Chapter 25
Willow
His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that left no room to breathe. The kiss was rough, teeth grazing my lower lip before his tongue pushed in, tasting me like he already owned every sound I might make. I shoved at his shoulders, but his weight pinned me easily, one knee forcing my thighs wider.
"Artyom—stop—"
He tore his mouth away just long enough to look down at me, eyes black with intent. "You sat on me. You ground down on my cock like you wanted it. Now take it."
His free hand yanked my shirt up, shoving the fabric over my breasts. Cool air hit my skin a second before his mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard. Heat spiked straight between my legs. I arched, a broken sound escaping, and he laughed low against my skin.
Clothes came off in sharp, impatient pulls.
He didn't bother undressing fully—just shoved his pants down far enough, kicked my legs open, and thrust into me in one deep stroke.
The stretch burned. I cried out, nails digging into his back, but he didn't slow.
He set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping hard enough that the mattress protested under us.
"Look at me," he ordered. When I turned my face away, he grabbed my chin and forced my eyes back to his. "Who feels better inside you? Me or Ethan?"
I clenched my teeth. The name alone made something ugly twist in my chest. He noticed. Of course he did. His next thrust drove deeper, angled precisely against the spot that always made my vision white out. I gasped, body jerking.
"Answer."
Silence. He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed home again, grinding against that same place until my thighs trembled. "Say it, Willow. Who's better?"
My voice cracked. "Y-you—"
"Not good enough." He kept hitting that sensitive cluster of nerves, relentless, controlled. Every stroke was calculated to keep me right on the edge without letting me fall. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. "You. You're better. God—Artyom—please—"
He still wasn't satisfied. In one smooth motion he pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach, and yanked my wrists together behind my back. Something soft—his discarded belt—cinched tight around them. The leather bit into my skin. I tugged instinctively and got nowhere.
"Stay."
He dragged me up onto my knees, face pressed to the sheets, ass in the air.
Then his mouth was on me from behind, tongue dragging through my folds, licking up every bit of the wetness he'd forced out of me.
I moaned into the mattress. He sucked hard on my clit, two fingers pushing inside at the same time, curling exactly where he knew I couldn't stand it.
When he finally rose and fed his cock past my lips, I was already shaking. He held my head and fucked my mouth in slow, deep strokes. My teeth scraped him by accident—just a light graze along the underside. He hissed and pulled out.
"That was deliberate."
Before I could deny it, he shoved me onto my back again, wrists still bound. His mouth latched onto my breast and bit down—hard enough to leave a mark, sharp enough that I cried out. He soothed the sting with his tongue a second later, voice dark against my skin.
"You don't get to hurt me without paying for it."
He thrust back into me, harder than before, the angle perfect, the pace merciless.
My bound hands were useless. All I could do was take it—every deep stroke, every deliberate grind against the places that made me sob his name.
He kept asking, kept demanding, kept using my body until the only words left in my throat were broken admissions that he was the only one who could wreck me like this.
By the time he finally let me come, I was shaking so hard the bed frame rattled. He followed a moment later, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to mine, breathing like he'd run miles.
Even then he didn't pull out. He stayed inside me, still hard, already rolling his hips in slow, possessive circles that promised we were nowhere near finished.
?????
When the aftershocks of that last climax finally faded, I did not even have enough strength to lift a finger.
It felt like my bones had been taken apart and shoved back together wrong. Every inch of my skin burned, flushed like it had been rubbed raw. The ache in my waist and lower belly spread in a tight, relentless bloom, and even breathing came out shaky.
Artyom's arm still lay heavy across my middle. His heat pressed into my back, his breath brushing the nape of my neck. I could even feel his steady heartbeat through the fabric, thump by thump, like it was knocking against my temples until they hurt.
I was exhausted.
The earlier fight, the grabbing, the standoff, all that ugly, choking emotion had gotten burned to ash in what we had just done. My head swam like it had been dunked in warm water. I could not think. I did not want to think.
All that was left was the faint cedar on his skin wrapping around me like a soft net. I sank into it. Then everything went dark.
I slept hard.
No dreams. No whispers, no rumors, no shouting.
It almost felt like I had gone back to being a kid, curled up in my mom's arms. Warm. Safe. Even my fingertips felt heated.
When I woke up, it was already full daylight.
Sunlight slipped through a gap in the heavy curtains and painted a thin stripe of pale gold across the carpet.
The spot beside me was empty. The sheets still held a trace of warmth, but it had already cooled. I reached over and touched the pillow. It still carried the dent from his short hair, but he was gone.
Something hollow dropped in my chest.
