinched it hard, grinding down. Pain flared, but so did a dark jolt of pleasure, forcing a gasp from my lips.
I couldn't hold it back; a moan escaped, low and unwilling.
"Only I can make you like this," he hissed, staking his claim, his grip tightening as he drove in deeper, faster.
I hated his roughness, hated how he refused to believe me. But worse, I hated my own body—how it responded, craving more under his assault, pleasure sneaking in amid the hurt.
His pace turned feral, hips slamming with wild intensity. Pain and ecstasy blurred together; I couldn't tell if I was sobbing or moaning anymore, my voice breaking in the heavy air.
"Is this what you wanted from Lorenzo?" he demanded, pounding relentlessly. "Would you be this wet and slutty under him?"
My body went limp from the onslaught, every nerve alight, and suddenly, a bitter laugh escaped me. "Are you... jealous?" I managed, my voice shaky but defiant.
"Shut your mouth," he snapped, but I saw the flicker in his eyes.
"You're jealous," I pressed on, even as he kept going. "Not mad about betrayal—you're losing it over Lorenzo. You think I still want him!"
"I said shut up!"
"Kholod, admit it—you care. You're jealous as hell."
"You fucking—shut up!" His hand shot to my throat, squeezing, then he crushed his mouth against mine in a brutal kiss, silencing everything. He bit down hard on my lower lip, drawing blood, the metallic tang spreading through our mouths as he devoured me, his hips never faltering.
In that savage hold, something snapped inside me—a wild, reckless spark. My body was already yielding to him, syncing with every thrust. Why fight it anymore? If I couldn't escape, why not dive in? Let the Morozov boss serve me for a change. What the hell.
When he broke the kiss, I reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Kholod Morozov, if you want me this bad, then fuck me harder."
He froze for a split second, eyes widening, then surged back with manic fury, pounding into me like a tempest unleashed.
I met him thrust for thrust, rolling my hips to match his rhythm, chasing the blistering high.
Pleasure built relentlessly, overwhelming everything, and I screamed for more—"Harder, Kholod!
Don't stop!"—letting it consume me. No point in resisting; I'd sink into it, own the chaos, revel in the surrender on my own terms.
He growled low, his hands roaming possessively—pinching my nipples until they throbbed, slapping my ass as he drove deeper, the sofa creaking under the force.
Sweat slicked our skin, his breath scorching my neck as he bit down again, marking me fresh.
I clawed at his back, nails raking red lines, urging him on.
The initial pain twisted into something electric, every rough grab and slap of flesh making me clench tighter, grow wetter.
"Is this what you need?" he rasped, flipping me onto my stomach without withdrawing, yanking my hips up to take me from behind.
His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling my head back as he slammed in, the new angle hitting spots that made stars explode behind my eyes.
I pushed back against him, moaning loudly, the sound bouncing off the soundproof walls.
"Yes—fuck, yes!" I cried, no holding back now. My body trembled, racing toward the edge, his cock filling me utterly, stretching me with each punishing stroke. He reached around, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing firm circles that left me gasping, the dual assault shoving me higher.
"You're mine," he snarled, thrusting so hard it shook me to my core. "Say it—no one else gets this."
"Yours," I gasped, not thinking, just feeling the wave crest. But deep down, that twisted thrill surged: I was using him too, turning his rage into my ecstasy, wielding the pleasure like a blade.
He ramped up the pace, relentless, one hand spanning my waist to hold me steady, the other teasing my breasts, rolling my nipples until they ached with delicious torment. I felt him thicken inside me, teetering on the brink, but he held back, prolonging it, making me beg.
"Please—Kholod, more!" My voice cracked, body arching as orgasm tore through me, clenching around him in shuddering waves. He followed seconds later, groaning deeply as he spilled into me, hips jerking with raw force.
We collapsed in a heap, breaths ragged, his weight pressing me into the cushions. But even in the afterglow, that dark edge persisted—I'd surrendered, but on my terms, stealing a sliver of control amid the storm.
He pulled out slowly, leaving me empty and sore, yet strangely sated. Rolling me over, he pinned me with a possessive stare. "Don't think this changes anything."
I smirked through the haze. "Oh, it does." Because now I knew: his jealousy was my leverage. If he wanted to own me, I'd make him earn it, every brutal inch.
The room hung heavy with our mingled scents, the air thick with the aftermath. My asthma stayed at bay, but my pulse thundered, alive in a way I'd never known. Kholod traced the tattoo again, gentler this time, like an undeniable claim. I didn't pull away; I leaned into it, letting the heat linger.
We weren't done—not even close. He dragged me up, kissing me again, slower but no less fierce, hands mapping every curve like they were his territory. I bit back, our bodies pressing close. Round two ignited fast, his fingers dipping between my thighs, finding me still slick and ready.
"Fuck, you're insatiable," he muttered, hunger replacing anger.
"Only for you," I whispered, half-truth, half-taunt, as he pushed me back down, spreading my legs wide. He entered me again, slower at first, building a deliberate rhythm, each thrust drawing out moans I couldn't stifle.
The earlier pain melted into pure bliss, my nails digging into his shoulders as he rocked deeper, hitting that perfect spot repeatedly. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping onto me, mingling with mine. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, our breaths syncing in the dim light.
"Tell me you want this," he demanded, voice rough, hips grinding slow and hard.
"I want it—fuck, I need it," I admitted, the words tumbling free as pleasure coiled tight once more.
He grinned darkly, accelerating, one hand bracing on the sofa arm for leverage, the other stroking my clit with firm precision. I shattered first, crying out his name, body convulsing around him. He chased his release, thrusts turning erratic, finally burying himself deep with a guttural moan.
Exhaustion washed over us, but satisfaction hummed like a dangerous high. In this sealed prison, I'd rewritten the script—from victim to willing tempest. Kholod might believe he owned me, but I'd just carved out a piece of him too.
We lay tangled, his heartbeat pounding against mine.
For a fleeting moment, silence reigned, broken only by our slowing breaths.
Then he shifted, pulling me close, almost tender.
But I knew the truth: this was merely the calm before the next storm.
More fury awaited, and I'd face it head-on, reveling in the wreckage.