Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
VIKTORIA
M oonlight sliced through the curtains, casting long shadows as I scanned the room, mapping my escape route.
Last night, between the orgasm he wrenched from my body, the mental and emotional exhaustion of the day, and the silky decadence of his sheets, I surrendered. Sleep claimed me, deeper than I'd known in years.
I couldn't believe I'd fallen asleep here, in his bed.
Worse—he lay right beside me.
I slumbered next to the man who promised freedom yet imprisoned me.
Life experience hadn't prepared me for this—the aftermath of a violent, claiming encounter. What was the protocol?
Should I have fled immediately?
I'd tried. He refused.
Did he expect me to stay or…wait…why the hell did I care what he wanted?
I needed to leave. That was my decision to make.
Artem slept deeply.
No snores escaped him, just deep, even breaths.
Good enough.
I peeled back the covers, my skin instantly mourning the loss of their warmth as I swung my legs over the mattress edge. All I needed was to ghost across this room, grab my clothes and shoes, dress by the front door, and disappear...at least until he woke and decided what prize to claim tomorrow.
Tomorrow's problems could wait for tomorrow.
My toes barely grazed the plush carpet when his arm snaked around my waist and yanked me back into the bed.
"Where do you think you're going, moya ptashka ?" Artem's voice rumbled, thick with sleep.
His little bird. His caged little bird, more likely.
I twisted against his hold. "To the apartment." Not home. Never home.
"No."
One word. Just no . No reason, no explanation, no stated desire. Just refusal.
"It wasn't a question, Artem," I tossed back, struggling against his heat.
"No, it wasn't," he snarled, sliding his palm from my stomach to my breast, pinching my nipple.
He flung the blankets over us, cocooning me in soft heat, and crushed me against his body.
Naked skin pressed against my back, somehow more intimate than everything we'd done before. Perhaps because now, I wasn't the only one exposed and vulnerable.
"Artem, you made your point. Now release me." The temptation to melt into his embrace beckoned. So easy to lose myself in his touch, but what if I drowned there? What if I vanished into him completely? That possibility thrilled and terrified me equally.
"If I'd made my point, you'd know you're not leaving. Not tonight." His lips branded my shoulder as his arm encircled me, flipping me onto my back. "Let me show you how good girls earn rewards."
"Artem, I want to go home," I insisted as he loomed over me.
His weight pinned me; the satin heat of his skin against mine, the thickening length of his hardening cock pressing into me, created a treacherous comfort.
Silence answered me as he captured my lips in a slow, penetrating kiss.
This kiss transformed everything.
Power and control vanished.
No punishment, no brutality, no dominance games.
Artem explored me, studied me, fingers skimming down my body. He paused only to knead my breast while his tongue massaged mine, sending pleasure cascading through my body, fogging my mind with need.
How could I resist his touch? How could I deny him? Even when harsh and punishing, he consumed me, the urge to surrender overwhelming.
Something raw and untamed radiated from him, a quiet yet forceful presence that ignited something primitive inside me. It compelled submission to his desires.
But deeper currents swirled beneath.
I didn't merely want to yield or be owned. I craved his singular desire…for me, only me.
His power magnetized me. I needed to possess him as desperately as he needed to possess me. Terrifying.
His hand trailed down my stomach, lips never abandoning mine, even when he brushed over spots so sensitive I jerked at the unexpected ticklish sensations.
His smile curved against my mouth, yet the kiss continued unbroken.
When his fingers slipped between my thighs, I opened instinctively.
A voice screamed in my mind— run, flee, escape .
Surrender meant self-destruction.
Firm yet unhurried, he traced his fingertips over my slit, caressing, injecting liquid heat through my veins, dissolving my resistance. My thighs parted wider. The warning voice still echoed but grew fainter with each heartbeat.
"That's right, princess," he purred. "You respond so beautifully to me. Your mind fights, but your body knows the truth, knows what it craves and understands this is inevitable."
The argument died on my tongue when he devoured me with another kiss, luring me under with his captivating spell.
Artem lingered, ignoring my silent plea for more. He toyed with me, tormented me, dragging me deeper into his trap, and I lacked the will to resist.
I questioned whether I even wanted to anymore.
"Artem," I gasped as I broke the kiss.
His lips blazed a path down my jaw to my throat.
A low purr vibrated from him as he continued his descent from the sensitive hollow of my neck to my breasts.
Another wave of heat scorched my cheeks and surged downward, pooling between my legs.
"Artem, please," I begged, unsure what I pleaded for.
His teeth grazed my nipple, sparking pleasure through me before he shifted his weight and trailed kisses down the plane of my stomach.
Each kiss jolted desire through me as he descended lower.
Would he?—
No one had ever?—
Though not innocent before Artem, I'd heard enough whispered confessions from other women to know most men expected expert blowjobs from their partners but rarely reciprocated, finding it distasteful. Or worse, operated under the delusion that sex existed for male pleasure and female endurance. Many powerful men dismissed female pleasure as irrelevant or impossible, the clit a feminist myth designed to emasculate men.
Judging by Artem's deliberate exploration of my body, the firm press of his palms spreading my thighs, the wicked teasing...Artem savored this and understood feminine pleasure intimately.
"Why are you—" My words evaporated when he seized my thighs, threw them over his shoulders, and buried his face between my legs.
His lips encircled my clit as he sucked and licked, my eyes rolling backward. Stray locks of his hair brushed against sensitive skin as he devoured me like a starving man at a feast.
His fingers dug into my thighs, immobilizing me, but the sharp pain only heightened the pleasure.
"Artem, please," I panted.
Contradictory emotions and desires tangled with unfamiliar sensations. My thighs trembled against his shoulders, spurring him onward.
