Chapter 7 – Noelle
“Try that again. I dare you.”
Anger boils up inside me so fast it feels like fire in my veins. His dare rings in my ears, smug and poisonous, daring me to bow, daring me to break.
I don’t think. I don’t weigh the danger.
I move.
My free hand slices through the air before I can stop it, and the sharp crack of my palm colliding with his cheek splits the room wide open.
The sound startles even me. His head snaps slightly to the side, and for a frozen heartbeat, the only thing I hear is the thunder of my own pulse.
I slapped him. I actually slapped him.
And God help me, it felt good.
For a few seconds, nothing happens. His cheek stays tilted where my hand sent it, his expression unreadable, carved from stone. My chest heaves, waiting, dreading—
Then he moves.
In a blur, his hand clamps around my waist, iron-tight, stealing the air from my lungs. I gasp as my feet leave the ground, as though I weigh nothing to him.
“Niko—”
The protest dies as he drags me across the suite, not stopping until we crash through the double doors of the massive bedroom. The space swallows me whole—towering ceilings, a bed big enough to drown in—before he shoves me down onto the sheets.
The mattress dips beneath my weight, bouncing once under the force of his throw. I scramble back on instinct, palms pressing against the velvet spread, my pulse ricocheting through my body.
He looms over me, shadows cutting sharp across his face, his jaw tight, eyes burning with something I can’t name.
Not anger. Not desire. Something far more dangerous—because it looks like both. His hand clamps around my ankle like a vise, unyielding, and he yanks me back down before I can escape. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp as my body jerks against the sheets.
Then he’s there. Above me. All of him.
His weight cages me in, his shadow swallowing mine, and before I can curse him, before I can tell him to get off me, his mouth crashes down on mine.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a claim. Fierce, searing, unrelenting—like he’s branding me with the fact that I am his.
I twist, push, claw at his shoulders, but he doesn’t flinch. His lips devour mine, his hand catching my jaw and tilting it so he can take more, deeper, harder, until the fight tangles with something I don’t want to name.
At first, it’s all him—unyielding, consuming, like he’s forcing me to remember exactly who holds the reins here. But then something in me snaps.
I kiss him back. Harder. Fiercer.
It’s reckless, wild, and wrong, but I don’t care. My hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer, daring him to take even more. His lips are brutal against mine, raw and merciless, and every scrape of his teeth, every crush of his mouth makes my pulse race faster.
I should hate this. Hate him. But the truth claws up inside me—I like it. I like the danger coiled in his touch, the dominance that crackles off him like lightning. I like knowing that Nikolai Volkov-Rusnak is a man who could ruin me…and that part of me wants him to.
The thought disgusts me. Annoys me. Sets my blood on fire.
Before I can stop myself, my hand cracks across his face again, sharper than the first. He jerks back a fraction, eyes narrowing, and I shove at his chest.
“Get off me!”
I don’t make it far. His hand closes around my throat like a steel collar, lifting me just enough that my toes barely scrape the carpet. In one swift motion, he drives me backward until my spine hits the edge of the table, rattling glass and steel.
His grip tightens, not cutting off my air but making sure I feel every ounce of his control. His gaze is a storm—cold, lethal, unrelenting.
“You think you can put your hands on me and walk away?” His voice is low, almost calm, and that’s what terrifies me most. He leans in until his mouth nearly brushes mine. “Now I’ll make sure you remember this every time you move. I’ll make you sore for days.”
Before I can answer, he sweeps me off the floor like I weigh nothing, hoisting me onto the table. My spine slams against the polished surface, the sting ricocheting down my body. His palm pins my chest as he cages me in, towering, merciless, consuming every inch of air I thought belonged to me.
I thrash, shoving at his arms, but it’s useless. His strength is terrifying—and God help me, intoxicating. His mouth crushes mine again, blistering, all teeth and fire, and I hate how fast I’m unraveling under him.
When his grip slides down to anchor my hips, I gasp against his lips. He takes it as permission, grinding me back into the unforgiving wood, making sure I feel just how easily he owns me.
I claw at his shoulders, half desperate to push him off, half desperate to keep him there.
“Niko,” I manage, but it comes out as a plea, not the protest I intended.
His hand doesn’t leave my throat. He keeps me pinned there like I’m prey, his thumb pressing lightly at the base of my jaw so I can’t look anywhere but at him. His eyes are dark, sharp, and hungry—like he’s been waiting for me to snap just so he can break me apart.
