Chapter 3 #2
I stood, breathing hard, and caught our reflection in the mirror above the desk. Luka’s frame swallowed mine—me bare and trembling, him still fully dressed, completely composed. I felt more naked than if he’d stripped me with a knife.
His stubble scraped the side of my neck as he bent to bite, a quick, savage nip that left heat blooming in its wake. “You like that?” he murmured against my skin.
I whimpered and nodded.
He maneuvered me to the edge of the mattress and pressed my shoulders until I sat. Then he pressed a palm to my sternum, pushing until my back met the duvet and my hair fanned out around my face.
“Spread your legs,” he said, voice edged with grit. “Show me that dripping cunt.”
My whole body rang like I’d been struck with a tuning fork. I let my knees fall open for him—wide, immediate, my back arching as my breath left me.
He knelt between my thighs, both hands locking my knees apart, his gaze cold and intent. “Keep them open,” he said, the words hard as ice. “If you close your legs, I’ll tie you to this fucking bed.”
I believed him.
His mouth came down in a single, devastating motion. No teasing, no slow exploration—he just pressed his tongue flat to my clit, the pressure perfect, the tempo ruthless. I bucked, but he held me down, one hand pinning my thigh, his control absolute.
Inside my head, the voices screamed, panicked at how fast I was losing ground, that this was too raw, too much, too soon. But all I wanted was more. I bit down hard on my wrist to keep from screaming his name.
He flicked his tongue in tight, insistent circles, then sucked my clit so hard, I thought he was aiming to pull it from my body.
He played me—tongue, lips, and teeth all weaponized for a single purpose.
Every time I started to climb, he shifted—flattening his tongue into torturous wide strokes, backing off just enough to keep me hovering there, desperate and aching.
I twisted under him, fists bunching in the sheets, thighs trembling as I fought to stay open. When I tried to chase the sensation, he braced his forearm across my hips and held me flat.
Seconds stretched. The tension tightened—higher, hotter—until my whole body balanced on the edge.
And then he stopped.
No warning. No easing back.
I gasped, legs shaking, brain half-erased by the sudden loss.
I whined, the small, animal sound humiliating even as I made it.
He hovered over me, eyes dark, mouth wet. He licked his lips, slowly, then pushed two fingers straight inside me without warning. I arched hard enough that my vision flashed white.
“That’s it,” Luka said quietly. “Take it.”
His fingers moved deep and steady, curling to find the place that made my body jolt. When I twisted, searching for leverage, his other hand clamped at my hip, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
I moaned, raw and unguarded.
He laughed, a short huff against my leg. “That’s what I thought. You like it when someone else is in control.”
His rhythm didn’t change—slow, deliberate, building the pressure higher and higher. He worked my clit in precise circles, the sensation spooling until the edge crept closer.
Just as I started to tip, he eased off. The friction vanished.
I gasped, chasing it.
He did it again—building, holding, then backing away at the last second—keeping me suspended there, open and desperate for what he wouldn’t give.
It was exquisite torture, and every time he denied me, the need got sharper, more ragged, until I was choking on it.
“Please.” My voice was shredded, but he only worked me harder, relentlessly.
“Not until you ask properly,” Luka said, mouth grazing my thigh. The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. “Tell me what you need. Make me believe you.”
Shame burned up my neck, but I couldn’t have lied if I’d tried. “Please, Luka,” I gasped. “Let me come. I need it—fuck, I need it—please—”
Something in my voice must have shifted, because Luka’s entire body braced, and he moved his hand from my hip to my throat—not squeezing, just holding, steady and inescapable.
His other hand drove deep. The pressure, the friction, the precise, merciless circle of his thumb—there was no bracing for it.
I shattered.
The release tore through me from the base of my spine, violent and consuming.
My back arched, legs locking around his shoulders, the world collapsing to the raw pulse of being completely undone.
I keened his name—broken and unfiltered—and he held me there, fingers unyielding, his grip firm at my throat until the last tremor passed.
