Viktor
She’s coming.
My hands grip the arms of my chair, my entire body wired, locked, fucking shaking with it.
I should wait. Should sit here calmly, let her walk into my house, let her fall into my trap without a single flicker of suspicion.
But I won’t. Because I’ve waited long enough.
The sleek black car pulls into my driveway.
My breath stops.
The door opens.
And then—she steps out.
My vision blurs with raw fucking need.
She looks so small, so soft, so fucking perfect.
Her deep brown skin glows under the porch lights, her thick thighs shifting, her body built to take everything I’m going to give her.
I breathe through my nose, gripping my desk, my cock already thick, already aching.
I should have had her already. Should have taken her from that apartment, thrown her on my bed, bruised her fucking perfect skin with my teeth, my hand gripping her thighs apart as I shoved inside her.
I should have already fucking bred her.
But she’s here now. Walking up the steps. Straight into my fucking hands.
I rise from my chair, stalking toward the entrance.
I don’t care what her father says. Don’t care what she thinks this is. Because the second she walks through that door— She’s not leaving.