Mirrored

Chapter 8

chapter

eight

Luka steered me down the hall—past a dark kitchen and into a bedroom stripped to industrial precision. Blackout curtains. A single slab of mattress on a steel frame. Gunmetal-gray sheets. No photos, no books, nothing personal. It felt like a safe house. Or the kill room of a TV serial murderer.

He nudged me to the edge of the bed and stepped back, hands on his hips, eyes scanning me.

“Is this the part where you tie me up?” I tried for levity, but the words came out thin.

He didn’t smile.

“You want rope?” Luka’s voice went flat. “You think you’re ready for that?”

“I can handle it.” The answer came fast, reflexive. “What, you don’t think I’ve ever been tied up before?”

He let the silence simmer. Then he answered, “Not properly.” Luka’s eyes pinned me.

“And not by anyone who knew how to handle you. How to build you, break you, and put you back together.” The words landed and stayed.

“I’ve told you before—my words are the rope.

When you can obey without testing me, when you can follow without pushing the leash, then you’ll earn the knots. ”

He cupped my jaw and tilted my chin until eye contact wasn’t a request.

“I can obey,” I managed, throat tight. “Just…don’t do what you did last night. Don’t leave me hanging. Please.”

He considered me, shifting his gaze from eye to eye, then let go. “Because you asked nicely,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head, “I won’t.”

The shirt hit the floor. The architecture of his body was all clean lines, hard angles, and corded muscle. His skin was pale, almost translucent, marked here and there with thin white scars.

No tattoos. Not a single mark to suggest rebellion or allegiance. Not even the generic tribal shit I always half-expected on men like him. Somehow, the inklessness made him feel even more dangerous.

I opened my mouth to say something, but a single look from him erased the thought.

He tipped his head toward the bed. “Lie down. Face up. Grab the headboard.”

My body moved before my mind caught up. I shimmied backward on the cold sheets and slid up until the steel headboard pressed against my skull. I reached up, curled my hands around the icy bars. My arms trembled—not from the effort but from how exposed I was.

Luka circled the bed, watching me from every angle, letting the silent seconds hollow me out. “Legs up. Spread them.”

I drew my knees up and parted them wide, feet planted on the mattress. My thighs trembled as I held the position.

He stopped at the foot of the bed. “You want rope?” he asked quietly. “Then hold still. Show me I don’t need it.”

I tightened my grip on the steel bars and didn’t move. The urge to shift—to close my legs, to cover myself—pulled hard. I ignored it.

Luka climbed onto the bed, knees braced apart, his weight dipping the mattress. He ran his palm up the inside of my thigh. The touch was light, almost absent, but it made my stomach jump. He pushed my legs open wider.

I held them there.

He bent over me and paused, close enough that his breath touched me—warm, slow, deliberate. No hands. No mouth. Just the heat of him hovering. The seconds stretched. The ache built, restless, chasing his contact.

“Desperate,” he murmured. “You come in here acting like steel. Then I touch you, and you melt.” The rasp of his stubble grazed the inside of my thigh—not a kiss, just friction—enough to set every nerve on edge. “You want my mouth on this pretty cunt, don’t you?”

I nodded, then managed, “Yes. Please.”

He smiled against my skin. “So polite now. Begging like a good little slut.”

The words lit my brain on fire, hitting harder than the vodka.

His tongue touched down—light, teasing, never landing where I needed it. He exhaled, heat washing over my aching clit. My legs trembled.

“Hold your position,” Luka said. “You move, I stop.”

Every muscle strained, but I held on. He dragged his tongue up the length of me, stopping just short of my clit—then pulled back.

A whimper slipped out of me.

He watched it happen, then leaned in again. This time the stroke was slow, a full, unhurried sweep that left my nerves humming on the edge of overload.

The teasing was over.

He worked me with his mouth like he meant to break me, not soothe me. Not slow, not gentle—every stroke hard, brutal, dragging sensation straight through my core. I jerked at the shock of it, but his hands locked me open, holding me exactly where he wanted me.

There was no rhythm to ease into. No mercy. Just pressure and heat and relentless focus until the ache built, faster than I could contain.

When the orgasm crested, it crashed up from my tailbone and knocked the air from my lungs.

He didn’t let me ride it—didn’t even let me breathe.

