Chapter 33 Mine to Break #2
The protest vanished as he thrust into me in one violent stroke. I rose onto my toes to take him, the stretch ripping a broken moan from my throat. He adjusted his stance, bending just enough to bury himself deeper, hips snapping forward with ruthless control.
I choked on my moan.
Still bound, he looped the chain of the cuffs around my throat—using it like a leash to yank me back onto his cock with every punishing thrust. My fingers clutched the cold steel at my neck, holding on for dear life as he dragged me against him.
“You don’t bind an animal like me, get me worked up, and think I’ll just… behave.”
I moaned louder as his cock slammed into me again, deeper, harder. My legs buckled and he caught me, holding me there with the weight of his body, the cold steel of the cuffs dragging me back into his heat.
“I was trying to be good,” he whispered, cock dragging deep. “But fuck—I’m not built for submission. Let me show you what I’m good at instead.”
I couldn’t answer. I was dissolving against the wall, coming apart with every wet, filthy slap, the clink of metal mixing with his thrusts.
“Remember, Malaya,” he said, voice low and lethal, fucking me harder. “I’ll break every bed you ever try to leave me in.”
Then—with one final, ragged thrust—he lifted his hands from where the cuffs had been wrapped around my throat, releasing the pressure without letting me go.
Still restrained, still wild, he turned me around before I could react and pinned me again—this time facing him, my back hitting the wall, breath stolen.
He leaned in to kiss me.
I shoved him hard, palm flat to his chest. “You think that’s enough to earn me back?”
His eyes blackened, but I was already twisting away, already moving fast down the hallway. I loved the game. Loved the chase. Loved making him suffer for what he’d done.
I made it to the living room before his footsteps thundered behind me.
He caught me—one hand wrapping around my throat, the other gripping the back of my neck—and shoved me down.
“On your knees,” he ordered, voice low and lethal.
I obeyed, heartbeat slamming, knees hitting the floor.
“Now all fours.”
I dropped my hands to the floor, ass in the air—but the moment he moved behind me, I bolted forward fast, just to torment him.
He growled and caught my hips, dragging me back against him.
My knees scraped on the floor, stinging from the force, but I didn’t care. I was soaked, swollen, throbbing with need.
He pushed into me again, bare and brutal, filling me in one ruthless thrust.
“Fuck,” I gasped, collapsing forward on my hands.
He didn’t let up. He fucked me harder, faster, hips snapping with punishing force. His fingers dug into my hips so deep I knew I’d bruise tomorrow.
“You like this, Malaya?” he grunted, voice shredded. “Like making me hunt you? Like making me lose my fucking mind?”
I was delirious with pleasure now. Wet, aching, ruined. My body shook, my mind slipping. Everything blurred but the feeling of him inside me.
I shattered—moaning loud, legs trembling, as I came around him, pulsing hard. My cunt throbbed around his cock, clenching in desperate waves that refused to stop. The pressure of him inside me felt unbearable and perfect, heat blooming through every muscle.
“That’s right—good fucking girl,” he growled.
My arms gave out completely and I face-planted against the floor.
But he wasn’t done.
He flipped me onto my back, sweat slick between us.
“No Malaya, not yet. I’m going to keep fucking you until you forget why you were mad.”
Still cuffed, he hooked both arms under my thighs and lifted my ass clean off the floor, dragging me up toward his mouth. I braced myself on my forearms, suspended, exposed, gasping—then his mouth was on me, hot and ruthless.
He started lapping up my release, groaning against me like it tasted better than air. I gasped, arching off the floor as he devoured me like a man starved. The cuffs clinked faintly with every shift of his weight, his arms flexing as he held me wide open with nothing but his mouth and desperation.
He fucked me with his tongue—deep, wet strokes that had my hips jerking, thighs trembling. He moaned into me, the vibration sending shocks through my core, and I couldn’t stop the sounds leaving my mouth.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come again—Maksym—”
His lips locked over me and sucked hard, trapping me in wet heat—then his tongue assumed control, circling slowly and deliberately, making every second stretch into eternity.
