Chapter 19
With the Devil Knocking
—Maksym—
It was well past midnight by the time the body hit the ground.
Pakhan gave the nod, and I obeyed—like I always fucking did.
No protest. I did what needed doing, wiped it clean, and left nothing behind but silence.
Now I had to keep up the act, play the part while it scraped me raw from the inside out.
The estate was quiet by the time I got back, the halls dim, but I couldn’t shut my head off. I just wanted to see her. One quiet moment, one breath of something pure, even if I didn’t fucking deserve it.
It didn’t matter how much was on my plate—violence, strategy, revenge—my thoughts always circled back to her. Like a goddamn moth to a flame. A reckless, sarcastic, sharp-edged flame with a killer mouth and no sense of self-preservation.
I walked quietly through the east wing, past the hall where the portraits hung like silent witnesses. Her door was closed. I tried the handle. Locked.
Reasonable, I thought. With that lunatic Felix staying just down the hall, of course she locked it. But doors never stopped me.
It took less than ten seconds to open it. I stepped inside and locked it behind me.
Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a silver wash over her bed. She was lying there, facing away, hair dark as ink spilling across the pillow. One arm curled under her, breathing slow and deep.
Quietly, I slipped off my boots and moved to the bed. The mattress dipped as I lay down beside her.
And that’s when she struck.
She spun around, fast, body fluid and sharp as a whip. The glint of steel caught my eye an instant before the cold blade pressed against my throat. Her knees pinned my hips, her breath ragged, eyes wild.
A fucking knife. My knife.
It was almost funny. My own girl, my own knife, one breath away from slicing me open. A fitting end for someone like me.
I grabbed her wrist, my other hand steadying the blade so it didn’t nick anything vital. Her heart was pounding hard enough I could feel it through her thigh.
Then she froze. Her eyes scanned my face, recognition dawning.
“Maksym?” she whispered, like she was still unsure.
I smirked. “You’re lucky I like women who try to kill me in bed.”
The knife hit the mattress with a soft thud as she exhaled, hand still trembling. But instead of pulling away, she stayed—perched on top of me, breath hot and uneven, her hair falling into her face.
“Christ, Maksym,” she breathed, voice shaky. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought it was Felix.”
That name ignited something inside me.
I cupped the side of her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. My voice was lower now, hard and edged. “Did he touch you?”
Her eyes flickered. “No. Not yet. But he’s a psycho. I keep locking the door and praying he doesn’t try.”
I studied her face. The fear was still there—but so was the fire.
“Feisty little thing,” I muttered, fingers curling in her hair.
She leaned in and kissed me—slow and deep—hands already tugging at my hoodie, impatient to peel me open.
My blood surged so fast it felt like a fever.
I kissed her back with force, cupping her neck with one hand and grabbing her hip with the other, dragging her body tight against mine.
One hard twist and she was on her back, legs spread, nightgown riding up.
She broke the kiss for a moment, her eyes searched my face, dark and intent, breath still uneven. “I’ve never wanted to please anyone like this. But you… I want to be perfect for you. Show me how.”
The sound that left me was a low, rough growl.
I didn’t respond with words. Instead, I pulled off my hoodie and shirt in one smooth motion, letting them fall to the floor.
Her eyes followed every movement, lips parted, teeth sinking into her lower lip.
I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, my mouth crashing back onto hers, deeper this time, more demanding.
My cock throbbed against my pants, aching for release, driven mad by the sound of her voice saying she wanted to please me.
My lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, then down her throat, teeth grazing skin, tongue soothing the marks away. She arched beneath me instinctively, a soft sound breaking from her chest.
My hand reached out and closed around the knife still lying beside us.
Her breath hitched.
I paused, just enough for her to feel it, then met her gaze. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
That was all the permission I needed. I slipped a finger under the thin strap of her nightgown and dragged the blade down slowly, savoring the sound as it split apart.
The fabric fell away from her like a gift I was unwrapping just for myself—her perfect tits exposed to the moonlight, rising and falling with every hungry breath.
I didn’t tear it to destroy what she wore.
I did it because something feral in me needed to take her this way—bared, trembling, and completely fucking mine.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
I didn’t give myself a second to think—I just lowered my head and wrapped my mouth around her breast. I licked and sucked her like a man possessed, tongue circling her nipple until she whimpered, her hands fisting the sheets.
