Chapter Seventeen
Valentina
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Every few days, my banking app chimes with wire transfer notifications. Three hundred thousand from a corporate gala. Four hundred and ten thousand for a private security mission. A half-million from a law firm that wanted him to redesign their protocol.
My mind spins. I don’t understand him. Is he doing all this just because he wants to sleep with me? It makes absolutely no sense.
If he’s expecting some mind-shattering, exceptional lay, he is going to be severely disappointed.
In reality, I am incredibly vanilla. I don't enjoy sucking dick; the mere thought of it annoys me, and Viktor is the only man on this earth I have ever actually craved to wrap my lips around.
I absolutely despise anyone going down on me—it is entirely too intimate.
I even refuse to do standard positions like doggy style because the thought that a man can see my butthole makes me utterly cringe.
I am certainly not a siren. Besides, with just a crook of his massive finger, Viktor could get absolutely anyone he wants in his bed. He is a literal force of nature.
By all logic, shouldn't he be weaker? Meeker? He spent years trapped in a cage. I expected him to hate sex, or be a submissive pet who just did what he was told.
And yet, despite his admirable strength, the trauma is still very much there.
He is pathologically untrusting of strangers.
Whenever he gets a new consulting offer, he reads over the contract a million times, researching every single name attached, terrified that it’s the exact same trap that got him trafficked.
As if I’d ever let that happen to him again.
When he eats his meals, his forearm is always braced around his plate as if someone might snatch it away from him at any second.
And hospitals, needles, and medications are a complete, non-negotiable no-go for him.
He is traumatized. But instead of letting it drown him, he is fighting his past every single day with a purpose that I just cannot wrap my head around.
What is his goal? His purpose?
Me?
Could he actually be falling in love with me? But why? I am not a charming woman. I am ruthless, stubborn, and I have fucked up with him more times than I can count. What is there to love?
I tighten the belt of my silk robe around my waist. It’s another long night, and Viktor is out working late again.
The house intercom chimes, startling me.
"Ms. Blackwood," the concierge's voice crackles through the speaker. "Apologies for the late hour, ma'am. A courier just dropped off a priority package for you. I've sent it up via the lift."
My brows furrow. "Thank you, Arthur."
I usually don't get packages delivered directly to the penthouse; everything goes to my assistant first. Needing anything to get my mind off Viktor, I walk over to the foyer and pull the cardboard box inside.
I sit at the kitchen island and slice the tape open. Inside, there are no packing peanuts. A neatly folded piece of paper rests on top of a black object.
I pick up the paper first. It is a manifesto of absolute, unadulterated hate. Corporate whore. Ruiner of lives. Disgusting, arrogant bitch. My eyes skim down the paragraphs of vile cuss words until they hit the final sentence: Do the world a favor and just kill yourself.
I drop the paper and look into the box. Resting at the bottom is a fully loaded handgun. I’m not really scared. It isn't the first time someone has wanted me to off myself. It isn't going to happen.
I’m surrounded by top-tier security. And even though Viktor is out earning money I’ve told him a million times I don't want, he has personally vetted every single guard on my rotation. I am completely safe.
Who could it be? Noah Davis? It’s highly probable. My legal team has spent the last month blocking every single capital deal his startup has tried to close, bleeding him dry as punishment for his little egg stunt. A ruined little boy is exactly the type to send a death threat.
Or Harrison Vance? But there's no way he’s an idiot big enough to mail a firearm to a Blackwood estate.
I reach for my phone to dial my investigator, but the front door lock clicks before I can. Viktor’s home.
I grab the gun and slide it behind my back, forcing my shoulders to drop, trying to maintain my composure.
Viktor is covered in a light sheen of sweat. He looks exhausted, but the second his gaze lands on me, he stops dead in his tracks.
He looks right at my shoulders, and at the way my arms are locked behind my waist.
"What is that?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say, taking a slow step backward toward the living room. "Just some documents I was reviewing before bed. You're home late. You should get some sleep."
"Valentina," he warns. His massive chest is nearly pressing into my face. "Do not play with me right now."