When he finally stilled, my whole body echoed with the need to scream or sob or bite something, but I just lay there—every muscle liquefied, every synapse shot—struggling to piece myself back together.
He released my throat—this time gently, tracing the column of my neck before pulling away.
Luka rose while my body still hummed, and he crossed to the marble-topped minibar. He ran the tap, sleeves pushed to his forearms, scrubbing my scent from his fingers. In the mirror, I watched his shoulders flex as he shook the water away and dried his hands on a square of white hotel linen.
He settled into the club chair by the window, legs spread, posture loose. Only his eyes were alert, fixed on me, sharpening as he lifted two fingers in a small beckoning motion.
He didn’t speak.
Then he snapped his fingers.
The sound hit low in my stomach. I should have flinched, should have bristled at the command, but instead something in me hollowed out. I slid from the bed, skin damp and prickling, legs unsteady as I walked to him.
“Kneel.”
The carpet licked at my knees as I dropped, awkward, at his feet.
He tipped my chin up with one knuckle. The touch was firm, testing—waiting to see whether I’d pull back.
I didn’t.
“You’re so pretty when you obey.” His voice was so low I felt it more than heard it.
He pressed my head down against his thigh with an easy, proprietary weight, fingers threading into my hair.
The pull at my scalp lit up every raw nerve he’d spent the last hour stripping raw.
My cheek rested against the denim, the crease at his hip warm, carrying a faint trace of tobacco and detergent.
He held me there—immobilized, exposed, and so fiercely claimed it made my lungs burn.
He stroked my damp auburn hair in slow, hypnotic passes, easing out the tangles. Sometimes, he scraped his nails along my scalp, and the sensation rippled through me—soothing, electric, and somehow arousing all at once.
I could have stayed there forever, but the heat was building between my legs again, a deep, restless ache that had nowhere to go. I shifted, pressing closer, nuzzling the hard, heavy line beneath the denim.
I hooked my fingers in his belt, but Luka clamped a hand in my hair and yanked my head back.
The sudden pull snapped my breath out of me, my mouth falling open on a sudden gasp, but his grip only tightened.
He tsked softly, the sound razor-sharp with disappointment.
“You haven’t earned that yet,” he said, amusement and threat in perfect balance.
Something in me snarled. I twisted against his hold, chasing even a sliver of leverage. “What the fuck do you mean, I haven’t earned it?”
He gripped my jaw in one palm, digging his thumb hard into my cheek. His eyes went flat.
“That’s the filthy mouth of a filthy whore. Is that what you are?”
Shame and heat flared through me in the same violent rush. I meant to snap back, to spit something cutting enough to draw blood, but the only sound that came out was a rough, choked whimper.
He smiled without warmth and dragged me closer between his knees. He stopped with my mouth hovering just short of his zipper, close enough for the humiliation to crystallize.
He paused, letting me hang in the gravity well of his body.
“Do you want this?” Luka asked, voice deliberately quiet.
“Yes.”
“Use words.” He tightened his grip on my jaw. “Tell me what you want.”
I wanted to deflect, to give him something clever, but the need had tunneled straight through my pride. “I want you,” I whispered.
He jerked my chin up until I had no choice but to meet those impossibly blue eyes. “I’m right here. Be specific.”
Heat flooded my system, a rush I couldn’t hide. My lips parted, but the words stuck.
He waited, patient as a trap.
“Your…cock,” I managed, my face burning.
A slow, venom-velvet smile unfurled. “Better,” he said softly. “Where do you want my cock?”
I clenched my fists to steady them. “Inside me.”
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek. “There are several places I could go to accomplish that,” he murmured. “So be specific. Where do you want it?”
I blinked, already slipping, every answer sparking in the back of my throat. “Wherever you want,” I said, breathless. “I just…want you inside me.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Wherever I want,” he repeated. He slid his hand to the back of my neck and gripped. “You mean that?”
“God, yes,” I whispered, shifting on my knees, desperate for friction.
