Chapter 31
Is it stupid that I’m still jealous over Mason? Yeah. Probably. Did that stop the ugly little knot in my chest from twisting tighter every time I pictured Viktor and that big stupid defenseman in the same room? Nope. Not even a little.
But right now none of that matters.
Viktor has me pinned against the front door of his house, kissing me like he’s trying to erase every jealous thought from my head.
His mouth is hot and demanding, tongue sliding against mine, one big hand cupping the back of my neck while the other fumbles with the keys.
I can’t bring myself to care about Mason or old road trips or whatever bullshit he was spinning.
Not when Viktor is kissing me like this — like I’m the only thing he’s wanted for months.
The lock clicks and the door swings open behind me.
Viktor spins us smoothly so my back hits the inside of the door instead, kicking it shut with his foot. The sound echoes through the quiet house like a starting gun. His hand slides to my jaw, thumb pressing firmly against my bottom lip. “Open,” he commands.
I open my mouth immediately, sticking my tongue out like the needy idiot I am.
Viktor reaches into his pocket, pulls out the small case, and takes out my tongue piercing.
His fingers are steady and careful as he slides the barbell back into place, the familiar cool metal settling against my tongue.
The whole ritual feels intimate as hell, especially with the way he’s looking at me like he’s been waiting to do this for weeks.
The second the piercing is in I’m already working on his pants, greedy hands undoing his belt and zipper with shaky fingers. I want him. Want to feel him, taste him, remind myself that he’s mine and I’m his and Mason was just noise.
Viktor makes a low sound in his throat, half-warning, half-groan, and kisses me again, deep and filthy, as I push his pants down just enough to get my hand on him.
Even knowing Viktor didn’t fuck Mason — even with his calm denial still ringing in my ears — I can’t help it. The jealousy is still there, ugly and hot under my skin, making me want to push. Want to hear him say it again. Want to make him lose that perfect control for a second.
I wrap my fingers around his thick length, stroking once, slow and teasing, as I drop to my knees right there in the entryway. The floor is hard under my knees but I don’t care. Viktor’s breath catches above me.
“Tell me…” I murmur, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes even as my hand keeps moving. “Did Mason feel this good?”
I lean in and lick a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock, my piercing dragging deliberately along the vein. Viktor curses low in Russian, one hand coming down to fist in my curls. “Cole—”
“Did he look good on his knees looking up at you like this?” I push, swirling my tongue around the head before taking him deeper, hollowing my cheeks.
I know I’m being a brat. I know I’m playing with fire.
But the jealousy is still simmering and the only way I know how to burn it out is like this — pushing him until he snaps and reminds me exactly who I belong to.
Viktor’s grip tightens in my hair, not quite pulling but definitely holding me there as I work him with my mouth, eyes locked on his the whole time. His jaw is clenched, his eyes burning down at me, control fraying at the edges.
“Only you,” he growls, voice rough. “Only ever you on your knees for me like this. Keep pushing, little bird, and I will fuck that jealousy out of you until you cannot even remember his name.”
I moan around him, the sound vibrating down his length, and keep going, desperate to hear him break.
“Did he suck you better than this?” I ask, voice breathy as I stroke him slow and teasing. “Did he take you all the way down like I do? Or did you have to teach him how to open his throat for you?”
Viktor’s hand tightens in my curls, a low growl rumbling in his chest. I don’t wait for an answer. I dive back down, taking him deep, tongue working the underside, piercing dragging just the way I know drives him crazy. But I pull off again too soon.
“Tell me, Vik… did he beg like I do? Did he whine for your cock or was he too proud?”
Another lick. Another swirl. Another filthy question between desperate sucks.
“Did you fuck his mouth until he cried? Did you hold his head down and use him like a toy the way you do with me? Or was he better at taking it?”
Viktor hauls me up by the hair firm enough to make my scalp tingle, and spins me around, pressing my chest against the door. His big body cages me in from behind, one hand sliding down to palm me through my pants while the other keeps my head tilted back against his shoulder.
“You want to keep pushing, soroka?” he growls against my ear. “Fine. I will show you exactly who this cock belongs to.”
He doesn’t give me what I want. Not really.
