Chapter 10 Daniil #3
I ease out and lift her into my arms, her limp, trembling frame melting against me. I tear the lace binding from her wrists and toss it aside, then lower her onto her back on the floor. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted as she stares up at me, wrecked.
I settle between her thighs, the heat of her body drawing me in like a flame. With one steady thrust, I slide back into her pussy.
“I-I can’t t-take anymore,” she gasps, eyes fluttering shut.
“Yes, you can,” I say, my voice dark and unyielding. “And you will. Open your eyes and look at me.”
She obeys, and the moment our eyes lock, she moans raw, helpless, and drenched in need. I start to move, dragging my cock in and out with slow, deep strokes, each one meant to remind her who she belongs to.
Then I pull out, my hand tightening on her thigh as I guide myself lower, pressing the thick head of my cock against the tight ring of her ass. She gasps, her back arching off the floor as I breach her with care, easing in inch by inch, stretching her open.
“Breathe,” I whisper, my voice rough against her ear. “Feel every inch. Take all of me.”
And she does.
“Fuck,” I groan, gripping her thigh tighter. “So fucking tight.”
She gasps again, her fingers digging into the floor for purchase as I bottom out inside her ass.
Her body trembles, overwhelmed, but she doesn’t tell me to stop.
She doesn’t need to. The way she writhes beneath me, and the way her moans spill freely from her lips, I know she wants this just as much as I do.
I set a punishing rhythm, fucking her ass until her body adjusts, until the sounds she makes morph from strained to desperate.
Then I pull out and thrust back into her pussy, slick and tight, welcoming me with a wet heat that makes my breath catch in my throat.
Her walls clamp around me, pulsing from the aftershocks of her last orgasm, and I feel her teetering on the edge again.
Her cries grow louder, more frantic, as I switch between her ass and her pussy, giving her no reprieve, only more of me. I grab her jaw and force her to look at me, needing her eyes on mine as I take her apart.
“Daniil,” she whimpers, her voice breaking, and her body trembling. “I’m—please—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” I growl, slamming into her pussy one last time. “Soak my cock.”
Her back arches, her mouth falling open in a silent scream before the sound rips free. She shatters, her legs shaking and walls clenching around me like a vice. The feel of her coming undone beneath me, wrapped so tightly around me, shoves me over the edge.
I thrust deep, burying myself fully inside her pussy, and let go. My release hits hard, a groan torn from my throat as I spill inside her, filling her with every last drop. I hold her hips still, grinding into her as the final pulses of pleasure roll through me, intense and consuming.
She lies beneath me, panting, skin flushed and glistening, her body still trembling from the force of her orgasm. I stay buried deep inside her, unwilling to let go just yet. Her legs remain wrapped around my waist, her arms limp at her sides, completely spent.
I lean down and take her mouth, not possessively. My lips crush hers, my tongue sweeping in to claim her all over again. She moans softly into the kiss, her mouth pliant and welcoming. It’s not about sweetness. It’s about ownership. The unspoken truth that she’s mine now, in every way that matters.
When I finally pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, letting our breaths mingle.
Without a word, I lift her into my arms. She lets out a soft gasp but doesn’t resist, her body curling instinctively into mine.
I carry her across the room and lower her onto the bed, settling her into the pillows gently, even though every part of her still bears the evidence of how thoroughly I’ve taken her.
I pull the blanket over her naked body, then slide in beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against me. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t have to. She’s already mine.
Later, long after her breathing has evened out, I lie awake beside her. The room is dim, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the windows. Her body is curled against mine, warm and trusting, one hand splayed across my chest as if she's claiming me even in sleep.
But the cold still lingers. Not in my body.
Her skin is fire against mine, burning away the chill that’s lived in my bones since the day Sasha died.
This cold is rooted deeper. It’s emotional and hollow.
Because somewhere between strategy and survival, this stopped being an act.
I kissed her to send a message. I touched her to remind Viktor that she isn’t his to want, and any attempt to take her from me would end with a bullet in his skull.
But the truth is darker and more dangerous than that.
I need her. Not for the inheritance or the appearance of stability.
I need her with a desperation that goes against everything I've been taught about power and control.
And now that I've had her, completely and without reservation, the thought of losing her and walking away when this arrangement ends terrifies me in ways I don't have words for.
In the Bratva, feelings get you killed. Weakness is a tool used against you by enemies who have no qualms about exploiting every vulnerability.
And tonight, I gave my enemies something they can use against me.
I gave them her. I showed them exactly what matters to me, and what I would fight and die to protect.
Viktor saw it. The way I tensed when he looked at her with hunger in his eyes. The way my hands clenched into fists when he implied she'd chosen poorly in marrying me. He knows now that she's not just a convenient wife or a strategic alliance. She's my weakness.
I should push her away. Wake her up and tell her it meant nothing.
Tell her I was caught up in the moment, and the heat between us was just a physical release after a stressful evening.
Build the walls back up before she can burrow any deeper into the parts of me I've kept buried since Sasha's death.
Instead, I lie here staring at the ceiling, buried beneath the flood of unspoken thoughts, each one crashing down like a tide intent on dragging me under.
Because that's what this is, isn't it? I've imprisoned myself with these feelings, locked myself into a situation where every choice I make will be influenced by the need to protect her and keep her safe from the violence that defines my world.
Naomi stirs in her sleep, murmurs my name in a dream, and tucks herself closer against me.
Her breath is warm against my chest, and I can smell the lingering scent of her shampoo.
I realize with bone-deep certainty that terrifies me more than any enemy I've ever faced that she’s not just part of the plan anymore.
She's a crack in the armor I've spent thirty-two years perfecting, and I have no idea how to survive it.