He shoves my legs open with his knee, rough and unyielding, and I gasp. He paws at my pants, and I gasp when the fabric rips, leaving me bare to him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice gravel wrapped in silk. “So angry…and so wet.” His fingers slide between my thighs, and I jolt as he drags them through my pussy, slow at first, then harder, deliberately making me feel every inch of his touch.
My back arches against the table, my hands gripping the edge until my knuckles ache. I want to push him away. I want to pull him closer. Both urges collide, and I can barely breathe.
“Stop—” I choke out, but my hips betray me, rolling toward his hand.
“Stop?” He tilts his head, mocking. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” He presses two fingers inside me in one harsh thrust, making me cry out. “But you won’t. Because you love how it feels when I take what’s mine.”
A broken sound escapes me—half denial, half moan.
His mouth crashes onto mine again, his kiss as brutal as his touch. He swallows every gasp, every protest, every plea, until all that’s left is the raw, blistering ache of wanting him.
Then he pulls his hand away, and I almost whimper at the loss. My thighs tremble, my body strung so tight it hurts.
“Niko, please….” The word scrapes out of me before I can swallow it.
“Oh, you beg me so prettily. How can I refuse, ogonek?” His voice is dark silk, cruel in its pleasure.
He sinks two fingers inside me again, deeper this time, curling until he finds that spot that makes me see stars.
A loud cry rips out of my throat. My nails dig into his arms as I grind down on his hand, chasing every maddening stroke. “Oh, fuck, Niko—please.”
“Yes,” he growls, his tempo quickening. “Keep begging, my pretty girl. Keep begging.”
His mouth traces down my throat, hot and possessive, until he reaches my breasts. He latches onto one hard nipple through the thin fabric of my shirt, sucking hard enough that I arch and cry out. Even with the barrier, the heat of his mouth burns through me, and I swear I’ll go insane from it.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
He drags his tongue over me, leaving wet circles, then bites. Sharp. Claiming. I shudder violently, my body at his mercy.
A third finger slides inside me, stretching me, filling me until I gasp. “Oh, fuck,” he snarls against the swell of my breasts. “You’re so tight. So fucking tight, moya devochka.”
I writhe under him, my body spiraling, that edge so close I can taste it. I’m seconds from breaking apart, from surrendering everything to the ruin of him—
And then he’s gone. His fingers slip free. His mouth lifts away.
The world drops out from under me. My body clutches uselessly, bereft, as though it doesn’t understand why he stopped. My eyes fly open, glazed and furious, to find him smirking down at me like he owns me. Like this was all his game from the start.
Heat sears my face—anger, humiliation, unbearable want.
“Fuck you,” I spit, breathless, shaking, hating how wrecked I sound.
His smirk deepens, cruel and beautiful, and he leans closer until I can taste the ghost of my own arousal on his lips.
“You will,” he murmurs, his voice silk over steel. His hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And you’ll keep fucking me until I decide you’re done. Until your legs shake and your throat is raw from screaming my name.”
Heat explodes low in my stomach at his words, traitorous and unstoppable. I want to slap him again. I want to claw his face. Instead, my thighs press together, desperate for friction, for him.
He notices—of course, he notices. His smirk turns into a dangerous grin.
“You want release?” He spreads my legs wide with his knee again, keeping me open, helpless. “Earn it.”
Then he yanks at my shirt, the fabric giving way with a loud tear.
Goodness. Was the material really that cheap, or is he simply that strong?
Before I can think, his mouth is on me again, latching onto the swell of my cleavage like he’s starving. His hand wraps around my breast, rough and possessive, palming and weighing it as if testing the limits of my softness. A guttural sound rumbles from his chest.
I tense. My old insecurities flare—the ones that whisper I’m too much. Too voluptuous. Too wide. Too heavy to be desired. My hips, my thighs, my ass—they’ve always felt like burdens.
But Niko doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t shy away. He worships. His hand maps every curve like it’s holy ground, brushing over every stretch of my skin as though I’m made to be consumed.
“So fucking beautiful,” he growls, like he’ll kill anyone who dares to disagree.
And then his teeth close around my nipple, sharp and merciless. I cry out, my back arching, a wild, involuntary sound that betrays everything I’m feeling.
His belt drops to the floor with a heavy thud, his pants shoved down just enough, and then he’s between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock dragging through the slick folds of my pussy, teasing, taunting, refusing to give me what I crave.