I twisted beneath him, crying out as the pressure built fast. My hands clawed at the floor, back arched, legs spread as far as they’d go, as he pushed me right to the edge with nothing but his mouth.
I cried out, gasping his name, as my pussy clenched around his tongue, flooding his mouth, dripping down his chin. The pleasure bordered on pain, unbearable and perfect, leaving me sobbing and shaking in its wake while he groaned against me, refusing to let go.
I was still breathing hard, thighs trembling, nerves frayed with aftershock. My lip was caught between my teeth, still dazed from the last orgasm, when he gently set me back on the floor, then spread my legs open again and buried himself inside me with a deep, hungry thrust.
I gasped. The intrusion was too much—too soon—and yet, my body welcomed it like a drug I couldn’t quit.
I was raw, overstimulated to the edge of madness, but the second he filled me again, the ache spiked into hunger.
My walls clenched around him instinctively, greedy for the stretch, the weight, the fullness.
Every thrust sent fire through my veins—pleasure so sharp it bordered on agony, my body no longer able to separate the two. I wanted to consume him. To lock him inside me until we both dissolved into nothing.
He leaned down, cradled my head in his hands, and carefully maneuvered the cuffs beneath my neck so they wouldn’t bite too deep.
Then he lowered himself fully onto me—chest crushing chest, breaths tangling between our open mouths, his heat seeping into every inch of my skin.
I clawed at his back, nails carving deep red trails down his spine.
He hissed through gritted teeth, muscles jumping under my fingertips.
My vision fractured, sparks exploding behind my eyelids as overstimulation shoved me over the edge again.
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, breath jagged and hot.
“I love you,” he panted. “I fucking love you.”
Another thrust—harder, deeper, relentless. “I love you,” he repeated, voice cracking.
“Always. Even if you hate me. Even if you run from me forever.”
His mouth crashed into mine—hot, sloppy, desperate. We kissed like drowning people, like oxygen was optional as long as we had each other.
“I love you too.” I gasped between moans.
His lips trailed down my jaw. “Be mine, Kira” he growled. “Be mine.”
More kissing. Raw, clumsy, and so fucking wet. Tongues colliding, stroking, devouring each other.
“I never stopped being yours,” I breathed, the words breaking out of me. “Oh God. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” he gritted.
I kissed him again, biting his lower lip. “I—I’m so close,” I moaned, voice cracking.
His forehead pressed to mine. “Come with me,” he growled. “Now. With me.”
“I love you,” I sobbed. “Maksym—I love you—”
“God, Kira—fuck—”
And then it hit.
I came hard, shaking, clawing at his back as my body spasmed beneath him. My vision blew out in white as I convulsed around him.
He groaned—deep and raw—and came with me, burying himself to the hilt, cock twitching as he spilled inside me. Nothing felt more euphoric than the way he lost control with me—the heat of him against my body, his breath breaking as he came.
His lips devoured mine as we both came undone, tongues tangling, breath ragged between kisses. I moaned into his mouth as he pulsed inside me, and he groaned again, swallowing the sound like he needed it to live.
He loves me. He said he was mine—and the truth of it flooded through me, overwhelming, intoxicating, like I could lose myself in him completely, like there was no line between where I ended and he began, only that deep, consuming bliss pulling me under.
—Maksym—
Ieased out of her slowly, careful not to hurt her, though my cock twitched at the reluctant drag.
My breath was still uneven, and my wrists were sore.
I stood, still handcuffed, and made my way to the bedroom.
My shoulders rolled as I opened the drawer and retrieved the small key, then twisted awkwardly until I heard the soft click of release.
The cuffs fell away. I looked down at my hands.
Fuck.
