Chapter 21
Zoya
At first I think I'm dreaming. And fair enough. You don't get many dreams where you wake up right on the edge of coming. So when the heavy heat hits and the friction feels too good to stop, I just lean into it. My eyes stay shut and my brain stays locked on autopilot.
This dream is lovely and I’d like to keep it.
But a familiar cologne invades my senses and my body responds with an enthusiasm that makes a mockery of all my waking hatred.
My hips press backward without permission, greedy for more.
I know this smell. I resent that I know it.
Only one man wears this cologne while simultaneously making me want to commit murder.
My dear, future, reluctant husband. The next thrust confirms what I’m trying to ignore. I’m not asleep anymore.
I keep my eyes squeezed shut and double down on the delusion because maybe the universe will take pity on me. It does not. The cock inside me is too real for wishful thinking to fix.
Has his dick been inside me all night? Oh God.
My eyes fly open to a ceiling I know too well, one I’ve stared at so many nights trying to feel nothing that I could draw it from memory.
This is our shared bedroom. The man balls deep inside me while peacefully asleep is my future husband, the same one who swore on his life he would not touch me without permission.
I shift forward slightly just to confirm what I already know and his cock drags along my inner walls as I move, pulling almost all the way to the tip before his hips snap forward in his sleep and slam back in with two hard thrusts that knock the breath clean out of me.
My toes curl into the sheets against my will.
The bastard is inside me and he doesn’t even have the decency to be awake for it.
I try to move forward to give us distance, but he just pulls me back to the edge and slams right back in.
Every time I crawl a few inches, he pulls me back.
It’s a literal tug-of-war across the entire length of the bed.
My brain is telling me to escape, but his body is refusing to let go, hitting me with these deep, punishing thrusts that feel way too good.
His low, guttural groans fill the room every time he bottoms out, raw and desperate like he’s losing control too.
His hand snakes around my hip, his fingers find my swollen clit without mercy, rubbing tight, slick circles over my pussy, matching the brutal rhythm of his cock, the added pressure making my thighs shake uncontrollably. Fuck he’s too good. I groan annoyed at how much I’m into it.
By the time we hit the middle of the mattress, I’m done for.
The combination of his relentless thrusts, those perfect strokes on my clit, and his deep groans vibrating against my back sends me over the edge.
I come right then and there, clenching hard around him as stars explode behind my eyes. “Hmmm fuckkk.”
I’ll never breathe a word of this to anyone as long as I live.
Still, the principle of the whole thing pisses me off.
He looked me dead in the eye and swore he would wait until I begged.
I never begged. I went out with the girls, had an amazing night, and barely even thought about him.
Now I’m waking up with his dick already inside me at some ridiculous hour because his promises clearly mean nothing.
I shove forward one last time, trying to crawl toward the edge of the bed. The mattress is right there if I can just reach it.
And then the mattress disappears.
I go face first onto the floor.
The impact is immediate and unforgiving and I lie flat on the hardwood with my hair covering my face breathing through it. Above me the bed is very quiet.
Then I hear the slow creak of the mattress shuffling as he moves.
I stay on the floor and stare up at the ceiling through my curtain of hair and watch as he props himself up on both elbows, settling his chin into his hands.
He cocks his head to one side. The smile on his face is the most irritating thing I have ever seen in my entire life.
“Good morning to you too, my beautiful wife,” he says pleasantly. “Waking me up with morning sex wasn’t exactly on my bingo card for today.” he pauses, his smile widening. “But I have no complaints.”
I peel the hair out of my face. “The least you could have done was catch me before I fell.”
He looks at me and tilts his head in question.
“The least you could have done was stop crawling away from me like I had the plague.” He shrugs from his position on the bed, his chin still resting comfortably in his hands, without looking away from my breasts.
“But hey. We can’t all have what we want, can we?”
I grab the bed frame and haul myself upright. My head is pounding. My body feels like it lost a very long argument.
