26. Luna
Luna
If I could go back in time and punch myself, I would.
Was it a trauma response at the time? Absolutely.
But now, fuck the trauma!
My pussy is crying at this point.
Begging.
Pleading for a release.
I’m pretty sure there’s a saying that goes, "An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away," and if I don’t get this man inside me within the next twenty minutes, then I might as well start writing my will because I will not survive the night.
This man is evil.
Pure, unfiltered evil.
The smug bastard is just sitting here, drinking his expensive-ass wine like he didn’t just promise me the filthiest things and then proceed to do absolutely nothing about it.
I shift in my chair, pressing my thighs together, trying anything to relieve the ache.
Spoiler alert: it does absolutely nothing except make it worse.
Vladimir watches me, his dark eyes dancing with amusement, and I swear, if he smirks at me one more time, I will launch my fork at his face.
"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" I ask, voice flat.
He lifts his glass, looking infuriatingly relaxed. "Immensely."
Oh, this motherfucker.
I narrow my eyes at him. "You do realize this will come back to bite you in the ass, right?"
His lips curve in that slow, lazy way that makes my clit pulse in betrayal.
“I think you would rather me bite your ass, Lisichka."
I drop my fork onto the plate, the clink of metal against ceramic sharp in the quiet night air.
Then, ever so slowly, I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table.
The movement subtly presses my cleavage together, putting my breasts on full display.
I see it.
The moment his eyes flicker downward.
The moment his composure almost slips.
Got him.
Vladimir exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching.
"Something wrong, husband?" I ask sweetly, tilting my head.
His fingers tighten around his glass. "Not at all."
Liar.
I cross my legs, making a show of adjusting my skirt, which just so happens to part at the slit, revealing more of my thigh and the knife strapped to it.
Vladimir’s grip on his wine glass visibly tightens.
I swear, if I listen hard enough, I can hear the vein in his forehead pulsing.
I smirk. “When have you ever been the one to follow the rules, husband?”
His pupils blow wide.
Before I can blink, he’s out of his chair and behind me, his hands gripping the arms of my chair, caging me in.
I suck in a sharp breath as his lips ghost over my ear.
“Is this what you want, Luna? For me to touch you?” he murmurs, his voice low, deadly, and soaked in pure sin.
YES!!!
His fingers trail down my bare arm, slow, calculated, as if he’s testing how much more I can take before I break.
"Vladimir," I hiss, but it lacks any real bite because the way he’s touching me is making my brain short-circuit.
"Of course you would." His lips brush against the shell of my ear. "Bratty little thing."
I turn my head slightly so our lips are almost touching and whisper, “Bratty little wife, you mean?”
The growl that rumbles from his chest should not turn me on as much as it does.
And yet—here we are.
For a moment, I swear he’s about to snap.
But then, as fast as he was behind me, he’s gone, back in his seat.
I blink at him, outraged. "You’re a fucking menace."
He picks up his glass, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Beg me, Luna, and I’ll give the release you desperately want. Need.”
This was not my plan tonight.
I planned to talk to my husband like a normal couple and maybe even attempt this healthy communication thing.
But, you know what? Fuck that.
And FUCK him.
Plans change all the time.
I’m an assassin, for fuck’s sake.
So, what would my sisters-in-crime do if they were in my current situation?
Use their feminine charm to get what they want.
Because let’s be honest. Men are easy.
And they have the audacity to call women whores…
Vladimir is still eating, his movements slow and precise, while I gently push my chair back and rise from my seat.
I don’t rush.
Every move is deliberate and calculated.
I know he’s watching me.
I feel it.
His gaze is a weight, heavy and unrelenting, burning through me as I take slow, measured steps toward the pool.
One step.
Two.
Then, without warning, I shimmy my skirt off, letting the fabric pool at my feet.
I know he’s got the perfect view of my lacy white thong, barely covering my ass, because I hear the slight hitch in his breath.
Still, I don’t look back.
I take another step, raising my arms slowly as I untie my halter top, tossing it carelessly over my shoulder.
No bra.
Just me, in nothing but my flimsy thong and the knife still strapped to my thigh.
Finally, I turn my head slightly, just enough to peek over my shoulder.
Vladimir is glaring at me like a predator ready to pounce.
A smirk tugs at my lips.
I wink.
Then, as if I hadn’t just set the man on fire, I bend down slowly, dragging my hands down my legs as I step out of my thong, my back still to him, my wet, aching pussy on full display.
The growl that rumbles from his chest is not human.
