Chapter 20 #2
I gag when he hits the back of my throat, tears pricking my eyes, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down.
“Take it, Var,” he murmurs, shortening my name, which makes my nipples peak unexpectedly.
I swallow him down, my throat stretching to accommodate the thick length of him.
Each thrust is a reminder of the power he holds, yet I find a strange, dark solace in it.
He wants me to feel the weight of my choice, to understand that my defiance has a price, but he doesn’t see that I’m taking something too.
I’m taking the edge off his rage, absorbing it until it turns into the same desperate friction that nearly broke us both last night.
His hand tightens in my hair, pulling my head back so I’m forced to look up at him while he continues to fill my mouth. His face is filled with pure, unadulterated need.
“That’s it,” he rasps, thrusting harder. “Good girl.”
He pulls out abruptly, his breath coming in jagged hitches. He doesn’t let go of my hair. He uses the grip to pull me up, forcing me to stand on trembling legs until I’m pressed flush against him.
“You think you won,” he rasps, his eyes searching mine. “You think you saved him.”
“I did,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
He laughs, a sharp, dangerous sound. “Maybe. But look at you, moya sladkaya. You’re shaking. You’re wet. And you’re still exactly where I want you.” He turns me and bends me over the bed. I grip the sheets, expecting to be impaled on his cock.
When the belt cracks onto my arse, I jump and let out a shocked noise that catches in my throat. The sting is sharp, a white-hot line of fire that flares across my skin. I gasp, my fingers bunching tightly. Before the air can even return to my lungs, the leather cracks again.
The third strike makes my toes curl into the carpet.
It isn’t just pain; it’s the overwhelming weight of his attention.
He’s marking me, claiming the space I tried to keep for myself.
My breath comes in jagged hitches. The heat building between my thighs is wanted.
I chose this. I am choosing this. It’s easier to breathe, to exist in this space than any other one for the last two years.
“More,” I pant, pushing my arse back.
The leather snaps again, a rhythmic, stinging cadence that blurs the line between agony and ecstasy.
I arch my spine, offering him the very target he’s punishing.
“You’re a masochist, Varvara,” he says, the belt dropping to the floor with a heavy thud.
I don’t have time to answer before he’s on me, his body a crushing weight that pins me to the mattress, his hands pressed either side of my head.
He uses his teeth, biting into the curve of my shoulder until I cry out.
It’s primal. It’s the mark of a predator who has finally cornered his prey and found that she bites back.
I’m face down with him on top of me, and he enters me roughly. I’m slick for him, welcoming the ruinous friction of his pace.
He fucks me with a desperate, angry energy that tells me I haven’t just absorbed his rage—I’ve ignited it.
Every thrust is an oath. Every gasp is a surrender.
I’m lost in the storm of him, the golden cage forgotten as the monster takes everything I have left and turns it into something stronger, unbreakable.
“Lev,” I cry out. “Harder, please. More. I need more.”
“You like that, moya sladkaya? You like being fucked like an animal?”
“Yes,” I pant. “Please.”
Lev’s hips slam harder against me, the force driving me deeper into the mattress.
My fingers claw at the sheets as pleasure spikes through the pain.
He pounds harder into me with a relentless rhythm.
Each thrust sends sparks shooting through my body.
I cry out again, the sound raw and broken.
He reaches one hand around to find my clit and circles it roughly before pinching it and then twisting until I’m gasping through the pain.
My pussy clenches around him. The orgasm builds fast and hits like a wave.
I scream his name into the sheets as I come, my pussy clenching tightly, dragging him deeper.
“Fuck, Var,” he groans and withdraws, flipping me over. “Why?”
“Why, what?” I choke out, my body still convulsing from the orgasm.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I can breathe,” I rasp. “I feel alive and not just surviving.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing his hand over his face. “Fucking hell, Varvara.”
He steps back.
“No!” I cry, sitting up. “No! Don’t walk away from this because it suddenly got real!”
He looks at me for a beat, seeing my near panic that he is going to leave me right when I discovered I need him to ease the cage I’d locked myself in.
“Oh, I’m not walking away,” he says, pulling his shirt off and kicking his shoes off so he can lose the rest of his clothes. “You want to breathe in this darkness, Varvara? You find solace in the monster who needs you next to him?”
“Yes,” I whimper as he draws out his knife. The one he cut me with.
“You don’t know what you’ve unleashed,” he murmurs, moving closer to me, the blade glinting.
“Then show me,” I say, my voice completely steady, despite the nerves shooting through me. But it’s not fear. It’s excitement. It’s need.
He steps even closer, the blade catching the light from the window as he presses the flat edge to my collarbone.
I gasp, but I hold still, watching his blue eyes darken with that possessive fire I now crave.
He drags the knife lower, tracing a slow line between my breasts without breaking skin, and heat floods down to my clit.
I reach up and wrap my fingers around his wrist, guiding him rather than pushing away.
He lets me, a growl rumbling from his chest as the tip skims my nipple.
The sensation sends sparks straight to my pussy.
I arch toward him, needing more of this twisted intimacy that makes the cage feel like freedom.
He leans in, his mouth brushing my ear. “You asked for it, moya sladkaya. Now feel every second of what you belong to.”