A low, guttural sound escaped him, almost a laugh. He pulled me higher so I was level with his belt buckle. “You want to choke on my cock?” he asked, his voice quiet. Almost gentle.
“Yes.”
“Do you want my cock in your sopping cunt?”
I nodded, lips numb. “Yes. Please.”
“Do you want me to split open that tight little ass?”
The words hit like a strike, shocking and bright. I had never—no one had ever. But the hunger in his eyes obliterated every boundary I’d thought was non-negotiable.
I hesitated.
Luka’s eyes cooled. He straightened slowly, hands braced on his knees, studying me as if I’d disappointed him.
“You said wherever I want,” he said, almost casually. “I assumed you meant it.”
Panic flared—first in my chest, then everywhere. “I did,” I rushed. “I do, I—”
He stood. For a split second, I thought he might walk away. He just looked down at me, unreadable. The silence tightened until I couldn’t breathe.
I scrambled forward on my knees. The carpet burned my skin. “No—I meant it. All of it.” My voice shook. “Anywhere. However you want. I just—” The words tangled. “I’ve never—no one’s ever. But I want it. I want you. Please.” It came out ugly and desperate, but it was the truth.
He didn’t move. His face gave nothing away.
Then he crouched down, bringing us level, his forehead almost touching mine. Those bright, invasive eyes locked on my face.
“You want it?” he said quietly. “You want me to use you however I see fit?”
I nodded.
“Then earn it.” His voice turned diamond-hard. He planted his hands on either side of his knees, boxing me in with denim and shadow. “Show me you know how to obey.”
I looked up at him, waiting for a command. Something to fix this. “How?” I whispered. “Tell me how.”
He didn’t blink. “Go to bed.”
I hesitated, thrown by the simplicity.
He didn’t repeat himself. He just pointed to the bed.
I stood, knees aching, and crossed the room. The sheets were still tangled from before. I perched on the edge, unsure whether he wanted me open or composed, and looked up at him for instruction.
“Lie back. Head on the pillow.”
I did. The mattress dipped under my weight. My skin felt too hot and too cold at once, my breathing still uneven.
He moved to the bedside. Then he stopped. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, hands in his pockets like a man studying a fire he had no intention of putting out.
I pressed my thighs together, aching for a shred of friction. For a signal from him. Anything.
“Look at you,” he said at last, his voice soft. “Absolutely beautiful.” He raked his gaze down my body, then up again. “You want me to fuck you.” It wasn’t a question.
I swallowed—mouth dry as tinder—and nodded.
“You want it so badly you’re going to come apart if you don’t have me.”
I managed another nod and a whimper.
Luka smiled. Cold. Certain. He leaned in, close enough that his breath stirred the damp hair at my temple.
“Good,” he said, brushing his thumb across my cheek, the touch almost tender. “But not tonight.”
The words didn’t land at first. I waited for the rest—the correction, the next command.
But it never came.
Instead, he pulled the duvet over me. He smoothed it to my shoulders, tucking the edges in with slow, careful hands. The gesture was gentle. The control underneath it was not.
Heat flooded through me—frustration, want, anger—but he just kept tucking, as if I were something fragile. As if I belonged to him.
He brushed a loose strand of hair from my forehead.
“Go to sleep,” he said quietly. “Fantasize about me. Every way I’m going to ruin you.
Every way I’ll break you open until you forget your own name.
” He grazed his lips across my cheek, my temple, then my forehead.
“But you’re not going to touch yourself, Alex.
Not tonight.” His voice hardened. “I want you wound so tight, you snap the moment I put my hands on you.” He straightened up.
“Don’t touch yourself. Not a finger. Be a good girl, and keep your hands off what’s mine. Understand?”
I nodded. I couldn’t have spoken if I’d tried.
“I’ll be outside at eight,” he said. “I’m taking you to work in the morning.”
He paused at the door.
“Sleep well, mila.”
Then he left.
The door shut behind him.
The silence dropped like a lid.
I lay there—naked, aching, wrapped in hotel linen—my pulse thrashing, my body still burning. I wanted to scream.