Leonid
I watch on the monitor in my office as she tosses and turns. Unable to get comfortable or unable to switch off her mind, I don’t know.
But when she turns onto her back and lifts her knees, I know what she is doing. Then she drops her panties by the side of the bed, and I’m instantly hard.
I watch her face carefully as she brings herself to climax, my cock throbbing with a need so potent I feel it in my blood. But it’s over so quickly, barely a tremor, and then she is on her side again, knees curled up to her chest. Still not sleeping.
I don’t move at first.
That’s the thing about control; it doesn’t snap all at once. It stretches. It strains. It gives a warning before it breaks, and I feel every second of it now, sitting alone in my office with the monitors glowing softly in the dark.
Victoria lies curled on her side, her body still restless even after what she just did. She didn’t fall asleep. She didn’t relax. She didn’t find peace.
She’s still tense, still awake, and mine in a way she hasn’t admitted out loud yet.
My jaw tightens. My hand fists slowly on the top of the desk, knuckles whitening as the reality of it settles in, not the act itself, but what it means. She didn’t imagine some faceless release. She didn’t drift. She was with me. With my voice in her head. My presence. Me.
I told myself I’d give her time. I told myself patience would win this cleanly.
But patience has its limits.
I stand, the chair sliding back soundlessly, and for the first time since she came into my house, I don’t bother pretending this is a game of distance and strategy. My body is already moving before my mind finishes justifying it. Down the hall and up the stairs.
Her door is closed but not locked. I stop in front of it, my hand lifting instinctively, then pausing.
I knock once, loud enough that it can’t be mistaken for anything else. I’m not asking permission. I’m warning her. Then I open the door and step inside without waiting for an answer.
The room is dark except for the thin spill of moonlight cutting across the bed.
She jerks upright instantly, breath sharp, eyes flashing toward the doorway.
The sheet clings to her body like a second skin, and I can feel the echo of what she just did humming in the air between us.
The room smells faintly of heat and soap and something unmistakably her.
“You don’t get to just walk in here,” she snaps, fury snapping into place like armor.
I close the door behind me with deliberate care. “I knocked.”
“That wasn’t—” She stops, swallowing hard as my silhouette shifts closer.
I don’t turn on the light. I don’t want her sharp edges.
I want the truth she can’t hide when the dark strips her defenses down to instinct and breath and pulse.
I stop a few feet away, close enough that she knows exactly where I am, far enough that she still has space to pretend she’s not affected.
Her breathing is fast. Controlled, but fast.
“You should leave,” she says, but the fire in her voice doesn’t quite cover the tremor underneath it.
I tilt my head, listening to her body instead of her words. “You’re not afraid of me,” I say softly. “You’re angry.”
Her laugh is brittle. “Congratulations. You figured that out all by yourself?”
“You’re angry,” I continue, unhurried, “because you don’t like what your body just admitted.”
Silence crashes down between us, heavy and electric.
She tightens her grip on the sheet. “You were watching me.” It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
The word lands clean. Honest. Unapologetic.
She sucks in a breath like it burns. “What is wrong with you?” The words are meant harshly, but they come out breathless and for a second, I wonder if part of her knew. If part of her likes the thought of me watching her.
“You,” I murmur.
She shifts, squaring her shoulders, trying to pull herself back together. “You think this changes anything? You’re still keeping me here against my will. How am I supposed to choose anything this way and it be re—?”
I take one step closer, and the air between us tightens enough that she falters.
“I think,” I say, voice low and steady, “that you’ve been trapped for so long you forgot what it feels like to just be. I want to help you with that.”
Her breath stutters, and I know that she hates it.
“I didn’t touch you,” I continue. “I didn’t tell you what to do. I didn’t take anything from you.”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “You took my freedom.”
“No,” I correct gently. “You gave it up because, I suspect, you didn’t know what to do with it.”
She shakes her head, furious. “You don’t get to stand there and—”
I move again, closing the distance until the edge of the bed presses against my knees. I still don’t touch her. I let the restraint speak for me.
“In the dark,” I say quietly, “You can say the words you can’t say in the light. You can do the things you never knew you wanted.”
Her breath is still coming shallow and uneven. The tension between us coils tighter, sharper, vibrating like a live wire.
“You feel it,” I murmur. “And so do I.”
She lets out a shuddering breath, and I take my chance, lowering my face to where hers is outlined in the dark blue light of the room.
I don’t rush it. I wait until her breath slows and her resolve frays, until the space between our mouths feels louder than any sound in the room. Then I tilt my head and close the last inch slowly, giving her every chance to pull away.
She doesn’t.
Her lips part on a shaky inhale, and when our mouths finally meet, it’s nothing like I imagined and everything I wanted.
Searching, urgent, like we’re both starving and furious about it.
She makes a small sound against my mouth, something raw and unguarded, and it cracks something open in my chest I didn’t know was there.
I don’t deepen it. I don’t take more than she gives. I let the kiss burn and linger and end too soon, leaving her breathless and shaking, because I want her to feel it afterward, to know exactly what she’s stepped into.
“Let me help you,” I say, and I feel her nod more than see it.
The sheets rustle as she moves and I slide my hand beneath finding her thigh warm and smooth.
“Have you been touched before?” I ask, my voice gruff, my cock leaking precum beneath my clothes.
“No,” she says, her voice ravaged with defeat and rage all at once.
I close my eyes against the onslaught of pleasure that gives me. The privilege of being the first man to touch her is almost too much.
“Lie back,” I say, “I’ll be gentle.”
I lie beside her, never taking my hand from her as I stroke her thighs, her hips, her tummy. I watch her nipples harden, their peaks a dark outline begging for my mouth. It takes every ounce of restraint not to put my lips anywhere but hers.
When I finally move to her slit, she gasps a little, and I’m surprised to find her so wet already.
“Is this how you’ve been all night?” I ask, and she breathes a yes that’s almost imperceptible.
“You should have said,” I say, sliding a finger into her channel and making a circular motion with it.
Her hips tremble in response. “You don’t need to be strong, Victoria.
Not right now. You need to let it go. Let me help you with this.
You can go back to hating me in the morning. ”
I apply pressure to her clit with my thumb as I slide another finger into her, and she moans, long and low as she presses herself onto my hand.
“Take what you need, printsessa, and know I’ll always give it to you freely.
” Her hips are rocking now. I dot kisses on her jaw, moving only as much as I need to get a better angle.
I want to suck her nipples into my mouth so much, but I want her to discover each stage of pleasure in its own moment.
Let her revel in it as I worship her body at a pace that doesn’t scare her.
“Keep going, Victoria, take everything you need.”
My hand is soaked with her. She is moving enough now that her gorgeous tits bounce lightly, her areolas a dark outline against alabaster skin painted blue in the light.
I grit my teeth and fight the urge to come.
“God, you’re perfect like this, printsessa,” I manage to grunt. “Riding my fingers for the first time. So warm and wet and needy.”
The shocked scream that peals from her when she comes undoes every ounce of my restraint, and I blow my load as her pussy clenches around my fingers like a quivering vise.
Her back arches and spasms, her legs clench together, trapping my hand, her moans are long and loud and nothing like what I saw on the camera feed.
I stay silent, breathing through the onslaught of my own pleasure as she rides out hers on my hand, until, with a soft yelp, she slides from my fingers and cups herself with both hands.
Her eyes are so wide, I can see the whites of them glowing in the dark. Then she lifts one hand and bunches the buttons of my shirt, pulling me in for a kiss that’s as feral as it is desperate.