10. Ilya
ILYA
My grip on her upper arm is iron, the silk of her sleeve sliding uselessly under my fingers as I haul her down the dimly lit VIP corridor.
She’s stumbling, her black stiletto heels catching on the heavy plush runner of the hallway.
Her breath is coming in short, furious gasps, her free hand clawing at my wrist in a desperate attempt to break my hold.
I don't slow down. I don't look back at the trail of security guards or the heavy, vibrating bass of the house music shaking the concrete walls behind us.
"Let go of me! Ilya, you’re hurting me!"
I keep moving, my jaw clamped shut so tight, my teeth ache.
I can feel the eyes of my soldiers on my back as we pass.
Dmitri is already at the end of the hall, his hand resting on the brass handle of a heavy door marked with a gold plaque.
He pushes it open, stepping aside to let me pass, his eyes fixed on the empty corridor behind us.
"Keep the hallway clear," I grunt, shoving her through the threshold. "Nobody comes in. If a Russo even looks down this corridor, put a bullet in his skull."
Dmitri nods once, his face cold and unreadable, and pulls the door shut. The lock engages with a heavy, satisfying click.
I turn around, my eyes scanning the room.
It’s a private executive bathroom, tiled in cold black marble with gold fixtures and a massive, lighted vanity mirror that stretches across the far wall.
The air is cool, smelling of bleach, expensive lavender soap, and the rain leaking in from the ventilation shaft.
She’s already scrambling backward, her back hitting the edge of the marble vanity.
Her golden hair is falling out of its neat pins, clinging to her damp cheeks.
Her chest is heaving, the plunging neckline of the black silk dress shifting with every rapid, panicked breath she takes.
Her lips are parted, wet, and trembling.
"You're insane," she pants, her knuckles white as she grips the edge of the stone. "You almost killed him."
I walk toward her, my boots leaving dull, wet prints on the polished floor.
I slowly peel off my leather gloves, tossing them onto the marble counter.
"Vladimir Russo is a walking corpse. He spoke to my wife like she was a street whore in front of my captains.
If I hadn't cracked his skull, Viktor Russo would have thought I was weak. The entire city would have thought so."
"I took care of it!" She stands her ground, her chin lifting in that stubborn, irritating way that makes my blood run hot. "I didn't need you to play the big, bad protector."
I slam my hand against the marble right next to her hip, the sound echoing off the tiles like a gunshot. She flinches, her breath catching, but she doesn't look away.
"You put a target on your back, Viallentinka," I growl, my face inches from hers.
I can smell the vanilla of her skin, mixed with the sharp, sweet tang of the champagne that splashed onto her bodice.
"Viktor Russo is looking for any excuse to start a war.
He wants my territory. He wants my ports.
And you just gave him the perfect leverage on a silver platter.
If Vladimir had pulled his gun, my men would have cleared that room.
Do you have any idea what that means for your father? "
She swallows, her throat bobbing, her eyes darting to the locked door before returning to mine. "My father is a Denisov. He’s survived worse than Viktor Russo."
"Your father is an old man with half a security detail and a frozen bank account," I say, my voice dropping into a low, vicious register. "He’s alive because I allow it. He’s alive because the alliance is signed.
The moment Russo thinks I don't care about the contract, he will slide a blade into Petr's throat just to see if I blink. "
Her defensive walls crumble, just for a second. The defiance in her eyes wavers, replaced by a raw, naked terror that she tries to hide by biting her lower lip. "Then why did you bring me here? Why didn't you just leave me at the estate if I’m such a liability?"
"Because you're my asset," I rasp, my hand coming up to wrap around her throat, my thumb pressing right into the notch of her collarbone.
I squeeze, just enough to make her gasp, her small hands instantly flying up to grip my forearm.
"And you need to learn your place. I told you to behave. I told you to stay quiet. Instead, you decide to show the entire northern council that you’re a wild little beast."
"I won't let them talk to me like that," she wheezes, her fingers digging into my suit sleeve. "I won't let anyone... anyone think I’m just a toy."
"You are a toy, Via," I murmur, my thumb tracing the rapid, terrified flutter of her pulse. "You’re my toy. And tonight, you’re going to learn what happens when you break the rules."
I release her neck, but before she can draw a full breath, I grab her by the waist and spin her around.
She lets out a sharp, startled shriek as her hips hit the cold edge of the marble vanity. I press my weight against her back, pinning her body against the stone. The black silk of her dress is slick under my hands as I reach down, grab the hem, and bunch the fabric up past her waist.
The view makes my breath catch in my throat.
She’s wearing the thin, black lace thong I selected for her, her pale, smooth cheeks completely exposed to the bright lights of the vanity mirror. Her thighs are shaking, her bare skin goosebumped from the cool air of the room.
"Ilya, don't," she whimpers, her forehead resting against the glass of the mirror as she tries to push back against me. "Not here. Please."
"You should have thought about the venue before you threw that glass, sweetheart," I say, my voice a dark, empty hum.
I raise my right hand, my palm flat and heavy. I don't hesitate. I bring it down with a loud, stinging crack right across her bare bottom.
Smack.
The sound is deafening in the tiled room, echoing off the marble walls. Via lets out a sharp, high-pitched gasp, her back arching, her fingers clawing at the smooth stone of the counter. The skin of her left cheek instantly turns a bright, angry pink.
"That’s for Vladimir," I growl, my hand swinging back again.
Smack.
"Ah! Stop! I hate you!"
Smack.
She sobs, her hips twitching as she tries to escape the bite of my palm, but my left hand is a vise on her hip, holding her firmly in place.
