Chapter Iskra
Iskra
This office was so him. Dark everything—dark wood, dark walls, dark leather, the kind of room that had been put together by someone who considered lightness a personality flaw.
“How many offices do you have?” I said, trailing my finger along the dark polished surface of the desk.
“Many,” he said, moving around the table to unlock a drawer.
The shimmer of the city caught my eye and I drifted toward the tall windows.
Damn. The view was better from up here.
I pressed my nose to the glass. You could see most of Chernograd from this angle—the river dark and moving in the distance, the cathedral spire just visible, the lights of the city laid out below like something that belonged to someone.
It belonged to him, of course.
Hands moved behind me, lifting my dress.
A curse.
I chuckled.
“I’m still on my period,” I murmured, as his hands moved around to my front.
It was his turn to laugh. A throaty sound, low and genuine, different from the usual controlled chuckle. I glanced over my shoulder.
His fingers curled around my neck before he forced me to look ahead. His pale eyes found mine in the glass.
“That’s why I’m going to fuck your asshole,” he said. “Right on top of my desk.”
For a moment I forgot to breathe.
His fingers found the button at my neck. The fabric loosened. Then the sound of the zip coming down—slow and deliberate, the way he did everything.
He dragged the material down my shoulders, down my arms, and it fell to the floor. My bra followed. He walked me back to the desk, hands cupping my ass, and lifted me up and planted me on the surface with a dull thud.
That was when I noticed the music—faint, pressing up through the floor from the level below. The club still going. The world still turning.
“You’re going to watch me fuck your asshole tonight,” he murmured, pushing me back onto the desk. “And just when you think you can’t take any more, you’re going to come on my cock.”
A threat and a promise in the same breath.
“Fucking my ass won’t provide you with your heir, Mr Dragunov,” I said, raising my red heel and planting it on his pristine white shirt.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t remove my foot.
He placed his hand around my ankle and slid it slowly down my leg.
“I like this side of you, Mrs Dragunov,” he murmured, his thumb tracing along my thigh. “New. Bold. And so very sexy.”
“You noticed?” I gasped, pressing both hands to my chest. “I am honoured.”
His hand moved to my belly. The other dragged my foot from his chest up to his shoulder.
He leaned over me, lips pressing against my stomach, the prickly texture of his stubble making me shiver against the cold desk beneath me.
His tongue traced a slow circle around my belly button before beginning to work its way up.
My back arched to meet him before I had decided to allow it.
“You’re a bad man, Vadim,” I said, breathing a little heavier.
“If I’m so bad, then why do I make your cunt so wet, Iskra?” he murmured as he reached my neck.
His lips traced their way to my ear. Before I could spiral out at the question his tongue moved around my earlobe and short-circuited everything I had been about to say. I grabbed his collar and held on.
“Why do you love getting fucked by someone like me?”
His hot breath fanned over my ear and stayed there, waiting for an answer he already knew. I turned to stare at him.
Anger flared within me.
“Because I’m paid to,” I snapped.
His eyes sharpened and he drew back. Jaw tight. Muscle clenched.
Direct hit.
“Da. You are paid for your services,” he hissed, reaching to pick something off his desk. “Like a filthy whore.”
I relaxed against the desk.
This I could handle.
“I guess that makes my father my pimp and you my client,” I said, my voice cold and hard.
The air between us turned as cold as Chernograd’s ice-locked winters.
His lips edged up.
Cruel. Calculated. Cold.
I braced myself.
“This might hurt,” he drawled, snapping something open.
My eyes flew to the white tube in his hand.
He dragged my underwear off, his nails catching my hip. Pain I could welcome. Pain was straightforward. Pain didn’t ask anything of me.
I stared at the white ceiling. I had a nice buzz going and I could have played my part—should have, probably—but something inside me kept rebelling against it. Against the warmth I’d felt ten minutes ago and the contract I’d thrown in his face to kill it.
God help me, I tried.
Cold liquid smeared over my ass. The memory of the kitchen surfaced immediately and I swallowed. The sound of his zip. More squirting from the tube.
The music still filtered up from below. The city still glittered in the window behind him.
“Are you going to be long?” I said, with a yawn. “I’m cold.”
“This office has seen plenty of whores come and go,” he said, his voice stiff and clipped. “You’re just another one passing through for a few minutes.”
Ouch.
“I’m considering who the real whore is here,” I said lazily.
He gripped my hips and yanked me forward. My legs were tossed over his shoulders, spreading me open against the edge of the desk.
There was no warm-up. No gentle easing. Just the hard blunt pressure of his cock against my rear passage. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, focusing on my breathing, grateful for the lubricant as he began to forge his way inside me — slow but relentless, my body opening reluctantly around him.
His hand moved around my leg and closed around my throat.
My eyes snapped open.
“Watch me,” he spat, fury blazing in his pale eyes.
His fingers and thumb pressed into my neck. I blinked against the pressure.
But I kept my eyes on the lunatic.
His chest rose and fell as he tried to steady his breathing, but the flare of his nostrils and the erratic roll of his hips gave him away. He suddenly flung himself forward until I cried out. Pain bloomed deep inside me.
Satisfaction lit his eyes.
“So good,” I moaned. “Da, fuck me harder, daddy.”
He growled and punched the desk lamp clean off the surface.
The dull thud of metal hitting the floor. The crack and scatter of the glass bulb shattering across the boards. My heart rate spiked.
He planted both hands on either side of my head and used the desk as leverage, throwing his full weight behind each stroke. I breathed through it. Lived inside the pain. Rejoiced—quietly, privately, entirely—at the feel of him losing control.
I didn’t think about the cost.
Why should I?
My life was already ruined.
What did it matter if he ruined my asshole?
“Is that all you’ve got?” I hissed up at him.
“Fucking bitch,” he snapped back.
I counted in my head. Each thrust. Each curse. The great Pakhan of Chernograd, coming apart over someone like me.
Just as I began to feel the first glimmer of pleasure his head flew back and he drove himself inside me one final time, burying himself to the hilt and holding.
I watched his face freeze in his climax. Incapacitated. Entirely unguarded.
All it would take was a knife into the side of his neck.
I knew which vein.
His come stopped. His eyes snapped to mine as though he had heard the thought.
“Bit of a letdown,” I said, pushing at his chest. “You said I was going to come on your cock.”
He didn’t budge.
“Be extremely careful, Iskra,” he said.
My name meant spark.
Caution was not in my nature.
Not anymore.