I could not even name it. It was like the candy I had clutched as a kid, the one I had never gotten to eat because it fell into the mud first.
I knew better than to expect anything. Still, my heart tightened like a hand had closed around it, leaving a sour ache behind.
I sat there for a long time, until the pain in my body eased enough for me to move. Then I threw the blanket aside and got up.
My shirt, the one he had torn yesterday, lay in pieces on the carpet. I crouched to gather it, my fingers brushing the cold floor, and a shiver ran through me. When I opened the closet, I froze.
Someone had stocked it with brand-new women's clothes. My size. Exactly my taste.
I picked the simplest thing I could find, a plain white knit sweater and jeans, and pulled them on.
When I faced the mirror, I saw my neck.
Marks. A mess of them, dark and scattered, like someone had crushed red petals against my skin.
I stared for a second, then touched them with my fingertips. Heat rushed to my face. I yanked the collar higher, trying to cover as much as I could.
Downstairs, the house sat in dead silence.
The villa was too big, too empty. It swallowed sound like a cold castle.
The living room looked spotless. On the dining table, breakfast waited, still steaming, everything set out like someone had cared enough to make sure I ate. But there was not a single person in sight.
I drank half the milk. The emptiness in my stomach eased a little. Then I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door.
I needed to get out while he was gone. I needed to run.
I could not stay here, trapped in this blurry, messy thing with Artyom. We came from different worlds. And after last night, after that fight, it should have been over.
But the second I reached the door, two bodyguards in black suits stepped in front of me.
They stood rigid, like statues, one arm lifting to block my way. Their voices stayed flat and polite. "Sorry, Ms. Pierce. The sir gave orders. You couldn't leave."
I blinked, sure I had misheard. "What did you just say?"
"The sir didn't allow you to leave the villa," he repeated, respectful but unmoving. "Please go back inside."
Heat blasted up my spine.
What the hell did he think I was? A pet? A pretty bird he could keep in a golden cage and pull out when he felt like it? I stared at their blank faces, my hands shaking. "Why? I'm a person. I have the right to walk out that door. He doesn't get to decide when I leave."
They dropped their eyes. Said nothing. Stayed planted.
I ground my teeth, spun around, and marched back into the living room. My hands fumbled as I grabbed my phone and pulled up Artyom's number. I called him with fingers that barely listened to me.
It rang three times before he picked up. His voice came through low and hard, with the faint noise of a meeting in the background. "You woke up."
"Artyom, what is this?" I kept my voice tight, but it still trembled. "Those guards at the door. You put them there? What right do you have to keep me from leaving? I need to go to work."
He went quiet for a few seconds. The background noise faded like he had stepped somewhere private. When he spoke again, his pace stayed slow. Too calm. "You had already turned in your resignation."
I froze.
Yeah. I had.
I bit the inside of my cheek and forced the words out anyway. "That doesn't mean you get to control me. I will find another job. I'm not helpless. I don't need you keeping me."
He let out a low laugh, lazy and arrogant, like my anger amused him. Then he said it, word by word. "Serving me is your main job now."
"You—"
My whole body shook. I could not even find the sentence. I ended the call and threw the phone onto the couch hard enough to make the screen flash, then go dark.
I stood there in the middle of that huge room, and it felt like my heart got lowered into ice water, inch by inch.
Of course.
I had actually let myself imagine it. That he was different. That he wasn't like the men who looked at me like I was something they could use. That there was something in him, something real, something that meant I mattered.
But no.
To him I was no different from any toy money could buy. He wouldn't even give me the smallest slice of freedom. He had just circled me inside this empty house and expected me to wait, ready when he wanted me, gone when he didn't.
I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared at the manicured garden outside.
The sun looked perfect. The fountain sprayed bright little shards of water over the lawn. And I still felt cold, the kind that crawled out from deep inside.
This place was beautiful in the way a cage could be beautiful.
And I was the only thing locked in it.
My hand drifted to my stomach. Still flat. Still quiet. And panic twisted through me like a vine, wrapping tighter with every breath.
What was I going to do?
Time didn't stop. It kept moving. It kept growing.
When my belly started to show, there wouldn't be any hiding it. Not from him. Not from anyone.
The baby and I could end up buried in this house without anyone ever seeing us again.
I wrapped my arms around myself and sank to the floor, curling up and pressing my face into my knees.
Fear rolled over me in waves until I could barely breathe. The sunlight outside looked warm, almost cruel in how normal it was. I felt frozen anyway.
Tears came out of nowhere and dropped onto my jeans, darkening the denim in small wet spots.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
Who was going to save me?