Chapter 31
JENNA
The room stops my breath.
Mirrors. Everywhere. Ceiling, walls, angled surfaces that reflect and multiply us into infinity. Padded benches with restraints. A table covered in supplies I don’t want to identify. And in the center, a breeding bench—angled perfectly to keep everything inside once he’s finished with me.
My stomach drops. Not from fear. From want.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, and my voice echoes back at me. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re soaked through your pants again.” Nikolai’s masked face appears in three mirrors simultaneously as he circles me. “Tell me this doesn’t turn you on, Jenna.”
It does. God help me, it does. The way every surface is designed for one purpose—breeding me until I can’t think of anything else. My nipples are hard against my shirt. My cunt aches with anticipation that I hate myself for feeling.
“I don’t want kids,” I say, backing against the wall. More mirrors. More versions of myself looking terrified and aroused. “I never wanted kids. Not after—”
“After what your stepfather did to you. After what you did to him.” Nikolai’s voice is matter-of-fact.
“I know everything about you now, Jenna. Including the part where you’ve been afraid for three years that you might be wanted for a murder you don’t even know if you committed. You’re not, by the way. He’s alive.”
The casual way he says it makes my chest tight. He pulled the information from some file, cataloged my trauma alongside my measurements and dietary preferences.
He stops in front of me, gloved hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. In the mirrors, we look like some fucked-up Renaissance painting—beauty and the beast, if the beast had conditioned the beauty to crave captivity.
“Strip,” he says quietly. “Everything.”
I pull my shirt over my head, watching myself in a dozen reflections. My bra follows. My pants. My underwear pools at my feet, and I’m naked in a room designed specifically to impregnate me.
The breeding bench sits there like an altar.
“On your back,” Nikolai commands, and I move toward it like I’m sleepwalking. The padding is soft against my spine as I lie down, spreading my legs automatically. The angle tilts my pelvis up, gravity working against any chance of his cum leaking out.
The restraints close around my wrists and ankles with soft clicks. Padded leather, comfortable enough for extended use. I test them reflexively and find no give. I’m helpless, displayed like an offering in a temple of mirrors.
“Perfect,” Nikolai murmurs, and the gentleness in his voice makes my chest ache. Not just lust. Something deeper.
He strips, hanging his tactical gear on hooks designed for that purpose.
His naked body appears in the mirrors from every angle—the tattoos covering his chest and shoulders, the defined muscle of someone built for violence.
His cock stands thick and ready, the piercing glinting in the overhead lights.
But it’s his eyes I can’t look away from. Ice blue and fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. He looks at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his entire life.
“I’m going to start with your ass,” he says conversationally, reaching for a bottle of lube. “Stretch you out properly first. Then I’m going to fuck you there until you’re begging me to breed your cunt instead.”
My breathing quickens. The dirty talk shouldn’t affect me this much, but my body doesn’t care. It only cares that his voice drops to that rough whisper when he talks about using me.
“Look at yourself,” he commands, squirting lube onto his fingers. “Look at how ready you are for this.”
I watch myself reflected above—spread wide. My nipples are dark and peaked. My pussy is visibly wet, lips parted and swollen. I look exactly like what I am: a woman desperate to be bred by the man who broke her.
“We’re both sick,” I say. “That’s the only thing about this that makes sense.”
“Yes,” Nikolai agrees, circling my asshole with one slick finger. “We both are. That’s why this works.”
The first finger slides in easily. I’ve been stretched enough in the birch grove that the invasion feels natural now, necessary.
He opens me slowly, adding a second finger, then a third.
The mirrors show everything—my face contorting with pleasure-pain, his fingers disappearing into my ass, the way my back arches despite the restraints.
“You’re going to take all of me,” he murmurs, scissoring his fingers wider. “Every inch. And you’re going to come from it.”
“Nikolai—” His name breaks apart in my throat as he finds that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
“That’s right. Say my name.” He withdraws his fingers and positions himself at my entrance. The head of his cock breaches me. “Say it while I claim every part of you.”
He pushes forward slowly, inexorably. The stretch is intense, bordering on too much, but my body opens for him anyway. Accepts him. Welcomes the invasion as if it were designed for exactly this.
“Nikolai,” I gasp as he bottoms out, his hips flush against my ass. “Oh god, Nikolai—”
“Look at yourself taking me.” His voice is strained now, barely controlled. “Look how perfectly you fit around my cock.”
I do. In the mirrors, I can see where we’re joined, see the way my body stretches to accommodate him. It should be degrading. It is degrading. And that’s exactly why my pussy clenches with need.
He starts moving, slow at first, then building to a rhythm that has me gasping with each thrust. The angle of the bench means every stroke hits deep.
“Mine,” he growls, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Every hole. Every response. Mine.”
“Yes,” I say, and the word comes out steadier than it should. “Yours.”