"Viktor, seriously, go to bed—"
Before I can even finish the sentence, he is reaching for me. He doesn't hurt me, but his grip is rough, easily wrenching my arms from behind my back. The heavy black 9mm and the crinkled paper slip from my fingers.
Viktor stares down at the loaded firearm and the letter. For a fraction of a second, the anger vanishes from his features, replaced by absolute horror. His breath catches in his throat so fast it sounds like a gasp.
Then, the horror twists into pure, unadulterated insanity.
A flush creeps up his neck, his jaw locking so hard I can hear his teeth grind into fucking powder. He looks completely feral as he looks from the gun back to my face.
"You were going to keep this from me?" he hisses. "You were going to hide this? Are you completely out of your mind?!"
"Yes, because it’s not that deep, Viktor!" I snap back. "Threats are normal in my line of work. It happens all the goddamn time. I'm surrounded by security, most of whom you personally vetted. You are already exhausted, and you didn't need this."
"I don't need this?" he roars, grabbing the front of my silk robe, using it to force me to stand on my tiptoes and look up into his crazed eyes. "No one threatens you, Valentina. No one gets to send a bullet to your house and tell you to die!"
"You are already working yourself into an early grave, and I am trying to keep you from losing your mind over a pathetic piece of paper!"
The vein in his neck bulges with every pulse, violent enough that for a second, I swear it’s about to tear free from his skin and crawl across the floor.
"If someone puts a hole in you, Valentina, all your millions won't help you then.
And you were going to sit here, alone in the dark, and look at it without telling the man whose entire purpose is to protect you? !"
"I don't need a keeper!" I yell, desperate to regain my slipping control. “I handle my own shit!"
"You handle nothing when it comes to this!" he growls, the sound rising from the absolute depths of his chest. "You are an arrogant girl who needs to be taught a lesson."
"Viktor, calm down—"
Suddenly my feet are no longer touching the floor. I let out a startled gasp as he hauls me up like I weigh nothing. He drops onto the couch and drags me face-down across his lap hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
“Viktor! Put me down right now!” I shriek, my nails scraping against the cushions as I try to push myself up.
One thick forearm crushes across the small of my back, forcing me deeper into the couch until I can barely move. With his free hand, he shoves the silk of my robe up my thighs, exposing my black thong.
Crack.
He just fucking spanked me. And it hurt like a bitch.
My eyes widen in shock. "Viktor, stop!"
Crack.
"You are a fool," he spits above me as his hand comes down a third time. Crack. "You want to prove you do not need me? You will learn to let me look out for you, even if I have to spank it into your stubborn skin."
At first, I fight him with everything I have. I twist my hips, kicking my legs, my face burning with humiliation. No one has ever touched me like this. No one has ever dared to ‘punish’ me.
But Viktor doesn't give an inch. His hand keeps coming down. Crack. Crack.
And then, somewhere around the seventh strike, the protest inside my mind just... stops.
The stinging heat radiating across my skin starts shifting into something different. Arousal. His spanks hitting my skin don’t feel humiliating anymore. To my warped, overwhelmed brain, it starts to sound like church bells.
Why do they sound like church bells? Why does this feel so right?
He isn't being gentle at all. His hand is leaving burning red marks on my skin.
But the suffocating distance between us is entirely gone.
He isn't two steps behind me in a hallway anymore, or sitting on the opposite end of a couch leaving a foot of empty space between us.
He is acting out because the absolute thought of losing me drives him insane.
And I love that.
A broken moan slips past my lips. I can feel myself growing slick. But the moment that sound leaves my mouth, Viktor seems to snap awake.
His palm vanishes. The sudden absence of his touch leaves me feeling strangely cold and exposed. I slowly tilt my head back, blinking through the haze of my own arousal.
Viktor is staring down at his own open right hand. His face is entirely bloodless, his expression one of absolute horror and disgust.
Fuck.
I know exactly what is flashing through his mind right now. The red-hot fog of his protective fury has cleared, and all he sees is a monster. He thinks he’s no better than the violent animals from his past.
He scrambles backward, nearly throwing me off his lap as he lunges to his feet. He backs away from the couch, his hands raised in front of him as if he’s trying to keep himself from touching anything else.