“Why was there something inside me? We had an agreement.”
He tilts his head the other way. “Let me think.” He taps one finger against his chin.
“Was it the public indecency you were about to commit in front of God and everyone? Was it the fact that you almost got yourself arrested? Was it you deciding to wander through Moscow alone at night?” He pauses.
“Or was it the part where you told me — very clearly, that if I wouldn’t do it you would find some other bastard who would? ”
“I would never actually have done that.”
“Zoya.”
“I have excellent self-control, if you haven’t noticed.”
He gives me the side eye which looked strange on his already serious face.
“When you’re drunk you think you have excellent self-control.
But look where that got you.” He leans forward on his elbows.
“I’m fairly certain you didn’t even know whose dick was inside you last night.
You should thank your lucky stars you didn’t get anyone killed with your little antics. Because I was this close.”
“You're a man, stop being dramatic.”
“Am I.”
“Yes. And I still don’t remember begging.” I cross my arms. “I don’t remember agreeing to any of this. Just admit it you broke your promise.”
He is quiet for exactly one second.
Then he reaches for his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“You know,” he says, turning it over in his hand, “I thought you might say that.” He pauses. “So I want you to know I gave your position very serious consideration.” He pauses, his lips pursing as he gives a subtle shake of his head.
“And then I remembered that I have access to every security camera in this city.” He looks up at me. “There may or may not be footage.”
“You’re lying.”
“There might not be audio,” he continues, unbothered. “But I can show you exactly what happened in 4k baby.” He rolls casually to the other side of the bed then rolls back. “I may have already sent the relevant clips to my phone. Just to commemorate the occasion.”
I hold out my hand. “Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Alexei. Give me the damn phone.”
“You can see perfectly well from there.” He tilts the screen slightly in my direction, just enough to be infuriating, then pulls it back.
“That cannot be me.” I take a step toward the bed. “Give me the phone right now.”
“Come and get it.”
He holds it up just out of reach, the smile on his face the single most aggravating thing I have ever seen in my life. I lunge across the bed to grab it and in my haste I end up straddling him, one hand grabbing for the phone and the other braced against his chest for balance.
There is a beat of silence before I realize three things.
One, I am completely naked.
Two, I’m straddling him, his thick cock trapped between my soaked pussy and his stomach while his hands grip my hips. And three, my tits are basically smothering his face.
Not a trace of guilt crosses his face as his teeth find my nipple.
My spine arches as his hands grab my hips, mapping each curve with a squeeze.
I squeak like cornered prey. His palms slide up my thighs and grip hard, fingers possessive on my skin, wandering dangerously close to the arousal building between them.
“Alexei!” I smack the top of his head.
But he doesn’t stop there.
I grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back hard.
He releases my nipple with a loud, obscene pop, the sound erotic, and looks up at me from between my breasts with watering eyes and a shit-eating grin. A deep red mark blooms on my skin where his mouth has been.
“You climbed on top of me,” he says, his voice thick with lust, as he dangles the phone in front of me.
“I’m just being a gracious host.”
“I was reaching for the phone!”
“Sure.” His free hand remains on my hip with his thumb pressing into soft flesh, unbothered by the fistful of his hair I’m still gripping.
“And my mouth just happened to be in the way. Terrible tragedy.” He lets his eyes travel down slowly, taking in every inch of me sitting on top of him, his gaze dragging over my chest, and smiles.
“For a woman with excellent self-control, you’re leaving quite a mess on my thighs. ”
I snatch the phone from his hand. And then, because I believe deeply in equal suffering, I bite his nipple hard. What a perv. “That,” he says, looking down at his chest, “was unprovoked, I may need to tattoo this later.”
“Remind me to put a muzzle on you later.”
I climb off him, sit on the edge of the bed, and unlock the phone.
The first clip loads and my first thought is — who the hell agreed to let me wear this dress?