He edges me mercilessly.
His hand works me with cruel precision — slow, perfect strokes that drag me right to the edge, thumb circling the head, squeezing just right, only to stop the second my thighs start shaking and my moans turn broken and desperate.
Every time I get close — so fucking close — he pulls his hand away or loosens his grip, leaving me throbbing and leaking and whining against the door like a slut.
“Vik— please— I’m sorry, I’m so close, please let me come—”
“Not yet,” he murmurs against my ear, dark and mean, teeth grazing my neck. “You wanted to ask questions. Keep asking. Tell me again how jealous you are while I own this body.”
I’m a wreck. Panting, hips jerking uselessly into his fist, tears of pure frustration stinging at the corners of my eyes.
“Beg nicer, soroka.”
“Please— Vik, please, I need it, I’ll be so good, I swear, just let me come—”
He stops again. Just… stops. Lets me throb painfully in his hand while I sob out another broken plea. The ache is unbearable. My cock is leaking all over his fingers, balls tight, body trembling. I’ve never needed to come this badly in my life.
Viktor makes a low, satisfied sound and pulls his hand away completely. I whine at the loss, pathetically loud, but before I can protest he spins me around, hauls me up, and throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“Vik— wait— fuck—”
He carries me through the house to the bedroom, my protests turning into desperate, needy sounds as the movement rubs my aching cock against his shoulder. He drops me on the bed and climbs over me, caging me in.
“You don’t get to come yet,” he says calmly, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Not until I decide you’ve learned your lesson.”
I’m going to die here.
“Did he beg prettier than me?” I gasp out, hips jerking up into his fist. “Did you tell him he was a good boy too? Or was I just easier—”
Viktor growls and suddenly both my wrists are pinned above my head in one of his big hands. The other keeps stroking me slow and mean, thumb teasing the head until I’m whining and shaking.
“Such a jealous little thing,” he murmurs. “Look at you. So desperate to know you’re the only one. So pretty when you’re like this — leaking all over my hand, begging so sweetly. I am yours, soroka. Only yours.”
I sob out another broken plea, thighs trembling, trying to chase his hand. “Please— Vik, please, I’ll be good, I swear, just let me come—”
He edges me harder. He brings me right to the edge again and again, praising me in that low, vicious voice every time I break a little more — telling me how perfect I am, how no one else could ever take him like I do, how he loves how desperate I get for him. But he never lets me tip over.
By the time he stops torturing my cock and starts opening me up, I’m a complete wreck — tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, my entire body shaking.
“Good boy. So tight for me. Taking my fingers so well even after I edged you for so long. That’s it, relax for me.”
When he finally pushes all the way inside — thick and hot and perfect — I yelp, back arching hard off the bed, a loud, broken moan tearing out of me as he bottoms out in one slow, controlled thrust.
“Did you… kill your father?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it, raw and desperate and mortified the second it leaves me.
I slap my hand over my mouth immediately, my eyes going wide, face burning with horror. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Viktor freezes completely above me, buried to the hilt, his eyes locking onto mine. The room goes dead silent except for our ragged breathing. We just… stare at each other.
“Oh fuck— Vik, I didn’t— I don’t know why I said that, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—” I start babbling immediately, panicked, face burning with mortification even as my body is still trembling around him, desperate and full.
“That was so stupid, I didn’t mean it, I was just— the jealousy and the edging and my stupid mouth, please ignore that, please, I’m losing my mind right now, I swear I don’t actually think— I know you wouldn’t— fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t stop, I need you, I need you so bad—”
Viktor stays completely still above me, buried to the hilt, thick and hot and unmoving inside me. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t thrust. Doesn’t say a single word. My panic spikes higher with every second.
“Vik— baby, please say something, I crossed the line, I know I did, I’m such a fucking idiot, the meds and the game and the jealousy just— it all came out wrong, I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything, I swear, I love you, I trust you, please move, please fuck me, I’ll shut up, I’ll be so good, I promise—”
He still doesn’t move. Just stays there, deep inside me, heavy and overwhelming, eyes never leaving my face. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. Tears of frustration and embarrassment and overwhelming need prick at the corners of my eyes as I keep babbling.