Good.
I step toward the pool, pausing at the very edge.
My fingers skim over the knife’s strap, and I contemplate leaving it on, but ultimately, I unbuckle it and drop it onto the chair nearby.
I glance back one last time.
Vladimir is still at the table, but his fork is abandoned, his knuckles white as he grips the arms of his chair like he’s physically restraining himself from charging after me.
I tilt my head, letting my lips curl into something wicked.
"I’m going for a swim if you wish to join me."
My voice is syrupy, sweet, playful, and drenched in sin.
"Who knows? If you’re a good little vampire, I might even let you get a taste."
Then, without another word, I turn and dive gracefully into the water.
The cool liquid shocks my heated skin, sending a shiver rippling through me.
I let myself sink for a moment, my body weightless, before I surface and float to the edge, resting my arms on the ledge as I take in the stunning view.
The sky is endless, the deep blues and purples of the night melting into the ocean like one seamless masterpiece.
For a second, I lose myself in the peace of it all.
Then—
A splash.
I don’t turn around.
The air shifts, and the energy in the water changes as he moves toward me with deliberate slowness.
I don’t hear him resurface.
But I feel him.
His body—solid, heated, unrelenting—presses against my back, trapping me against the edge of the pool.
And his dick?
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
It’s long.
Thick.
Hard.
And sitting right between my ass cheeks like it belongs there.
A shudder rips through me.
I swallow hard, keeping my eyes on the horizon, forcing my voice to remain steady.
"It’s a beautiful night, don’t you agree, husband?"
His lips graze the shell of my ear as he speaks, his accent thick with lust, dangerously deep.
"Moya Luna, I don’t give a fuck about the view right now when I have my new wife in front of me, waiting for my cock."
The sound I make is somewhere between a whimper and a choked gasp.
His hands skim down my sides, slow and teasing, fingertips dancing over my ribcage, my waist, before finally settling on my hips.
"I should punish you for that little stunt," he murmurs, his thumbs pressing into my skin."
I do whimper this time, my fingers clenching against the pool’s edge. “I can take anything you dish out.”
Vladimir chuckles, the sound vibrating through my entire body.
“Beg, Luna,” he whispers, his teeth grazing the spot just below my ear. “Just like you did outside the club.”
I fully turn around, pressing my chest against his.
I know he can feel my nipple piercings because I watch him squeeze his eyes shut, his jaw clenching as he sucks in a sharp breath.
His hands grip my hips with bruising force, fingers digging into my flesh like he’s on the verge of losing control.
Good.
I stand on my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer.
Then, I tease him.
Soft, fleeting kisses peppered along his chest, his jaw, his throat, my tongue flicking out just enough to drive him insane.
I wrap one leg around his waist, pressing my soaked pussy against his achingly hard cock, rolling my hips slow, torturous—just enough to feel him, but not enough to give either of us what we desperately want.
We both moan.
"Vladimir," I breathe, my voice a plea, my body a demand.
"I won’t be able to be gentle, Luna."
I smirk, leaning in to whisper against his ear, letting my lips graze his skin. “I don’t want gentle."
Then, in a voice laced with sin and certainty, I murmur: "I want you to fuck me like the monster you are, Vladimir."
His grip on my hips tightens.
“Please, fuck me, Vlad.”
It’s like flipping a switch.
A growl rips from his chest. Before I can even take another breath, he lifts me in one swift, brutal move—aligns us—and slams his cock inside me.
I scream. Not just from the stretch, not just from the brutal force of it, but from the way he fills me so completely, so devastatingly, that I swear he’s carved himself into my soul.
He pulls out all the way, leaving me empty, trembling.
Then he slams back in.
This time, I moan.
Loud.
Unashamed.
“You drive me insane, wife,” he groans, his lips dragging over my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
His pace is ruthless. Punishing.
Every thrust is a demand, a claim, an undeniable possession.
“Is this what you needed?”
I can’t even think. I can’t form a single coherent thought, let alone a sentence. So I nod.
At least, I think I do.
My body is on fire, a blazing, all-consuming inferno as he continues to piston in and out of me, each thrust deeper, harder, more brutal than the last.
"My” thrust.
"Wife,” thrust.
“is” thrust.
“such a" thrust.
“Brat.” thrust.
I am a trembling, whimpering mess, holding onto this man—this monster, this God—as if my very life depended on it.
Then—his hand leaves my hip.
Wraps around my throat.
I gasp, my head tilting back, my eyes locking onto his.
