CHAPTER 12 #2
Hours later, the penthouse was quiet again.
The sounds of battle replaced by the methodical hum of the building’s systems and the hushed movements of my men, securing, cleaning, documenting.
Petrov’s men had been annihilated. A clear message had been sent.
But the uneasy feeling that Volkov was the true puppet master behind this assault, pulling Petrov’s strings, festered in my gut.
He was testing me, showing me he could reach inside my fortress. He was showing me he could touch her.
The rage, cold and potent, still simmered beneath my skin, a constant, burning reminder of the vulnerability they had exposed. I dismissed Alexei and Konstantin, telling them to send out the word: "Morozov is not to be trifled with. And those who dare will cease to exist."
I walked towards my master suite, the thought of Rose, locked away, safe but undoubtedly seething, filling my mind. I needed to see her. Needed to touch her. Needed to reaffirm my claim, not just to her, but to myself. That she was mine.
I entered the suite, the heavy panic room door still sealed. I punched in the code, the heavy steel hissing open with a soft click.
Rose stood inside, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed, a furious storm brewing in their blue-green depths.
The faint smell of her — a mix of art solvents and something sweet, like lilies — filled the sterile air.
She was wearing one of the silk robes Natalia had provided, a deep emerald green that clung to her curves, highlighting her fiery hair.
She looked wild, untamed, magnificent in her anger.
“Are you satisfied, Morozov?” she spat, her voice tight, brimming with suppressed fury. “Have you had your fun playing war? Or are you done hiding me away like a prize?”
My eyes swept over her, taking in her trembling defiance, the rise and fall of her chest, the raw energy that radiated from her. My fear for her, my relief at her safety, and the lingering rage at those who dared threaten her, all coalesced into a single, overwhelming surge of possessive desire.
“A prize, Rose?” I growled, my voice raw, taking a step inside, closing the door behind me. The soft click echoed in the sudden silence. “You’re more than a prize. You’re a fucking obsession. My obsession.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t back down. “I’m a person, Liam. Not some object to be locked away.”
“You are mine,” I corrected, my voice dropping, dangerous. “And anyone who touches what’s mine... they die. Tonight, they tried to take what was mine. They tried to take you.”
I took another step, then another, until I stood directly in front of her, my body looming over hers, my presence engulfing her. My hands reached out, not to caress, but to grip her shoulders, hard, almost bruising. Her skin was warm beneath the silk.
“They will pay for every bullet fired,” I hissed, my face close to hers, my breath hot against her cheek. “They will pay for every minute I thought I might lose you.”
Her breath hitched, her eyes flickered from fury to something softer, more vulnerable. Fear. And, to my dark satisfaction, a flicker of that unwanted arousal that always pulsed between us.
“You’re insane,” she whispered, but her voice was trembling.
“Maybe,” I snarled, my thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, then digging into the tender skin beneath her ear.
“But I’m your insane. And you are mine.” I pulled her harder against me, crushing her soft body against the rigid planes of my own.
The thin silk robe was no barrier. I could feel the heat of her, the racing beat of her heart.
My mouth crashed down on hers, a brutal, desperate kiss that stole her breath.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t a plea. It was a claim.
A declaration. My tongue plunged into her mouth, hot and ravenous, demanding, dominating.
I tasted fear, defiance, and a sweet, underlying current of passion that always flared between us, no matter how much she fought it.
Her hands came up, not to push me away, but to claw at my shoulders, clutching the expensive fabric of my suit jacket. She gasped into the kiss, a soft, strangled sound, as I deepened the assault, devouring her mouth, her essence.
I broke the kiss, dragging my mouth to her neck, biting down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark, a dark bruise against her pale skin. “Mine,” I growled into her skin, my hand ripping the silk robe open, sending the fabric pooling to the floor.
Her body was exposed, pale and trembling in the dim light of the bedroom.
Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, her nipples already tight, engorged.
My eyes devoured her, her curves, the soft swell of her belly, the dark tangle between her legs.
My cock, already throbbing, hardened even more, pressing against her.