Luka held me down and kept going—licking, sucking, driving the sensation sharper and brighter until the aftershocks tipped into a new wave. I screamed, and he only pressed his mouth harder, a low hum against my clit that sent my body spiraling into a second violent contraction.

By the time he finally pulled back, I couldn’t move. Breath wouldn’t line up with my heartbeat. I just lay there, legs splayed, my body twitching through the aftermath in small, helpless spasms.

“What do you say, mila?”

The answer took three tries to force out. “Thank you,” I managed.

He kissed my thigh, slow and hot. “Good girl.” He skimmed his palms up my ribs and over my breasts, kneading life back into my skin, waking every nerve he’d wrung out of me. “You fall apart so beautifully,” he murmured. “I could keep you like this all night.”

He moved to the side of the bed.

“Don’t you dare close those legs,” he said, undoing his belt. “Keep that cunt on display for me.”

He shoved his pants and underwear to the floor and grabbed a foil packet from the nightstand. Then he climbed back onto the bed, kneeling between my thighs, palming his erection.

“You want my cock right now, don’t you?”

I nodded, jaw clenched. “Yes. God, yes.”

He tore the wrapper with his teeth and rolled the condom on in a smooth, practiced motion. “Then beg.”

The word landed like a commandment. My body throbbed, raw and restless, and still he made me say it—made me strip the last control from my voice.

“Please, Luka—” His name broke on the way out. I clung tighter to the headboard. “I need you. Please. I need you inside me.”

“Not good enough.” He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking himself slowly, deliberately. “Say it properly. No pretty words.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, searching for the right words—the words he wanted, and when I found them, they were blunt and ugly and perfect. “I want your cock in my cunt.”

“More.”

I swallowed, my mouth bone dry. The words formed somewhere deep in the animal core of me, beneath all the layers of socialized shame, of pride, of the old stubborn armor I’d worn for years.

“I want you to ruin me,” I whispered. “I want you to fuck me raw. I want to feel it for days. I want you to destroy me. Please.”

He watched my face as I said it. Something shifted in his expression—approval, dark and satisfied. “As you wish.”

Luka lined himself up and drove into me in one brutal thrust. The fit was so impossibly tight I thought my body might split. I screamed, the sound savage and wild, but he clamped his palm to my thigh, pinning me open while he pushed all the way in.

“God, listen to you,” he cooed, his voice a rough velvet. “Already coming apart, and I’ve barely started.”

He pulled out slow—the drag sharp and burning—then slammed back in. The headboard rattled against the wall.

There was no easing into it. No rhythm to soften the impact. Just hard, relentless thrusts, his hips snapping forward again and again, each stroke driving deeper than the last.

I clung to the bars, white-knuckled, trying to brace, but there was no counterforce in the world strong enough to stop him from driving into me. Every time he bottomed out, the force knocked the breath from my lungs. Words dissolved into a broken string of sounds.

Luka didn’t slow, not for a second.

The bed creaked. My body jolted with every impact, legs forced wider as he leaned over me, braced on the headboard, driving deeper, harder.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice rough. “Take it. Take all of it.”

I bucked against him, chasing the friction as the pressure climbed, drawing everything else out.

He bent low, teeth at my ear. “Is this what you wanted?” Luka growled, sweat beading at his temples. “Is this what you needed? To be used up and fucked until your legs go numb?”

I couldn’t answer. The words were gone, peeled from my tongue by the shock of every fresh thrust. All I could do was hold on and take it, the way every muscle in my body craved.

He grabbed my jaw, forcing my face toward him. “Answer me. Is this what you needed?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Fuck, yes.”

“Are you going to thank me?” He drove into me once, hard, making my body spasm around him. “Or do I need to teach you manners?”

“Thank you,” I blurted, breath breaking.

“For what?”

“For…” My face burned. “For fucking me. For using me. For not stopping.”

“Good girl,” Luka purred, his voice thick as tar. He slid his hand from my jaw to my throat, tightening just enough to thin my air, sharpening everything at once.

Luka kept driving into me until my thighs were numb and my breath came in thin, ragged pulls.

He held me in that slipstream between agony and bliss, each thrust winding me tighter, until my body trembled around him.

“Do you want to come again?” Luka’s voice was a deep rumble at my ear.

I nodded, trying to speak, but all that came out was a whimper.

“Say it.”

“Please,” I gasped. “Please, Luka, let me come.”

He pinned me with his eyes, then shifted his hips, grinding against my clit just enough to send a white-hot surge through my nerves.