"I am sorry," he mumbles. "Valentina... I am sorry. I do not know what I was thinking. I lost my mind. I am a beast. I will pack my things. Please... please forgive me, Valentina. I am so sorry."
The panic in his eyes is eating him whole. I can’t let him shut down, pack his bags, and walk out into the night believing he’s a monster. To the rest of the world, he might be a terrifying brute, but to me, he is absolutely perfect.
I reach for the satin tie of my robe, pulling it loose to let the silk pool onto the floor. I am left standing before him in nothing but my thong.
Despite myself, standing entirely bare before a man like him makes me feel incredibly small. What if he doesn't find me sexy? What if my body bores him after everything he's seen?
Viktor’s eyes darken to something scorching, his gaze crawling from my small breasts to my hips, then down my bare legs. His pupils dilate until his eyes look almost entirely black.
"Fuck," he groans. He clenches his fists, tearing his eyes away toward the ceiling. "Fuck... you cannot do this to me, Valentina. Please. I am trying to apologize to you. I am trying to be a man of honor..."
I close the distance between us, stopping just inches from his chest.
"Viktor," I say softly. "Look at me. There is nothing to apologize for."
"No, I put my hands on you in anger," he insists as he tries to step back, but I follow him. "I crossed a line."
All my life, I’ve been running myself ragged trying to control every variable, trying to handle the world alone. But sitting on his lap, feeling him overpower my stubbornness... I didn't feel abused. I felt looked after.
"Maybe I wanted you to cross it," I whisper, stepping so close that his skin presses against mine. "You handle the threats. You make sure I eat. You vet every person who steps onto this floor to make sure I'm safe. The thought of me getting hurt drives you insane."
He swallows hard. "I chose that to be my purpose in life."
"It’s even more than that," I murmur, letting my hand hover just over his racing heart. "You were acting like you're in charge of me."
He traps his lower lip between his teeth. I can tell he likes the sound of it, but his guilt is still fighting for control. "Valentina, I am trying to be good."
"You're better than good. When you were spanking me, I wasn't thinking about a contract, Viktor. All I could think was... daddy is finally putting me in my place."
Daddy?
Where the hell is the daddy talk coming from? I’m shocking even myself. I’ve always been so plain, so completely vanilla. I feel like a devil has possessed me. What if I'm just twisting his protective instincts to get what I want? What if, despite everything, I’m still just taking advantage of him?
But I literally can’t stop. It feels too right to call him my daddy.
Goddamn it. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s like a filthy sex demon has possessed me.
If I were to analyze myself, I'd say it comes from the fact that I've spent years fending for myself. Yes, I had money. I had connections. My father didn't leave me struggling when he died—he made sure I was comfortable.
But beyond the millions, I had no one.
No one to take care of me. No one to kiss me goodnight. No one to make sure I'd eaten or ask how my day had been.
Then Viktor came along and somehow stepped into all those empty spaces in my life.
Maybe that's why I have the urge to call him Daddy.
Outside these walls, I can be as much of a boss bitch as I want. But with him, in private, I don't have to.
I let him take control. I let him tell me what to do.
Viktor lets out a strangled gasp.
"What did you say?" he wheezes.
"You heard me," I tease softly, intoxicated by the power the word has over him. "Daddy protects me. Daddy makes sure I'm taken care of. And when I'm a bad girl and hide things from him, daddy spanks me. It just... it felt so right, Viktor. Having you take control."
I can tell that he wants to grab me, to devour me right here on the floor. He likes it too much. Hearing me submit to him.
Do it.
He trembles from head to toe, doubling over with a groan as a dark spot forms on his trousers. He came undone.
My thighs press together as my pussy starts weeping, and I lean up to press my lips to his. But the moment our lips touch, Viktor turns his head so my lips only brush the stubbled skin of his jaw.
"No... Daddy needs to work before he can touch you."
Hearing him call himself daddy makes me want to rub my pussy all over him, just to get some relief.
"You do not get to tempt me out of my vow. Go to bed."
It’s like strings connected from the sky move me to my bedroom, like a little doll that wants to obey. But my core is throbbing. He didn't give in, leaving me completely incinerating in my own heat.