“You make me furious,” I rasped, my voice thick with lust and rage. “You challenge me. You dig for my secrets. And then they come for you. And I want to kill them all.”
I lifted her effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist, her arms circling my neck. She cried out, a small, startled sound, as I carried her to the bed, throwing her onto the soft mattress. The silk sheets tangled around her, a delicious contrast to the raw heat of her skin.
I climbed over her, trapping her beneath me, my weight pressing her into the mattress. My hands ripped at my clothes, tearing off my jacket, unbuttoning my shirt, my eyes never leaving hers. Her gaze was wide, a mix of fear and desperate anticipation.
“Look at me, Rose,” I commanded, my voice hoarse, raw. “Look at what you do to me. Look at what they almost took from me.”
I pulled her legs apart, not gently, my hand shoving her panties aside, ripping the flimsy lace. My fingers found her, hot and wet, already swollen with desire. I plunged two fingers inside her, stretching her, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips.
“You’re so fucking wet,” I snarled, moving my fingers, rubbing her clit with my thumb. She bucked beneath me, a soft moan escaping her throat. “You want this. You want me. Even after all this.”
“Liam, please,” she whimpered, her head tossing from side to side, her hands gripping the sheets.
“Beg for it, kitten,” I whispered, leaning down, my lips grazing her ear. “Beg for my protection. Beg for my cock.”
“Fuck me,” she cried out, her voice ragged, desperate. “Please, just... fuck me.”
A triumphant growl tore from my chest. I pulled my fingers out, then slammed my throbbing cock into her. She cried out, a sharp, piercing sound, as I filled her completely, stretching her, owning her. Her tightness was exquisite, a hot, wet glove that squeezed me, demanding release.
I began to thrust, slowly at first, then harder, faster, my hips slamming into hers, the bed creaking with the force of our impact. She screamed, her nails digging into my back, her legs clamping around my waist, pulling me deeper.
“Nobody touches you,” I snarled, thrusting, burying myself to the hilt. “Nobody even looks at you, Rose. You’re mine. My woman. My property. And those bastards who came tonight... they’ll wish they were never born.”
My words were harsh, guttural, mingling with her cries, with the desperate sounds of our coupling.
Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a promise of violent retribution, a desperate act of claiming.
I watched her face, contorted in pleasure and pain, her eyes squeezed shut, tears mixing with sweat on her temples.
“You belong to me,” I growled, pulling out almost completely, then slamming back in, making her arch her back, her hips rising to meet mine. “Say it, Rose. Tell me who you belong to.”
“You,” she choked out, her voice broken, desperate, on the verge of tears. “I’m yours, Liam. Yours.”
A raw, animalistic roar tore from my throat as I pumped into her, harder and faster, pushing her past her limits, past her control.
Her body convulsed around mine, a shattering climax ripping through her, her screams echoing in the room.
I followed moments later, a guttural groan tearing from my chest as I spilled my seed deep inside her, hot and pulsing, filling her with my claim, my essence.
I collapsed on top of her, my body heavy, sweat slicking our skin together. Our ragged breaths were the only sound in the room. My heart hammered against her back, slowly returning to a calmer rhythm. My cock, still buried inside her, pulsed with the lingering aftershocks of our brutal union.
I held her close, her scent filling my nostrils, mixing with the metallic tang of arousal. She was mine. She had been threatened. And I had responded. With violence. With possessiveness. With a raw, unadulterated need that shook me to my core.
I knew this wasn’t just Petrov. This was a test. A message from Volkov. He was no longer content to merely whisper in the shadows. He was actively moving against me, against my empire, against everything I held dear. And he had used her, my precious, infuriating Rose, as his leverage.
A colder, more calculating resolve settled over me.
This was war. And I would unleash hell on anyone who dared to come between me and what was mine.
Rose. My empire. My control. They would all learn.
And Volkov, the viper, would soon find out what it truly meant to be in a Morozov garden.
I would protect her, yes. But I would also use her.
Her mind, her cunning, her fire. She was mine, and together, we would burn them all.
The game had escalated. And I was ready to play.