"Look at me, wife,” he commands, his voice a deep, guttural growl. "Look at me while I fuck you."
His grip tightens just enough, forcing me to stay with him, to see the devastation on his face, the sheer possession in his eyes. "That’s it, Luna. Take my fucking cock."
And I do.
Over.
And over.
Until I feel myself spiraling.
Until I can barely breathe.
Until the pleasure is so violent, so consuming, that I’m sure?—
If he keeps fucking me like this, I might actually pass out.
"I’m going to cum inside of you, Luna, and?—"
I don’t even let him finish. My brain-to-mouth filter is completely shattered as I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "I’m not on birth contr?—"
His growl cuts through the air like a whip. "I don’t care."
Fuck me.
"I. Am. Going to cum inside of you, Luna, and your greedy little pussy is going to milk my cock dry."
I moan shamelessly, a raw, wrecked sound, my nails tearing into his shoulders, dragging deep, crimson lines that bloom beneath my fingers.
A punishment. A claim. Destruction. And I fucking crave it.
"Yes, sir."
His entire body tenses.
His eyes go wild.
"Oh, fuck." His voice is raw, wrecked. "Luna, you might have to come sooner than I want you to if you keep calling me that."
I smirk, but it quickly turns into a whimper because?—
How the fuck did he just grow?! I swear his cock just got bigger.
Is he storing extra dick somewhere? Does he have a secret extension feature?
If he grows any more, we might have to contact a veterinarian because, at this point, He might put a horse to shame.
"Holy shit, Vladimir!" I cry out as his pace turns brutal and punishing, dragging me closer and closer to the edge.
"That’s it, wife, take it."
I’m about to fucking explode.
I can’t tell where my body ends and he begins.
Vladimir is everywhere—inside me, around me, owning me in a way that should terrify me but only makes my pussy clench harder around him.
He’s fucking me like he means to ruin me.
"You like this, don’t you?" His voice is ragged, lips brushing against my ear. "You like the way I stretch this little cunt, how I make you mine over and over again."
His dark eyes burn into mine, raw possession and lust swirling in those midnight depths. "Tell me." His grip tightens just enough to make my pulse flutter. "Tell me how much you fucking love being fucked like this, Luna."
My breath is ragged, my lips parting as I struggle to form words that make sense.
"I—" I whimper, my body already so close to the edge I can taste it.
He knows it, too.
His mouth finds mine, swallowing my cries; his kiss is as brutal as the way he’s fucking me.
"Use your words, Lisichka," he demands against my lips, his hips slamming into mine in a way that has me seeing stars.
I’m fucking gone.
Ruined.
And I don’t even care.
"I love it," I breathe, my voice breaking into a moan as he hits that spot deep inside me. "Fuck, I love it, I love your cock?—"
"That’s my good fucking girl."
My body clenches down on him hard.
Vladimir groans, deep and wrecked, his fingers moving from my throat to my clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles that send a violent shudder through me.
"Come for me, Luna."
His voice is dark, commanding, dripping with the promise of my undoing.
“Come all over your husband’s cock."
And just like that, I fucking snap.
My orgasm rips through me, blinding, soul-crushing, my entire body locking up as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me.
"Vladimir—!" I scream his name, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, dragging me under into an endless abyss of pure, blinding ecstasy.
"That’s it, Lisichka." His voice is gravel and sin, dark and wrecked. "This greedy little cunt was made to take my cum."
I’m so sensitive it’s unbearable, yet so desperate for more I can’t even think straight.
He slams into me, every thrust deep, claiming, until his body locks up, a low, animalistic growl tearing from his throat as he buries himself inside me one last time.
His cock pulses deep, spilling thick, hot cum into me, his grip bruising as he holds me tight, making sure I take every drop.
My breath is ragged, my body spent, but the way he’s still holding me, still buried so deep inside, makes my pussy clench again in a desperate, greedy aftershock.
Vladimir chuckles, low and dangerous, his forehead dropping to mine as we struggle to breathe.
"You’re going to kill me, woman," he murmurs, his voice thick with exhaustion—satisfaction.
"Likewise, Dracula," I whisper, feeling boneless.
And completely satisfied.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his fingers tracing my jaw, his eyes burning into mine with something feral, possessive—dangerous.
"This is only the beginning, Lisichka," he promises.
I smirk, running my fingers through his now-messy dark hair, tugging him closer, teasing. “Can you even go again, old man?”
His growl is the only warning I get before he kisses me again, claiming me all over again.