He fucks my ass with increasing brutality, each thrust driving me higher. The mirrors multiply every sensation, showing me my submission from every angle. I come without warning, my body clenching around him as pleasure tears through me like lightning.
Nikolai follows immediately, his cock pulsing as he fills my ass with cum. He stays buried deep, panting against my neck, and I can feel him still twitching inside me.
“Don’t move,” he commands when he finally withdraws. “Stay exactly like that.”
He reaches for something on the table—a black silicone plug, as thick as his cock. He positions it at my entrance and pushes, working it in slowly until the flared base sits flush against me.
“Keep that in,” he says, patting the plug. “I want my cum staying exactly where I put it.”
The fullness is overwhelming. The plug is heavy, constant pressure that makes me hyperaware of what just happened. What he just claimed.
Nikolai moves to the sink in the corner, washing himself thoroughly before returning to the bench. His cock is already hardening again as he positions himself between my spread thighs.
“Now for the main event,” he murmurs, running the head of his cock through my wet folds. “This is where my seed takes root.”
“Nikolai, wait—” But I don’t want him to wait. The protest dies in my throat as he pushes into me in one smooth stroke.
The sensation of being filled in both holes simultaneously is indescribable. The plug presses against him through the thin wall separating my passages, making everything tighter, more intense. I can barely breathe, can barely think beyond the overwhelming fullness.
“Perfect,” he breathes, starting a slow, deep rhythm. “You were made for this. Made to take me, to carry my baby.”
The words should terrify me. Should trigger every rational thought about why this is wrong, why I can’t let this happen. Instead, they make me clench around him, make me arch into his thrusts despite the restraints.
“You want it,” he continues, his voice rough with pleasure. “Say it. Tell me you want to be bred.”
“I—” I can’t form words. The intensity is too much, the pleasure building to something that feels like it might kill me. “I can’t—”
“You can.” He leans over me, bracing his hands on either side of my shoulders. “Look at me, Jenna. Look at me and tell me what you want.”
I meet his eyes, and for a moment I see his control crack. Vulnerable need that mirrors my own.
“I want—” The words stick in my throat. Because admitting this feels like crossing a line I can never uncross. “I want you to breed me.”
His rhythm falters for just a second. Then he’s moving again, harder now, chasing something bigger than orgasm.
“Again,” he demands. “Say it again.”
“Breed me.” The words come easier now, like a dam breaking. “Fill me up. Make me pregnant. I want to carry your baby.”
The admission breaks both of us open. Nikolai’s thrusts become erratic and desperate, and I can feel myself climbing toward another orgasm despite everything my rational mind is screaming.
Then he does something he hasn’t done since my recapture. He discards his mask and kisses me.
The kiss is nothing like the brutal claiming of my body. It’s soft, almost reverent, and it destroys me more than anything else he’s done. Because this isn’t the hunter kissing his captive. This is Nikolai kissing Jenna, and the tenderness in it makes my chest crack open.
I kiss him back desperately, and the air shifts between us. The fucking becomes more intimate in a way that terrifies me.
When I come, it’s with his name on my lips and his tongue in my mouth. My body contracts around him, milking his cock as he drives deep and holds there, filling me with pulse after pulse of cum.
He doesn’t pull out immediately. Instead, he kisses me again, softer this time, his forehead pressed to mine.
“Stay with me,” he whispers against my lips, and I realize he’s not giving me a command. He’s asking. Pleading, maybe.
“Nikolai—”
“Don’t run again. Please.” His voice cracks on the word, and I see past the predator to the broken boy underneath. “I can’t—I won’t survive losing you again.”
The honest vulnerability in his voice makes my chest ache. Makes me want things I have no business wanting. A home with him. A life, however fucked up. Children who would grow up knowing they were wanted, protected, loved in ways I never was.
“I won’t run,” I whisper back, and mean it. Not because I’m conditioned, not because I’m broken, but because somewhere in this insane spiral of captivity and Stockholm Syndrome, I’ve fallen in love with my captor.
We’re both sick. Both damaged beyond repair. But maybe, just maybe, we can be broken together.
Nikolai’s eyes stay soft. He reaches between us, checking to make sure none of his cum has leaked out, adjusting my position on the breeding bench.
“Seventy-two hours,” he says quietly. “I’m keeping you here for seventy-two hours. Every few hours, I’m going to breed you again. By the end, you’ll be so full of my cum there’s pno chance it won’t take.”
I find myself looking forward to it. To three days of nothing but this—his body claiming mine, his seed taking root, the slow dissolution of whatever boundaries still exist between us.
“Okay,” I breathe. “But if it doesn’t, we just keep going. I want you to breed me every day for the rest of our lives.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and settles in to wait for his refractory period to end.
In the mirrors, I watch myself—naked, restrained, bred, and utterly content. I should be disgusted with what I’ve become. Instead, I feel complete for the first time in my life.
Broken, but complete.