Then I shifted to the other, lavishing it with the same greedy hunger while my free hand slid down to trace the curve of her waist before gripping her ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks.
I hooked my finger into her panties, right over her cunt, and felt it immediately—soaked through, soft and sticky against my skin.
A low sound left my chest. I took the knife again and traced the blade lazily along her stomach, watching her tremble under the cold edge, before dragging it down and cutting the fabric open.
The panties parted, useless now, revealing her slick, open pussy.
Fuck. I’d never loved the sound of tearing cloth more.
She let out a shaky moan in response, her fingers trembling where they clutched the sheets.
“You said you want to please me?” I said, my voice low and rough.
She nodded, lips parted, pupils blown wide with that intoxicating mix of nerves and want.
A slow, hungry smile curved my mouth. “I’ve been starving all fucking day,” I told her, letting the words drag out, thick with intent.
“And now I want my meal. I want you to feed me.
“ I paused, watching the way her breath hitched, the way her bare thighs pressed together instinctively. “Can you do that for me, Malaya?”
She just looked at me, a flicker of uncertainty in her expression, like she wasn’t sure where to start. I didn’t push. I lay back beside her instead, stretching out, hands laced behind my head, eyes fixed on her.
“I said I want you to feed me,” I repeated, voice low and steady. “Sit. On. My. Face.”
Her breath hitched sharply. She froze for a second, eyes wide, then flicked down to the thick bulge in my pants and back up.
Slowly she moved. Rising to her knees, pussy already glistening. She swung a leg over me, straddling my chest, hands gripping the headboard. Hovering, trembling.
“Higher,” I rasped. “I’ve got you.”
She sank down inch by inch until her pussy brushed my lips.
The first taste of her—hot, sweet, drenched—hit me like a drug.
I groaned deep in my throat, the sound vibrating straight into her clit. My hands shot up, gripping the backs of her thighs just below the curve of her ass, pulling her down harder. “That’s it,” I rasped against her pussy. “Give it all to me. Feed me like you fucking promised.”
She whimpered as I dragged my tongue slow and flat along her slit, then circled her clit with firm, wet pressure. At first her hips barely rocked—tiny, shy shifts. I let her find it, humming against her so she felt the vibration deep inside.
Then something snapped.
She ground down harder. I sucked her clit between my lips, tongue flicking fast, hands kneading her ass, spreading her wider. She moaned—high, broken—and started riding my face in earnest: long, greedy rolls, forward so my nose pressed her clit, back so my tongue plunged inside her dripping heat.
“Fuck—yes—right there—” Her voice cracked. “Don’t stop—”
I didn’t. I devoured her—sucking, licking, groaning into her cunt like I was dying of hunger. Her thighs shook around my ears, slickness coating my chin, dripping down my neck.
Her rhythm faltered. “I’m—oh god—”
She came hard with a sharp cry, pussy clenching and pulsing against my tongue, flooding my mouth. Her whole body shuddered as she ground through the aftershocks, thighs clamping tight until she whimpered and lifted off, trembling.
Her swollen, glistening pussy hovered above my soaked face. I licked my lips, eyes never leaving hers.
“Fuck,” I rasped, voice wrecked. “That’s how you feed a starving man.”
She stared down at me—flushed, glassy-eyed, and something inside me snapped, raw and urgent. I wasn’t satisfied—not even close. I needed to be buried deep inside her. Right fucking now.
“Lie on your back,” I ordered. “Now. Legs open.”
She scrambled to obey, hair a messy halo, her thighs still slick from riding my mouth. She lay back on the bed, chest heaving, legs spreading without shame. The sight of her made my blood roar.
I stood fast. Shoved the cargo pants and boxers down together. They dropped to the floor. My cock jerked free: thick, stone-hard, veins standing out, aching so bad, desperate to claim her.
“Open yourself for me,” I growled.
Without hesitation, she reached between her thighs and pulled herself open with both hands, exposing every flushed, swollen inch of her pussy.
She was already a mess—wet from the orgasm I’d pulled from her earlier, still glistening and used.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen—wrecked by me and ready for more.
“That’s it,” I murmured, voice rough as gravel. “Hold yourself open like that.”