14. Katerina #2
One hand fists into my hair, pulling my head back until my spine bows. The other grips my hip hard enough that I know a perfectly visible handprint will be left long after this is over.
“You feel that?” he growls. “How perfectly you take me? Your body belongs to me, Katya. Do you feel how badly it wants to be mine?”
Pleasure and need twist together inside me until nothing else exists.
There is no world outside this office. No debts or betrayals that will haunt me for the rest of my life despite never being mine to begin with.
There are no contracts looming over me, signing my life away without consent or fear I will be given away to a monster with no humanity left in him.
There is only Aleksandr Volkov. Only the brutal, relentless rhythm of him fucking me until I can’t see straight.
Using his grip on my hair, he shifts me forward until my cheek is pressed down onto the couch’s arm.
He keeps my ass in the air, slapping the side of my thigh when they tremble from how long he’s kept me on the edge.
The thick head of him drags against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out and my toes curl.
The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, obscene and perfect, mingling with my broken whimpers and his low, guttural growls.
“Fuck, listen to you. Listen to how wet you are for me. How greedy this little cunt is sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He rasps.
He’s right. I don’t. I never want him to leave me empty again.
I think I might die if that happens.
He shifts his angle, pulling almost all the way out until just the head is inside me. When he slams back in, the couch shifts under us. I cry out, loud enough that anyone in the hallway would hear exactly what he’s doing to me if they were passing by.
He doesn’t care.
Frankly, neither do I.
His fingers flex in my hair, reading my mind the way he always does. “Let the whole fucking house hear you, Milaya, let them know who you belong to. Come on my cock like the good girl you are.”
His hand leaves my hair only long enough to slide around to my front, fingers finding my clit again, rubbing in tight, merciless circles that match the punishing snap of his hips.
The dual sensation of him filling me, stretching me, owning me from the inside while his fingers work the swollen bud outside snaps the last pieces of my restraint in half.
I come violently, my walls clamping down around his cock in hard, rhythmic pulses that drag a curse from his throat.
He doesn’t stop.
He fucks me through it, chasing his own release now. His thrusts turn erratic and desperate, his breathing ragged. His hand leaves my clit to sink into the arm rest next to my head, using it to lean down and press his mouth to my ear.
“Katya—fuck—take it. Take everything I give you.”
I’m still shaking from the aftershocks when he slams in one last time and comes with a guttural sound that vibrates through both of us. Heat floods me, his cock pulsing as it fills me completely. He stays buried inside me for a long while, even after the twitching stops.
When he does finally ease out, I whimper at the loss, the sudden emptiness.
But he’s already turning me around, gathering me into his arms and lifting me like I weigh nothing.
He sinks back onto the couch with me straddling his lap, my thighs bracketing his hips, his softening cock still pressed against my oversensitive core.
His hands slide up my back, gentle now.
The calloused pads of his fingers trace the delicate line of my spine, mapping every vertebra.
He lingers over the red mark he left on my hip, a blooming handprint that still throb faintly under his touch.
His fingers drift higher, skimming the curve of my shoulder until he reaches the fresh bites on my throat.
The skin there is hot, tender from his teeth and the suction of his mouth.
He brushes over it with the lightest pressure, almost apologetic in a way.
I feel the ghost of it echo through my body all over again.
When his eyes meet mine again, his expression shifts into something I’ve never seen before.
The hard, possessive edge that usually defines him melts away. It doesn’t vanish completely, it never could, but it softens. The brutalness I’ve come to associate with Aleksandr Volkov dulls into something quieter, unguarded in a way I’ve never realized he was capable of.
The midnight blue of his irises has returned, no longer swallowed by shadow. They still burn with that same intensity like they always do but the fire in them has tempered. It’s no longer a blaze that threatens to consume everything in its path.
They watch me with a softness I am wholly unprepared for.
“I meant what I said,” he says softly.
I search his face for meaning, my thoughts sluggish and scattered. Memories drift through my mind until two rise to the surface with sudden clarity.
Your body belongs to me, Katya.
Let them know who you belong to.
Weeks ago, those words would have made my stomach twist.
I would have bristled. Fought. Spat venom back at him because ownership from a man like him sounded like a death sentence.
It would’ve meant becoming another asset to be traded, another thing to be used until he grew bored enough to discard me once the novelty faded.
Belonging to Aleksandr had once felt like cold iron wrapped around my wrists, a leash pulled tight at my throat, binding me to a monster I was certain would destroy me without hesitation.
Before I knew him, it would have meant surrender.
Now it feels like the opposite of what my father did to me.
My father disguised control as love, wrapping his manipulation with praise that made obedience feel virtuous.
Approval was the leash, disappointment always the punishment.
I chased his validation with desperate starvation, never realizing I was being trained to accept whatever he decided I was worth and keeping silent when I should have been fighting back.
Aleksandr has never pretended to be anything other than the man he has always presented to the world. He doesn’t soften his edges to make them easier to swallow. He doesn’t package his control as benevolence. When he wants something, he says it. When he claims something, he does so openly.
There is no confusion about where I stand with him.
I know this isn’t about shrinking me down into someone easier to handle. He has seen me at my most defiant, my most furious and broken self and he has never once tried to sand me down into something quieter. If anything, he has encouraged me to continue to challenge him.
With my father, I was a means to an eventual end.
With Aleksandr, I am… something else entirely.
His thumb brushes once across my cheekbone before sliding down to cup my jaw. I smile and turn my head to press a kiss against the inside of his palm.
“I know.” I murmur back.
His hand tightens ever so slightly at my jaw.
In the silence that follows, something shifts inside me. For weeks I told myself this heat between us was circumstantial. That the way he looks at me was possessiveness born from ego, not feeling.