Chapter 9 #2
Pressure built at the base of my spine. My balls tightened. I was so close—
I stopped abruptly and pulled back, my cock slipping free from her breasts with an obscene sound.
Hazel looked up at me, confused and relieved.
But I wasn't done.
I grabbed her roughly and flipped her onto her back, spreading her legs wide. Her body was already responding despite her fear—I could see the wetness between her thighs.
I drove into her in one brutal thrust.
She cried out, and I didn't care. I fucked her hard, each stroke deep and punishing. Her body still felt incredible, still gripped me like a vice. Her tits bounced with each thrust, and I couldn't stop staring at them.
"Still so tight," I muttered, more to myself than her. "Still so perfect." Her body accommodated me so well, like she was made for this. Made for me to use.
I pounded into her relentlessly, chasing my own release. Her small hands pushed weakly at my chest, but I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. With the other, I reached down to grip her breast again, squeezing hard enough to leave marks.
This body. This woman. Everything about her drove me insane.
When I finally came, it was with a guttural growl, my hips slamming into her one last time as I emptied myself deep inside her. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me until I was spent.
I collapsed beside her, breathing hard.
Hazel curled onto her side away from me, shoulders shaking—I wasn't sure if she was crying or just recovering from the impact.
The room smelled of sex and sweat.
I reached out and pulled Hazel's waist, dragging her entire body into my arms.
Hazel let out a weak gasp, her body instinctively stiffening, but she had no strength to struggle. Her back pressed tightly against my chest, her soft body fitting completely into my embrace, like two puzzle pieces clicking seamlessly together.
I rested my chin on top of her head.
That scent mixed with body wash and faint milky sweetness filled my nostrils again, dispelling the unpleasant odors in the room.
Since Isabella died, I'd never been this relaxed in any bed.
I'd never let down all my defenses around anyone. In the past, even the most expensive call girls had to leave my room immediately after—I didn't allow anyone to share my sleeping space, didn't allow anyone to see the vulnerability I might show in sleep.
But now, holding this woman who resisted me, my eyelids grew impossibly heavy.
Drowsiness rushed over me like a tide, quickly drowning all my consciousness.
In the darkness, I drifted back to that scene.
That rainy night ten years ago.
The abandoned dock's clearing was flooded with rainwater, the sky an oppressive lead gray, raindrops hammering the ground like bullets, splashing up countless droplets.
Isabella stood less than six feet away from me.
She wore a white dress, her long hair plastered to her cheeks by rain. She turned around, looking at me with that gentle gaze I knew so well, a smile at the corners of her mouth—that smile that belonged only to her, that brought peace.
"Viktor," Isabella called my name, her voice somewhat muffled in the rain.
My heart contracted violently.
I ran toward Isabella eagerly, wanting to hold her in my arms again.
But the instant I was about to embrace her, an extremely muffled gunshot suddenly rang out.
I watched helplessly as Isabella's dress exploded in a spray of blood.
The powerful bullet's impact threw Isabella's entire body backward. Her body fell to the ground like a kite with its string cut, splashing up a large pool of blood-mixed water.
"Isabella!" I let out a heart-wrenching roar in the dream.
I lunged forward like a madman, my knees hitting the ground hard, my hands desperately pressing on that terrible hole in her chest.
Warm blood kept gushing from between my fingers, no matter how hard I pressed. It mixed with rainwater and flowed away, pooling into a glaring red puddle on the ground.
Isabella's face turned visibly pale.
Her lips moved, desperately trying to tell me something. I put my ear to her mouth but heard nothing—only mouthful after mouthful of blood spilling from the corners of her mouth, flowing down her cheeks.
That bullet had been meant for me.
The Moretti family's assassin had aimed at my heart. Isabella just happened to be standing in that fatal trajectory—she'd only wanted to persuade me that rainy night not to attend that negotiation destined to become a bloody slaughter.
She'd taken death for me.
I jerked my head up and through the misty rain saw a blurred black figure standing on the roof of that abandoned building across the way. The figure held a rifle, smoke still rising from the barrel.
I charged toward that building like a madman.
I would kill him with my own hands. I would make him pay.
I rushed to the rooftop, savagely tackling him onto the rough concrete. I extended both hands, gripping that person's neck with a death grip, using every ounce of strength in my body.
I felt the carotid artery under my palms pulsing violently, felt that person's throat bones making painful grinding sounds in my grip, felt his body convulsing violently under my restraint—
Kill him, kill him, fucking die.
The person I had pinned beneath me began to struggle violently. Two hands grabbed my wrists, desperately trying to pry my fingers open.
But that bit of strength wasn't nearly enough.
But gradually, I felt several drops of warm liquid fall on the back of my hand.
Then a weak whimper reached my ears.
"Vik...Viktor...let...let go..."
It was a woman's crying voice.
That sound was like a sharp steel needle, piercing directly through the nightmare's barrier.
I snapped my eyes open.