44. Aj
Ihate this dress.
The red silk clings to my skin all wrong. David picked it out. Along with the heels, the jewelry, the fucking smile I’m supposed to wear all night. The thought makes me want to set the whole fucking outfit on fire.
I hover near the bar, champagne glass in hand. Every time someone talks to me, I feel like screaming. But I just smile until my face hurts, nodding and pretending to give a shit about who’s getting promoted or what new merger is being announced.
Every time I think I’ve escaped, another Sovereign appears. And the entire time, I feel Gage’s eyes finding me across the ballroom. Making sure I haven’t embarrassed myself yet. David isn’t much better.
He’s currently speaking with a group of Commanders near the center of the room, but every time I glance over, I catch him looking my way too.
By the time I finish my second glass of champagne, I feel like I’m suffocating.
I need air.
Slipping away from the crowd, I make my way toward one of the balconies overlooking the estate grounds. Relief immediately loosens something in my chest the second I push through the doors.
Then I hear Devin’s voice.
She stands near the railing in a dark green silk dress, next to a man. Her blonde hair falls in perfect waves down her back, every inch of her stunning. She lives for these events, the attention, the spotlights. If she’s not on stage performing as a Siren, she’s working every room in her favor.
Her eyes light up when she spots me.
“AJ!”
I force a smile as she rushes toward me, wrapping me in a hug.
“I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“We literally saw each other last week.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “You know what I mean.”
No. I don’t. But before I can answer, she continues.
“Anyway, Wolff and I were just talking—”
Wolff?
I look past her shoulder toward the man leaning against the railing. He looks unfairly good in black. The suit fits him perfectly, emphasizing the broad line of his shoulders and the hard cut of his waist. His dark hair is pushed back from his face, his beard trimmed close to his jaw.
I’ve tuned Devin out completely. Her voice fades into nothing as I stare at him.
I haven’t heard from him in weeks.
Not a call.
Not a text.
Nothing.
And apparently, he’s been standing out here with Devin?
Of course he would be. Why wouldn’t Wolff be here with her? She’s a Siren. Her body is perfect. Everything about her is fucking perfect. And she doesn’t need to be high out of her mind to fuck anyone.
“I have to go,” I blurt out. “My fiancé is probably looking for me.” The lie sounds stupid even to me.
I turn and walk back through the door, straight to the bar, and grab the first bottle I see. I don’t care what it is. Because the ache in my chest is back. And it’s getting worse.
I didn’t even want to come to this fucking party.
I knew tonight would be miserable. But I didn’t expect him to be here. And I definitely didn’t expect him to be standing with her.
Clutching the bottle, I head down a hallway, away from the ballroom, and shove open the nearest bathroom door. The second I step inside, someone grabs me, the door slamming shut behind us. My heart launches into my throat. A large hand clamps over my mouth as my back hits the wall.
The scent of whiskey and pine crashes into me.
For one terrifying second, my body locks up. Then I realize who it is.
Wolff.
His eyes burn into mine in the dim light. His hand remains firmly over my mouth while his other arm cages me against the wall.
Fucking bastard.
I shove at his chest, trying to twist away, but his grip only tightens, pinning me in place.
“Let me go, you asshole.” My words are muffled against his palm.
He doesn’t move. Just stares down at me with those dark, unreadable eyes. I bite down on his hand, hard enough to taste blood. He flinches, grip tightening as he leans in closer.
“Bad, solnyshko.”
The word sends heat rushing through me. I hate how much I love it.
“Let. Me. Go. Wouldn’t want to keep your date waiting.”
He finally pulls his hand from my mouth, but his hold on my waist stays iron tight. Pushing me back against the cold marble counter, he cages me with his body. The bottle slips from my fingers and skitters across the floor.
“Are you jealous, AJ?”
“Why the fuck would I be jealous?”
His eyes drop to my lips. “Is that why you ran?”
“Get off me.”
His hand slides under my dress, fingers brushing my bare thigh. My body betrays me instantly—heat floods between my legs, nipples tightening against the silk.
“You’re such a goddamn bastard.”
“Why? Because you don’t want me to feel how fucking soaked this cunt is for me already?” His mouth hovers over my neck as his fingers move higher, brushing the edge of my panties. I have to bite my lip not to moan. “Tell me you don’t want me to fuck you right here.”
I should say no. I should shove him away and walk out of here.
