Chapter 12
chapter
twelve
Luka snapped his fingers—once, sharp as a whip crack—and the crowd broke apart.
Then he lifted me off the bench, hands firm at my waist, hauling me upright as my legs gave out. I sagged against him, shaking, and he held me there, solid and unyielding.
His lips brushed my ear. “With me.”
I stumbled as he moved, heels skittering on mirrored tile. The mask narrowed everything to a tunnel. I felt the room watching—my bare skin, the slick between my thighs—but Luka shielded me, a wall that dared anyone to get close.
He moved fast.
The air shifted as he pulled me into a narrow corridor lined in shadow and obsidian panels. The music dropped to a dull throb behind us. I clutched his forearm to stay upright, my steps uneven, stilettos scraping the floor in uneven, frantic clicks.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t slow.
We passed a row of alcoves. He stopped at one, a single strip of red light glowing beneath the heavy velvet curtain.
He shoved it aside and dragged me in.
The room was small—a mirrored wall, a low padded bench, and darkness thick enough to swallow everything except him.
Before I could catch my breath, he pressed me to the glass, my cheek flattening to the cool mirror.
He closed in behind me, his hips locked against mine, pinning me with the full line of his body. Heat radiated through his tactical pants, his hard length pressing against me. The mirror trembled—bass, or him, or both.
He gripped my jaw, twisting my head until our eyes met in the reflection.
“I can’t fucking let you go now.”
My chest seized, lungs refusing air.
“Then don’t,” I whispered.
With a growl, he bent me over the bench, one palm splayed flat at the small of my back, holding me in place.
A zip. A rustle. Foil tearing. In the mirror, I caught the quick slide of his hand as he rolled the condom on—then his cock, thick and furious. He crowded in behind me, a fist at my hip, the other braced on the nape of my neck, holding me bowed and open.
My heart thundered, blood hot and wild.
“Eyes open.”
The command was a slap of ice on raw skin.
Luka coiled his fist in my hair until my neck arched and I found our doubled image in the mirror.
“Watch,” he murmured against my ear. “Watch while I claim what’s mine.”
Then he drove into me.
I screamed. The sound cartwheeled off the walls. The pressure turned to pain, a stretch so deep I thought I might split in half.
But I wanted more.
He fucked me like I was a fix and he was mainlining. There was nothing careful in the way he moved—only urgency, the hard, relentless rhythm of someone who needed to feel me there, to keep me there.
Our reflections crashed together in the glass—my lips parted, my body pressed forward with every thrust, his mask close behind me, his jaw tight, his control gone rough at the edges.
Our eyes met.
“You’re mine,” he growled, each syllable rough and thick.
“Yours,” I gasped, my breath fogging the mirror.
He snapped into a harder cadence. My legs trembled and threatened to give, but Luka kept me braced, palm firm at the base of my spine.
“Say it again,” he said between thrusts. “Say who you belong to.”
“You.” My voice broke on the syllable. “I belong to you.”
Luka gripped my hair tighter, pulling me upright, his chest pressed to my back, still buried deep inside me. Pain shot through my scalp and blazed straight to my core, pain and pleasure blurring into the same bright line.
Behind us, I heard movement—a shuffling, a hush. In the mirror, shapes gathered—one figure, then another. Masked faces, watching as Luka held me, used me, claimed me in the dim light.
He saw them too. His eyes flicked to the glass, caught the crowd, and a brutal smile split his face.
He slowed, teasing the head of his cock just inside me, grinding cruel circles so that my hips chased him.
Then he pulled out.
The sudden emptiness left me swaying, thighs weak, breath breaking. I started to fold, but Luka caught my waist and spun me to face him.
He hooked my thigh at the knee, hiking my leg up onto the padded bench so I was wide open, fully exposed.
“Usually I don’t mind an audience,” he said, voice so low it vibrated through my ribs.
“But tonight…” He reached back, grabbed a fistful of curtain, and yanked it shut with a snap.
The velvet swallowed the light, leaving just the two of us, bodies and mirror and sweat-fogged glass. “Tonight, you’re all mine.”
He shoved back inside me, one hand clamped high on my thigh, the other anchoring my hip. The force knocked my spine into the mirror, icy glass against my shoulders, as my heel slid on the slick vinyl of the bench.
“God, look at you,” he rasped against my ear, thrusting in short, brutal strokes. “Look at this greedy little cunt taking every inch.” Another hard drive stole the air from my lungs. “You need it, don’t you?”
I couldn’t answer.
He didn’t let up. Not for a second.
He kept the rhythm deep and relentless, every thrust hitting the same place, the friction building fast, until my legs trembled under me.
He palmed my ass—tight, then a sharp slap. Once. Then again. The sting snapped through the haze.
I turned my head toward the mirror. Even through the mask, I saw it in my eyes.
Gone.
Not embarrassed. Not holding back.
A woman who wanted it harder. Rougher. Dirtier.
A woman who didn’t care what it made her.
He twisted his hand in my hair, pulling my head to him. “Beg,” he breathed against my ear. “Beg me to let you come on my cock.”
A bolt of heat ripped up my spine—shame and need colliding into a desperate pull to give him whatever he wanted.
I clawed at his forearm, dragging in air that wouldn’t come, tears blurring my vision. I didn’t know if they were from the pain or pressure building inside me. I only knew I needed to please him. Needed him to let me break.
“Please,” I managed, the word crumbling in my mouth. “Please, let me come—”
Luka closed a gloved hand around my throat, fingers pressing just enough to tell me who owned my air, my pulse, my very heartbeat. He turned my head so I was looking at my reflection again.
“Watch,” he ordered, driving into me harder. “See what you look like when I break you.”
The words, the pressure, the rhythm—everything crashed together.
“Don’t look away.” His words were a clamp. “You come with your eyes open, or you don’t come at all.”
I stared.
In the glass, the woman looking back was flushed, mouth open, eyes wide and wrecked with need. No restraint. Nothing held back.
The pleasure rippled up my legs, cinched behind my knees, then cascaded up my spine. The burn tightened and pulled, rising until my vision tunneled and my body locked. I broke open on a shuddering wail.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Luka growled, each thrust blurring the line between annihilation and bliss. “You come so hard for me—so fucking tight.” His voice sounded barely human, ragged against my ear. “God, you’re perfect.”
He didn’t slow for a second, using my body as if it was built for nothing else. Every inch of me was his.
“Now, fucking take it all.” Luka locked his hands on my hips, fingers digging bruises into the flesh. I was delirious, unable to stand, so he held me up and thrust into me, the full line of his body slamming me into the glass over and over.
He panted, guttural, losing the last shreds of composure. The rhythm devolved, hips pistoning in brutal staccato, desperate, until he let go with a snarl that was more animal than man. Luka thrust one final time, buried to the hilt, and shuddered hard as he came.
He stayed like that—twitching, spasming, fingers welded to my hips—until the tremors faded and the only thing holding me upright was the glass and the vise of his arms.
Then, close to my ear, rough and certain—
“Mine.”