I deliver three more heavy, rhythmic blows, the skin of her bottom warming under my hand, turning a beautiful, deep red that contrasts sharply with the pale skin of her thighs.
"You are a Kovalevskii now," I say, my breath hot against her bare shoulder as I lean down, my chest pressing her flat against the marble. "Your name is my name. Your mouth is my mouth. When you speak, you speak with my authority. If you forget that again, Via, the punishment won't be this gentle."
She’s panting, small, wet sobs escaping her throat as she stares at her own flushed face in the mirror. "You're... you're a beast."
"I am," I mutter, my hand sliding down her inner thigh.
I find the lace of her thong and rip it. The fabric tears easily, the black lace fluttering down to the wet tile floor. I slide my fingers between her thighs, my hand warm against her skin.
I expect her to be dry. I expect her body to be shut down from the anger and the humiliation of the spanking.
But when my fingers brush against her cleft, they slide into a thick, soaking wetness that makes my jaw clench. She is dripping. The hot, slippery syrup of her arousal is coating her inner thighs, her body completely betraying her anger.
I let out a low, rough growl, my fingers sliding inside her. "Look at you."
She lets out a loud, broken cry, her head thrashing against the glass of the mirror.
She tries to close her legs, but my thigh is wedged between her knees, forcing them apart.
I move my fingers, driving them deep into her tight, slippery channel, before pulling back to rub my thumb against her swollen nub.
"No, Ilya... please..." Her voice is a ragged, breathless wheeze. She’s staring at her own reflection, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely dark with a lust she can’t control. "I don't... I don't want this."
"Liar," I whisper, my teeth grazing the shell of her ear.
I increase the pace of my fingers, my hand slick with her juices, the wet, squelching sound of the friction loud in the quiet bathroom.
"Look at the mirror, Via. Look at how wet you are for the monster.
You hate me, but your cunt is begging for my cock. "
She lets out a long, ragged groan, her body shaking as the tension in her belly begins to wind tighter. Her internal muscles are clamping down around my fingers, squeezing them in tight, desperate pulses. She’s close. I can feel the heat of her climax rising, her skin turning flush and hot.
I pull my fingers out.
She lets out a sharp, angry cry of protest, her hips jerking backward, seeking the pressure that I just denied her. "Ilya! Please!"
"Beg for it, Via," I growl, my hand coming up to grip her hair, pulling her head back until she has to look at me in the reflection.
My other hand goes to my belt, quickly unbuckling it and sliding my trousers down.
My cock springs free, thick, purple-red, and throbbing with a heavy, painful pulse. "Tell me what you want."
"I want... I want you," she sobs, her head shaking, her tears smearing the makeup around her eyes. "Please, Ilya. It hurts. I need it."
"You want the monster?" I slide my hands down to her hips, positioning the head of my cock right against her wet, throbbing entrance. "Tell me who owns you, Viallentinka."
"You do," she gasps, her fingers digging into the marble until her nails look like they’re about to break. "Fuck you, you do, so just… please."
I drive myself inside her, thrusting deep, my entire length sliding into her tight, burning channel in a single, heavy stroke.
She screams, the sound bouncing off the tiles as she arches her back, her bare breasts pressing against the cold marble of the vanity.
She’s so tight I can barely move, her internal walls wrapping around me like a hot glove, squeezing me so hard I have to freeze, my jaw clenching as I fight the urge to release immediately.
"Via..." I groan, my forehead resting against her shoulder blade. "You're going to break my control."
"Move," she gasps, her hips twitching against mine. "Please, Ilya. Move."
I begin to thrust.
The pace is hard, deep, and brutal. The wet, heavy slap of our bodies hitting is the only sound in the room, mixed with the ragged, breathless gasps escaping her throat. I slide my hand under her belly, my fingers finding her clit and rubbing it hard with every deep stroke of my hips.
The pleasure is too much. She’s crying, her head thrashing against the mirror, her eyes wide as she watches us slide together in the glass.
"Look at it, Via," I growl, my thrusts becoming faster, shallower, driving her toward the edge. "Look at what I’m doing to you."
She lets out a high, piercing shriek, her body going completely rigid.
Her internal muscles clamp down around my cock in a series of violent, shaking contractions that send me over the edge.
I let out a loud, guttural roar, driving myself as deep as I can go, my body shaking as I pump my hot seed deep inside her.
I stay buried inside her, my chest heaving against her back, my hands holding her hips steady as she shivers and cries.
Slowly, I pull back, the sticky friction of our release making a soft, wet sound as I slide out. I clean her with a warm, damp towel from the rack, my movements surprisingly gentle despite the coldness in my eyes.
She’s leaning against the vanity, her legs shaking so hard she can barely stand, her black silk dress ruined and stained.
I pull her up by the chin, forcing her to look at me in the mirror.
"You are my wife, Viallentinka," I whisper, my voice a low, terrifying rasp against her ear. "Your mouth will learn to obey, or I will use it for other things."
She doesn't answer. She just stares at her reflection, her chest still heaving, her eyes dull and hollow.
I button my trousers, buckle my belt, and pull my leather gloves back on. I walk to the door, my boots heavy on the stone, and turn the lock.
"Get cleaned up," I say, not looking back. "We have five minutes before the summit resumes."
I step out into the hallway, the cool air of the corridor hitting my face. Dmitri is standing there, his rifle steady, his eyes scanning the empty hall.
"Everything clear, Boss?" he asks.
"Yes," I growl, my jaw set. "Get the car ready. We're leaving as soon as Russo signs the port agreement."
I stalk down the corridor, my blood still humming, my mind trapped in the memory of the way she screamed my name in the red light of the mirror.
She’s mine.