I cried out, my body locking, straining for release.

“Not yet.” He shifted and slowed his pace just enough to starve the edge.

The denial was exquisite, cruel.

“Please,” I rasped, rolling my hips up to meet him. “Please, I need it.”

He let the words hang between us.

Then he squeezed my throat. Air vanished. So did everything else.

The world collapsed down to Luka’s hand clamped around my throat and the impossible stretch of his cock splitting me open. I clawed at the headboard, vision blurring as the pressure ramped up and my lungs strained for air.

Darkness crept in at the edges. My body locked tight around him, the rhythm of his thrusts the only thing holding the world together. My eyes rolled up, lids fluttering. White and blue sparks flashed, like the afterimage of lightning.

Everything reduced to two points: his hand at my throat, and the crush of him inside me.

Air. Release. Him.

Darkness closed in—

And then he let go.

Oxygen slammed back into my brain. The room exploded into high-def color, sensation crashing over me all at once—brighter, louder, overwhelming.

He shifted his angle, grinding mercilessly against my clit with every thrust.

“Now,” he growled.

And my body obeyed him.

The orgasm detonated hard and fast, ripping up my spine. I wailed, a raw, animal sound, as everything inside me seized and released, seized and released, wave after wave crashing through me until my limbs stopped listening.

He didn’t let up. Luka drove through the aftershocks, steady and relentless, slamming the pleasure deeper.

I came again—no build, no warning, just a second, savage explosion, my body wrung out, nerves firebombed to cinders.

My legs jerked, toes flexed, hands clawed at the slick headboard as I sobbed his name, broken and worshipful and wild.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice ragged and bright. “I told you to come, and you shattered for me. Good girl.”

The words cut straight through the haze.

“I take care of what’s mine.” He tapped my wrists. “Let go.”

I released my grip on his headboard, fire licking at my fingertips as blood rushed back in.

He pulled out just long enough to flip me onto my stomach. Luka hauled my hips up, my face pressed into the pillow. Sweat and the sharp bite of his cologne clung to the fabric. I barely had time to breathe before he drove back into me from behind, so hard and sudden I shrieked.

The angle changed—deeper, each thrust punching the air from my lungs. My cheek pressed into the mattress. Drool pooled at the corner of my mouth, and I didn’t move to wipe it away. I wasn’t holding on anymore. My arms lay heavy on the sheets, my body loose and open while he used it.

“Such a perfect little cunt,” he groaned, voice rough. “I could fuck you all night. Would you let me? Just stay here, take my cock, until you can’t move in the morning?”

I couldn’t answer. All I could give him was a thin, broken moan.

He didn’t wait for more. Luka clamped both hands around my hips, holding me in place as his rhythm turned hard and relentless. My knees slid, my body moving only where he put it, lifted and driven by his force alone.

Then Luka’s control snapped.

His pace turned rough and uneven. He spilled a string of words in a language I didn’t know, his voice hoarse and unmoored. His body tightened, then shuddered as he came, buried deep inside me.

The world reduced to sensation: the heat of him, the pulse and release, the steady grip of his hands keeping me exactly where he wanted me. He kept moving through the last of it, slower now, grinding until the tension drained from his body.

Then he folded over me, breath heavy, his weight settling warm and solid along my back.

For a long moment, we stayed like that—him still inside me, his heat lingering, his body a heavy, anchoring press.

He pulled out slowly, the loss leaving a molten ache behind.

Luka hovered, a wall of sweat and muscle, then dropped onto the bed beside me.

For a moment, he just lay there, arm thrown over his eyes, chest rising and falling.

Then, without a word, he pulled me into him, folding me tight against his body, thigh draped over my leg, hand settled between my breasts.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered. “My sweet little slut. My greedy girl.”

He said it like a blessing, not a slur. And it didn’t sting.

“You take everything I give you.” He grazed his lips along my cheek, then my ear, as if he wasn’t sure whether to soothe or claim.

I don’t know how long we stayed knotted together, my pulse slowly steadying, his hands moving over me in slow, absent trails. My body felt loose and heavy, my mind quiet.

He combed his fingers through my hair—patient, tender—from my scalp to my shoulders, then back again. The rhythm was hypnotic. My breathing synced to the slow glide of his hands.

“I break you so no one else can,” he whispered. His words ghosted against my skin. “And I’ll be the one to keep you in one piece.”