Grabbing the front of his suit, I yank his mouth down to mine. The kiss is desperate and messy. With a groan, his tongue shoves into my mouth, and I meet it with equal ferocity, biting and licking like I’m trying to devour him.
He hikes up my dress, exposing my ass, and spins me around. My hands slap against the marble sink as he kicks my legs wider.
“Please, Wolff. I need you.”
Gripping the back of my neck, he forces my head down. “Begging now?”
I try to look up at him in the mirror, but his grip tightens, keeping my face against the cold marble. His spit lands hot on my asshole. I jolt as the thick head of his cock presses against my tight ring.
“Did you think I was going to give you the easy way?” Another thick glob of spit coats his cock. “You think you deserve my cock in your pussy after biting me, you little brat?”
His cock pushes forward with slow, brutal pressure, stretching me open around his thick shaft.
My fingers slip on the counter as I try to wriggle. It’s too much; he’s too big. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t give me time to adjust.
When I start to scream, his palm slams over my mouth. “Not a fucking sound.”
Tears blur my vision as he drives deeper, inch by thick inch, until he’s buried to the hilt. His hand stays clamped over my mouth as his other grips my hip hard enough to bruise as he starts to thrust.
Slowly at first.
Then harder.
Faster.
Every brutal movement sends shock waves of pain and pleasure ripping through me. The slick, filthy sounds of his cock pounding into me fill the bathroom. His ragged breathing is hot against my ear as he fucks me like he hates me.
I whimper against his palm, my mind going blank. My body pulses desperately around him, needing more even as it hurts.
“Your needy little cunt is fucking soaked, isn’t it? I’m buried balls-deep in your ass while your fiancé is in the next room.”
I hate his words. I hate how true they are. I hate how they make my pussy clench around nothing, arousal dripping down my thighs while he takes my ass like he owns it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, barely breathing through the shame and overwhelming need.
“Shove your fingers in your cunt. I want you to feel my cock stretching your ass while you fuck yourself.”
I’m shaking as I reach between my legs. My fingers slide easily into my soaked pussy, feeling the thick ridges of his cock dragging against them through the thin wall separating my holes. The fullness makes me sob.
“Fuck— Wolff—!”
My orgasm barrels through me, blinding and powerful. I clamp down hard around his cock and my fingers, screaming into his palm as my body convulses.
He grunts, gripping my thighs and hoisting me off the floor. My legs are forced wide apart in the mirror.
“Look at yourself. See how good you look wrapped around me.”
My head falls back against his chest, eyes locked on the obscene reflection of my used body. My dress is bunched uselessly around my waist. My legs are spread wide, pussy lips stretched and glistening around my fingers, while his thick cock disappears deep into my ass.
“Whose cock are you coming on, solnyshko?”
“Yours.”
He curses under his breath, thrusts turning erratic. I fist my hands in his hair, jolting with every savage stroke. Then, with one final, punishing thrust, he buries himself deep and groans my name, flooding me with cum.
He holds me there, legs wide, watching in the mirror as his cock pulses inside me. When he finally pulls out, a thick river of his cum leaks from my gaping hole, dripping down over my swollen pussy and running down my thighs.
“Taste it.”
Not hesitating, I reach down with shaky fingers, scooping up the warm mess, and bring them to my mouth. I suck them clean while staring at him in the mirror.
“Fuck.” His hands tighten on my thighs before he slowly sets me on my feet. My legs wobble as I lean over the sink, skin flushed, body completely shattered.
His weight stays pressed against my back, breathing slow and deep. He drags his half-hard cock through the wetness between my legs, then grunts and slowly pushes into my pussy. My eyes widen at the stretch of his still-hard cock.
“I need a minute—”
I gasp as he sinks in deep, chest flush against my back as he fucks me slowly. Every roll of his hips presses him impossibly deeper, his pelvis grinding against my ass.
“I want my cum leaking from you for days.”
His hand slides around to press hard on my lower stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock moving inside me. My dress is still bunched around my waist, tits spilling out. I whimper as my pleasure crests again, pushing back against him, needing more.
He grips my chin, tilting my head back so he can kiss me, tongue fucking my mouth while his cock drives into me. I come hard, convulsing around him with a broken cry into his mouth.
He follows, groaning my name as his cock floods me with another release. Holding me against him, he grinds deep, making sure every drop stays inside me as we come together.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
His heavy weight sags against my back, forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, breathing ragged against my skin. My legs ache. My body throbs. I’m covered in sweat and cum.
