Chapter 9
Viktor
The room was almost dark.
Only two sconces by the bed cast a weak amber glow, throwing soft shadows across the walls. The central air ran silently through the massive space.
I'd just finished fourteen straight hours of high-intensity work.
Those idiots from the Moretti family on the East Coast had tried to cut off one of my smuggling routes today, forcing me to personally handle those treacherous contact men at the Long Beach shipping docks.
I'd spent six full hours in that warehouse reeking of rust and fish, watching Jack use the most "traditional" methods to teach those traitors the cost of betraying the Gromov family.
Days of exhaustion had my nerves strung tight. My temples throbbed.
I entered the room and locked the door behind me.
Hazel lay at the edge of the bed.
She'd already been bathed according to Margaret's rules. She wore a revealing silk nightgown, the thin fabric clinging to her body's curves, half-visible in the dim light.
Hazel's golden-brown curls fell softly over her shoulders, still carrying the scent of shampoo. Her hands clasped together on her knees, her whole body curled into a tight ball, presenting a tense, pitiful defensive posture.
She'd probably had a rough day.
Anya certainly hadn't been kind to her, and the servants naturally sided with Anya. Evelyn had reported this afternoon that Hazel had stayed locked in her room all day, hadn't even eaten dinner.
I knew all of it.
But I wasn't going to intervene.
Whatever her reasons, she'd made her choice. A woman who sold herself would naturally be looked down on in this cutthroat circle of Los Angeles elites.
The cold shoulders, the mockery, the harsh treatment—these were the prices she had to pay.
The protection I provided was limited to her physical safety—ensuring she wouldn't be kidnapped or assassinated by my enemies, ensuring she could safely deliver the child.
Everything else was outside my responsibilities. I wasn't responsible for protecting her dignity, wouldn't coddle her fragile emotions, wouldn't speak up for her in front of gossiping servants.
She needed to learn to adapt.
I went into the bathroom, took a hot shower, washed off the smell of blood and gunpowder. When I returned to the bedroom in my robe, Hazel was still curled in the same position at the edge of the bed.
But I knew she wasn't asleep.
Because when she heard my footsteps, her body trembled noticeably.
She was genuinely afraid of me.
Plenty of people feared me, but Hazel showed it more obviously than most.
I walked to the other side of the large bed, pulled back the covers, and lay down.
This bed was enormous, a custom-made oversized double. I deliberately kept a clear distance from Hazel—nearly a meter of space between us.
Tonight I had no extra interest.
My muscles ached from a full day of violent conflict, my shoulders and back tight. My brain needed to shut down immediately, but whether in the car or just now in the conference room, I hadn't managed to fall asleep.
Numbers, accounts, names, and assassination plans kept spinning in my head like a swarm of buzzing flies.
I pinned my hopes on that trembling figure with her back to me.
Hard to explain why Hazel had this effect on me. Maybe her mild, gentle nature naturally gave people a relaxing power; or maybe the scent that naturally emanated from her had some calming effect.
But regardless, now she was working her therapeutic magic.
I closed my eyes, regulated my breathing, and tried to let myself sink into sleep. Familiar drowsiness began to wash over me, my consciousness gradually blurring, my body gradually relaxing.
But just as I was about to fall asleep, I clearly felt Hazel on the other side of the bed roll over, turn her head, and stare at me intently in the darkness.
That feeling of being watched was too obvious.
In the mafia world, being stared at for long periods is an extremely dangerous signal—it means someone is observing your weaknesses, looking for an opportunity to strike, preparing to deliver a fatal blow when you're most relaxed.
My body instinctively rejected this scrutiny, all the muscles that had just relaxed instantly tensing again.
I endured for a moment, tried to ignore that burning gaze, but this stare completely destroyed my patience.
Fuck.
I snapped my eyes open and turned to look at Hazel.
"What are you looking at?" I hadn't meant to scare her, but being interrupted from sleep made my voice obviously impatient.
Hazel jumped at my sudden question, shoulders shrinking back, hands wringing together hard.
She bit her lip, hesitated in the darkness for a few seconds, then worked up the courage to speak.
"Are we... not doing it today?" Her voice was small, tentative, carrying a barely detectable hope.
I frowned, didn't answer her stupid question.
Seeing I didn't respond, Hazel assumed she had tacit approval, then took a deep breath and continued with her request.