His tongue plunged deeper, thrusting inside me while his nose grazed that sensitive bundle of nerves, a chilling sweat breaking across my heated skin.
His grip tightened, imprisoning me. Not that I'd flee, but the intensity threatened to shatter me. Pressure built beyond endurance.
I dug my heels into his back, arching off the bed as he thrust his tongue harder, faster, his nose grinding against my clit until the dam burst and his name tore from my throat with a soul-stealing release.
Artem intensified his assault.
My surrender ignited something feral within him as he pushed harder, demanded more when I lay depleted.
"Artem, please, too much," I pleaded, pushing weakly at his head.
"Again," he growled, dragging me lower on the bed. One hand captured my breast while he devoured me like a man possessed.
"I can't," I sobbed.
"You can and you will."
The bastard knew me better than I knew myself. Within seconds, he catapulted me into a stronger orgasm that stole my breath and seized every muscle before releasing me.
I collapsed, boneless, as he rose to his knees, watching me while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I expected smug satisfaction on his face. He'd earned it. Instead, Artem's expression burned with hunger and determination.
I must have looked wrecked—chest heaving, skin glistening with sweat—but he stared as though nothing else could satisfy him but me.
Silence enveloped us as he kissed a path back up my body. My hypersensitive skin sparked at each touch until he reclaimed my lips in a hard, possessive kiss, aligning our bodies. The flavor of my pleasure mingling with his dark, spicy essence intoxicated me.
His tongue invaded my mouth, forcing me to taste more, and I craved it.
I'd never climaxed so violently, and twice in succession should have sated me. Yet I hungered for more. Nothing would suffice until he filled me completely.
"Beg me, princess. Tell me what you want. What you need."
"More. I need more. I want to come on your cock, plea?—"
He thrust inside me with such force that pain-laced moans escaped us both.
He felt perfect. Right.
"God, you're still so tight," he grunted.
I squeezed around him, making him curse.
He unraveled inside me, his control disintegrating with each movement as he abandoned restraint.
For one brief moment, power shifted.
I seized control, fingers tangling in his hair, dragging his lips back to mine, desperate to taste him again.
He pressed his forehead against mine as my hands glided down his back, clinging while he hammered deeper.
"Be my good girl, obey me, stop being such a fucking brat and this could be yours always," he whispered against my lips. "I'll spoil you, escort you to the finest restaurants, lavish you with luxury, treat you as a princess deserves. All you need to do is behave."
A low whine escaped me.
"But keep defying me, and I'll punish you. I'll make it hurt. If necessary, I'll chain you naked to my desk with your mouth stretched around my cock. I'll exploit and abuse every inch of you. Do you understand?"
Another whimper broke from my throat.
His threats should have sparked rage in my blood but instead they stoked my desire.
I envisioned it, kneeling beneath his desk, forced to service him while he commanded his empire. Bent over that same desk, spanked while he pounded into me, only to clean him with my tongue afterward.
Something inside me fractured because I craved it. Some dark, twisted part of me yearned to be owned by him, used, punished. Pressure built faster, hotter than before.
"Come," he commanded. "Come on my cock like a good girl."
His words triggered my release.
My back arched beneath him, thighs widening, taking him deeper as another intense orgasm tore through me. I clung to him, his face buried in my neck as a prolonged groan rumbled from his chest and he shuddered above me.
If sex always equaled this, then every reckless decision made in its pursuit was suddenly understandable.
If fucking Artem always felt this way, I feared what I'd sacrifice to keep it.
He pulled me against his chest, tucking me under his arm, my head resting on his shoulder as sleep claimed us both.
* * *
I woke hours later.
Sunlight bathed the city, the world appearing pristine and hopeful under its rays, at least from this distance.
Artem had vanished, his side of the bed cold, but movements in the next room betrayed his presence.
Wrapping the sheet around my naked, deliciously sore body, I padded into the kitchen to find him dressed in an impeccable suit and tie, reading the news on a tablet.
"You have a few hours before classes start if you want to shower," he stated without looking up.
Too domestic. He knew my schedule and soon would know my coffee preferences, and expect to greet me each morning like this. Anxiety clawed at my throat as I retreated to the bathroom.
The bright tiles gleamed. I stepped into the shower, attempting to calm my racing thoughts.
This was temporary.
Meaningless.
Great sex doesn't equal commitment.
You'll never experience him like that again.
The mantra repeated as I scrubbed away every trace of his fingers, mouth, and body from my skin.
Almost like it never happened, I convinced myself as I exited the shower and headed for the closet. I'd borrow a T-shirt and sweatpants, return them later through one of his men. Problem solved.
I opened the closet to discover it half filled with bespoke suits, the other half with clothes identical to those he'd provided at the apartment.
Soft, luxurious fabrics, impeccable designs. Chic, stylish, understated. All in my exact size.
Even the double drawer set beneath my hanging clothes contained lingerie that would fit perfectly. With trembling hands, I selected a soft gray turtleneck, black slacks, and matching black underwear, placing them on the bed.
Breathing became laborious as the walls constricted around me. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose, holding, then exhaling through my mouth.
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.
I battled to slow my hammering heart and focus my scattered thoughts.
"…after class." Artem's comment shattered my panic attack.
"What?" I stammered as he entered the bedroom and settled on the bed, prepared to watch me dress.
"I have meetings and errands today, but I'll drop you at school. We'll have dinner tonight."
"I can't tonight," I lied, scrambling for excuses.
"It wasn't a question," he replied, eyebrow arched. "Your last class ends at five. I'll finish by eight. Don't keep me waiting, princess."
He pressed his lips to mine and abandoned me, stunned and struggling for breath in his bedroom.
He knew my schedule.
He'd stocked clothes in my size.
The cage door slammed shut.
I would never escape him.