I should feel disgusted. Ashamed. Angry.
But all I feel is relief.
His arms stay wrapped around me like he can’t let go. For one fragile second, it almost feels like something more.
Then he slowly pulls out. The loss of him is immediate and cold. I push myself upright, smoothing down my dress with trembling hands while he adjusts his clothes across the room.
The distance returns so rapidly it gives me whiplash.
“Umm…thank you. For the dog.”
I turn to face him, but he’s already heading for the door. My throat tightens, my hand twitching with the urge to say something.
Anything.
Ask him to stay.
Ask him why he sent the puppy.
His hand closes around the doorknob. “What did you name him?”
I blink at the back of his head, surprised by the question. “Jack.”
He pauses for half a second before stepping out, and the soft click echoes through the empty bathroom after he’s gone. I stand there, staring at the spot where he was. My body still feels warm. My chest doesn’t.
Finally, I bend down, grab the bottle from the floor, and take three long swallows. The alcohol burns all the way down, but it doesn’t help.
Nothing ever fucking helps.
Facing the mirror, I smooth my dress again. My face is flushed, mascara smudged, hair a mess. My fingers brush my lips—still swollen from his mouth. My thighs still feel sticky, and I can still feel the stretch of him inside me.
I close my eyes.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and this will all feel like a dream.
Because dreams are the only place where I get to keep pieces of him.
I make my way back into the ballroom and find an empty table near the back of the room. Dropping onto a chair, I grab a bottle from the center of the table and pour myself another drink.
A massive body suddenly crashes into the chair beside me, the entire table shifting.
Graves.
I’ve only run into him a handful of times at Sovereign parties, but that was more than enough. He’s loud and unpredictable. Every story I’ve ever heard about him ends in blood, broken bones, or someone too terrified to repeat the rest. All the Servants swear his cock is as big as the rest of him.
Considering the chair looks ready to collapse beneath his weight…
I wouldn’t bet against it.
“Having a good night, princess?” He steals the bottle right out of my hand.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” The word comes out a little slurred.
His smirk widens as he pours himself a drink. “I saw you sneaking off earlier with K9.”
“So?”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “So…I’ve never seen him like this before.” Tilting his head, he studies me. “I read his field reports.”
Heat immediately climbs into my cheeks. I look down at my glass, my fingers tightening around the stem. So people can just read my trauma for fun now? Fucking wonderful.
He pulls out a small baggie, dumps a line onto the back of his hand and snorts it, then offers the baggie to me with a lazy grin.
“Looks like you could use it.”
I hesitate only for a second before taking it. The room tilts a little more pleasantly after doing a line.
“I knew he’d find you.”
I glance up at him. “What?”
“I told your old man to send him. K9’s weird as fuck, but he’s good at two things. Hunting people. And killing people”
“So you two are friends?”
He laughs so hard that he almost chokes on his drink. “Fuck no. I hate the bastard. I just respect his work.”
I take another long sip, the alcohol and coke mixing into a warm haze. “Well…he got me out. So thanks, I guess.” I gesture vaguely with my glass. “I’m sure your non-friend is around here somewhere with Devin’s tongue down his throat.”
“Devin?”
“Yeah. I saw them together earlier.”
“No. That bastard wants nothing to do with any Slut except you.”
He doesn’t want me. He just wants to fuck and leave.
“Well, you can tell your non-friend to fuck off. I’m not his fucking problem anymore. So he can leave me alone and stop calling me solnyshko or whatever the hell—”
“K9 calls you what?” he cuts me off, his eyes widening slightly.
“Solnyshko.”
A slow grin spreads across his face.
“What?” My eyebrows scrunch.
“Did he tell you what it means?”
“He said it means brat.”
The silence lasts exactly one second before he doubles over, laughing so loud that people turn and stare at us.
“What’s so funny?”
He wipes a tear from his eye and stands, towering over me. “That lying motherfucker.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
“Little sun. He’s calling you his goddamn sunshine.” He laughs under his breath. “K9, you soft bastard.”
Grabbing another drink, he walks away.
Something in my chest cracks.
Sunshine.
It’s so impossibly…gentle. So completely at odds with the man who says it that my brain refuses to accept it.
I drain the rest of my glass, trying to push away the tightness in my throat. But it doesn’t work. Because now, every time I hear him call me solnyshko, it’s going to hurt like hell.