"Since we're not doing it today, can I leave and sleep somewhere else?" She spoke quickly, as if afraid she'd lose courage if she spoke slower. "I know there are plenty of empty guest rooms in this manor. My staying here will only disturb your rest. I can go to that room at the end of the hallway—"
Looking at her face written with fear and desire to escape, I almost laughed from anger.
She wanted to leave?
What did she think this place was? Some fast food joint where she could clock in and out? Did she think she could just walk away when her "shift ended"?
She'd signed that sleeping contract, taken my money, accepted my protection, and now she had the audacity to think she could decide which bed to sleep in.
"Sleep somewhere else?" I repeated her words, a mocking laugh rising from my throat.
I instantly threw off my covers and lunged toward the other side of the bed.
Hazel let out a short cry of alarm. She didn't even have time to react before I'd pinned her hard beneath me. I used my knee to forcefully push her legs apart, wedged myself between them, trapping her entire body between me and the mattress.
"You seem to have misunderstood something, Hazel. You don't get to decide anything. Understand?"
"I understand." Hazel's voice carried a sob.
"Since you're so eager to fulfill your contractual obligations—" I cut her off, one hand braced beside her head, the other pressing down on her struggling shoulder, "I shouldn't disappoint you. Let's do it now."
Hazel twisted her body desperately, trying to break free from my restraint.
"That's not what I meant, I just—let me go—"
Hazel's resistance completely ignited that inexplicable fury in my chest.
I couldn't say where this anger came from.
Fuck.
I didn't know. I only knew that the more she showed she didn't want to be with me, the more irritated I became.
Hazel was still struggling, though her resistance was completely futile, and the more she struggled, the more intensely her body rubbed against mine.
I'd only meant to scare her, make her understand her place, make her know who was in charge in this room.
But this chaotic writhing actually ignited the desire within me.
I could feel her soft body undulating beneath me, could smell that scent of fear mixed with sweat and body wash, could hear her broken sobs—
These sensory stimulations fell like sparks on dry kindling, instantly bursting into flame.
My free hand grabbed the collar of her silk nightgown and yanked hard.
With the harsh sound of tearing fabric, the nightgown's collar ripped open, exposing a large expanse of pale skin on her chest.
"You don't have the right to say no," I warned.
My palm slid across her exposed skin. Her body was so soft, so warm. I traced the curve of her collarbone, then moved lower, cupping her breast. She was fuller than I remembered—round and firm, filling my entire hand. My thumb brushed across her nipple, and I felt it harden despite her fear.
My cock strained instantly against my robe. Blood rushed south so fast it made my head spin.
I squeezed harder, kneading her flesh, watching her face contort between fear and unwanted sensation. "You need to remember what you're here for. You're mine to use whenever I want. Say it."
"I'm—" Her voice broke. "I'm yours to use."
"Whenever I want," I prompted, my hand still working her breast.
"Whenever you want." Tears streamed down her temples.
I released her and sat back on my heels, unknotting my robe and letting it fall open. My erection jutted out, hard and demanding.
"Come here." I grabbed her wrist and pulled her up to a sitting position. "Use these." I placed her hand on her own breast.
Hazel's eyes widened in horror as understanding dawned. Her whole body went rigid.
"I can't—I don't know how—"
"You'll figure it out." I positioned her between my legs, my cock standing inches from her chest. "Press them together."
Her hands shook as she brought her breasts together. The sight alone made me harder. They were perfect—large enough to engulf me, soft and pale with those pink nipples still peaked from my earlier attention.
I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her forward, sliding my cock between those perfect mounds. The sensation was incredible—warm and soft and tight. I groaned.
"Move," I ordered.
Hazel began to slide her body up and down, her breasts gliding along my length. Her movements were clumsy, uncertain, but that made it even better. Her inexperience, her obvious discomfort, the tears still wet on her cheeks—it all fed something dark in me.
I thrust my hips, fucking her tits harder. The head of my cock appeared and disappeared between her breasts with each stroke. Precum leaked from the tip, making everything slicker.
"Open your mouth," I growled. "Put your tongue out."
She hesitated only a second before obeying. When the head of my cock emerged from her cleavage on the next thrust, it brushed against her outstretched tongue.
The wet heat nearly undid me. I grabbed the back of her head, holding her in place as I thrust faster. Each time my cock emerged, it slid across her tongue, into her mouth. She gagged, but I didn't let her pull away.