They were raw—skin scraped, wrists bruised, faint streaks of blood where the metal had torn into me while I’d been holding her, fucking her, losing every ounce of control. I half-laughed under my breath. It wasn’t funny, not really. But the sound came anyway. Like disbelief.
Jesus Christ.
She was still coming down from whatever the hell she’d taken last night, still half hungover, and I fucked her brains out like I didn’t give a shit.
What the fuck is wrong with me.
I left the cuffs on the nightstand and went to the bathroom. Turned the bathtub faucet to hot and let the water thunder into the tub.
When I stepped back out, she was still lying there.
Naked. Dazed. Glowing.
I went to the kitchen, poured her a glass of water, and returned. She didn’t move until I knelt beside her carefully and brushed my knuckles over her shoulder.
“Hey,” I murmured. “Easy. Sit up for me, yeah?”
She blinked at me slowly, then let me help her. I pressed the glass into her hand.
“Drink.”
She drank half, and I nodded. “Finish it.”
She did, eyes still on mine the entire time.
I set the glass on the coffee table and slid an arm under her knees, the other behind her back, lifting her easily. She was boneless in my arms, head falling gently to my shoulder.
I carried her to the bathroom and into the bath, easing her into the hot water.
Steam curled around us as she settled into the tub with a soft, broken sigh.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked, voice low.
She looked at me and gave the faintest nod.
I stepped in behind her and sank into the water. She rested against my chest, our skin sticking wetly, her hair damp and curling against my jaw.
For a long moment, we said nothing.
Then I asked, “How do you feel?”
She let out a rasp of a laugh. “Like I got hit by a train. With a cock.”
I barked a short, helpless laugh, tightening my arms around her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. But in my defense…” I nuzzled her hair. “Watching you touch yourself almost killed me.”
She hummed.
Then: “Did you forgive me?”
She went quiet for a beat. “I don’t know. Are you going to keep lying to me?”
I exhaled hard. “If I could slice myself open and dump every secret at your feet, I would. But before I do that—I need time. And I need you not to bail.”
The water lapped softly. She tilted her head just enough to meet my gaze. “Then give me something real,” she said—calm, but with that dangerous edge.
I dragged my thumb along her collarbone, slow. “Fine. I have something for you.”
She arched a brow.
“I put a tracker on you.”
Her eyes flashed wide, then narrowed. She twisted fast, water sloshing, until she was straddling me. “You what?”
“After Stas,” I said, hands gripping her wet hips. “I told myself it was protection. Truth is I was already fucking obsessed. Needed to know where you were… needed to know I could reach you before anyone else touched you.”
She stared, then shook her head with a short laugh. “Honestly?” she said. “I’m not even surprised.”
I huffed a laugh.
“So that’s how you were always there,” she said, brows lifting. “Some psycho guardian angel.”
“Pretty much,” I murmured. “Every time you were in deep shit, I was already moving.”
Her fingers slid down my arm; she lifted my hand and kissed the palm, slow and deliberate. “You’re insane,” she whispered. Then, softer, lips brushing skin: “But you saved me. Every damn time.”
I swallowed.
“I have something else,” I said, voice dropping.
She caught the shift instantly. Her playful look vanished; eyes sharpened. “What?”
I tucked wet hair behind her ear. “I found your mother.”
She froze. Then her eyes blew wide—raw, sudden light. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t fuck with me.”
“I’m not,” I said quietly. “She’s alive. Recovering. I will take you to her. I swear. Just… not yet. She needs stability first.”
Her hands flew to my face, holding it tight, thumbs pressing my cheeks as she searched my eyes. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” I said.
Her face shattered.
She kissed me once—hard, needy—then again, then scattered frantic kisses over my face, laughing and crying together before crashing against me, arms locked around my neck. “Thank you,” she choked into my skin. “Thank you.”
This was the only version of the world that made sense—her alive in my arms.
She whispered thank you, but I was the grateful one. For her pulse under my hand. For not turning away from what I am.