Who thought that was a good idea? The camera follows me walking down the street and behind me there is a shadow following.
I turn around and there in the clip is Alexei, looking completely unapologetic.
We argue for a bit and then he tries to steer me back outside to get in the car, but I refused.
Instead I start walking toward the woods.
That is where my eyes go wide.
It was as if the footage fast forwarded and my brain short circuited.
Why the hell was I shoving his hand down my pants?
And okay — maybe he was reluctant at first, but he took the bait.
I blush and then I shift my eyes to Alexei’s expression, that handsome smirk sitting right on his face. He was enjoying this.
I feel my face start to heat up and immediately I press the phone down, not having the courage to finish the video.
“What’s going on with your face?” Alexei asks pleasantly from behind me. “It’s turning red. Is it warm in here? I don’t think it’s warm in here.”
“Delete this video,” I snarl. “If you ever play this again I will kill you myself.”
He sits up slowly. “Woah. Woah. Woah.” He holds both hands up. “Are you threatening me?”
“Yes. I am. And I will carry it out even if I have to die trying.”
He stares at me for a long moment.
“That,” he says, “was the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me in my entire life.” He pauses, his eyes darkening.
“I have never had a woman threaten my life and live. You are the first. And definitely the last.” He tilts his head, inching closer.
“But I want details, Vedma. How exactly would you do it?” He glances down at my chest. “Would you smother me with your beautiful tits? Just so you know I wouldn’t fight that very hard.
” He inches closer. “Or would you suffocate me with your pussy? Come to think of it, that’s not a bad way to go.
Dying with the tastiest thing I’ve ever had on my tongue.
I’d go out a happy son of a bitch.” He reaches out and takes both my hands and presses them around his throat.
Then he wraps his own hands around mine, squeezing, forcing the grip tighter as his pulse jumps hard against my palms. “Or would you choke me.” His hands tighten around mine on his throat.
“I want to feel your hands take the last breath out of my lungs. I want to black out with your face above me and die thinking about how beautiful you are while you kill me.” His eyes started to dilate.
“Smother me. Suffocate me. Choke me. I genuinely don’t have a preference as long as it is you doing it.
I will die the happiest man in all of Russia.
They can carve it on my grave: Here lies Alexei Romanov, the stupid bastard who finally found the only way he ever wanted to die—destroyed by his witch, suffocating happily in her pussy with her hand around his throat. ”
“You’re scaring me,” I say, my heart beating fast I could hear it.
His hands loosen around mine, the wildness in his eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re just so pretty it kills me inside.”
Neither of us says anything for a moment.
I throw the phone at his head but he catches it without looking.
I stomp across the room and slam the bathroom door behind me hard enough to rattle the mirror.
His voice comes through the glass almost immediately, taunting me. “Taking a bath in there is not going to wash away the shame, Vedma.”
I press my back against the glass door and stare at the ceiling, contemplating whether to just rush out there and give him the death he wants by choking him — but not make it pleasurable — or simply ignore him the way you ignore a fly buzzing in your ear.
He continues before I can decide.
“And for what it’s worth—”
I hold my breath.
“—you took my dick like a big girl. You should be proud of yourself.”
I grab the first thing my hand lands on — a full bottle of body wash — turn around and hurl it straight through the glass door at his head. He throws himself sideways off the bed just in time, the bottle sailing past his ear and hitting the floor behind him with a loud thud.
A brief silence settles over the room before I shout “PRICK” through the glass.
He reappears from the side of the bed slowly, fixing his disheveled hair and looking at the bottle on the floor before his eyes find me through the transparent glass door.
“Add big to that insult,” he calls back pleasantly. “That’s your husband’s prick you’re referring to. Show some respect.”
His laughter follows me all the way into the shower and I turn the water on as hot as it will go, washing until my skin turns pink, scrubbing away whatever is left of last night and the shame of knowing exactly what I saw on that video and how much of it I enjoyed.