Lara
Chapter Fourteen
H e rose, looming over me, and for a fleeting moment, I dared to hope he would release me from his grasp.
With one hand still entwined in my hair like a serpent and the other clasping my arm in a vise-like grip, he hauled me to my feet and bent me over the expansive dining table, flipping me onto my stomach like a ragdoll.
The cool, polished wood pressed against my cheek as he roughly lifted the hem of my dress, the sound of tearing fabric echoing through the room as he ripped away my delicate lace panties.
I lay there, face down and exposed, my ass bare to the cold air, as he forcefully spread my legs apart.
“I’m not even close to being finished,” he growled, his voice a dark, velvety promise laced with menace, sending a shiver down my spine.
Seizing the moment, I attempted to escape, my fingers clawing at the table as I crawled away from him like a wounded animal.
His hand wrapped around my ankle like a shackle, pulling me back toward him with a harsh tug. A sharp, stinging pain radiated through me as he delivered several punishing blows to my ass, the sound of his hand meeting my flesh echoing through the room like a gunshot.
He flipped me over onto my back, the cold wood of the table a brief, merciful respite for my heated skin. Dmitri spread my legs once again, his eyes burning into me.
Despite his earlier intimacies, I felt a wave of humiliation and exposure under his intense, unyielding gaze.
He reached into his pocket, retrieving a small, gleaming knife.
With a flick of his wrist, he slid the blade down the front of my dress, the fabric parting like butter under a hot knife, leaving me even more exposed.
Not satisfied, he repeated the motion with my lace bra, the cool air kissing my now naked flesh.
He placed his broad, flat palm on my bare stomach, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I wanted to do this properly on our wedding night, but apparently, you need to be reminded of who owns you.”
Oh, God.
My body convulsed and twisted in fear as I made another desperate attempt to escape. Before I could move an inch, he captured both of my wrists in one of his large hands, pinning them above my head like a trapped, fluttering bird.
His free hand moved deliberately, cupping my most intimate place with a possessive grip. I clenched my thighs, my imagination running wild with the memory of his fingers invading me, the sensation still raw and vivid hours later.
Despite the fear coursing through me, I felt a traitorous warmth spreading, my body betraying me with an embarrassing wetness.
His fingertips danced along the seams of my pussy, a cruel tease, while his other hand gripped his cock. Even in his large, calloused hand, his erection was monumental, the skin taut and flushed with an almost frightening purplish hue, a testament to the blood surging beneath.
He wrapped his fingers around its thick shaft, pumping them up and down in a rhythm that matched the taunting dance of his fingers against my pussy.
I turned my head to the side, squeezing my eyes shut, as if that could block out the reality of what was happening.
“Eyes on me, kukolka ,” he growled, his voice a low, commanding rumble.
I shook my head, a silent refusal, a futile resistance.
Without warning, he pinched the tender skin of my inner thigh, his fingers cruel and unyielding. “I said, eyes on me.”
A cry escaped my lips as I turned to face him, my eyes meeting his stern, unyielding gaze.
He stepped closer, our bodies pressing together, his heat scorching me. He rubbed the head of his shaft against me, a harsh, insistent pressure.
“If you had been a good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr, “this would have gone very differently.”
He shifted his hips, increasing the pressure, a silent, brutal reminder of his power. “But instead, you defy me at every turn.”
He leaned over me, his knuckles pressing into the soft flesh of my inner thigh as he guided the head of his cock toward my entrance. “I warned you,” he whispered, his breath hot on my ear.
Tears streamed down my face, my voice a broken whisper. “Please, Dmitri.”
The head of his cock pressed into me, a harsh, insistent invasion. “It’s time you learned who you belong to,” he growled.
He thrust forward, a brutal, claiming stroke.
My back arched, a guttural cry tearing from my throat. “Please. Stop. It hurts.”
The pain was a vivid, searing lightning, splintering through me.
I could feel my body stretching and being rent in two around his thick, unyielding shaft as he pushed deeper into my core.
When he seized my hips with his hands, I reached out blindly, my nails gouging deep, bloody canyons down the exposed landscape of his chest, fighting the dual assault of pain and unwanted arousal.
He withdrew slightly, then plunged again, delving even deeper.
The pain was raw and real, yet my inner thighs betrayed me, clenching around his hips, drawing him closer as my mind wrestled against the magnetic pull of his brutal allure.
He pressed his body flush against mine, his open mouth ravaging the side of my neck before he growled, hot and harsh, “Do you feel that, kukolka ? My cock is the only fucking cock you’ll ever know. ”
His thrusts quickened, a relentless pistoning. Slowly, my body yielded to his thick intrusion. He reached between us, capturing one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grating against the tender flesh.
I groaned, my head thrashing from side to side as my body responded to his rough ministrations, craving the cruel pleasure of his touch.
“You are going to give me an heir,” he decreed, before claiming my mouth with his.
His tongue warred with mine, tasting, licking, dominating. His teeth sank into my bottom lip so fiercely that the coppery tang of blood flooded my mouth.
The relentless pounding of his thrusts beat my body into submission. His mouth moved over the edge of my jaw, down my neck, his tongue flicking over the rapid pulse at the base of my throat before capturing the other nipple.
“Oh, God.”
Of their own volition, my hands tangled in his hair, pulling hard. On some primal level, I yearned to inflict pain on him, to make him hurt as he was hurting me.
The sheer mass of his body bore down on me, his weight a primal force pinning me to the table as my legs entwined around his waist, drawing him closer in a dance of twisted desire. I was aching, yearning, pulling him deeper into me.
No scene from a movie or passage from a romance novel could have ever prepared me for the sheer intensity, the all- consuming feeling of Dmitri’s body claiming mine. It was a raw, carnal sensation that sent waves of heat coursing through my veins.
His hand snaked between our entwined bodies, fingers finding my most sensitive spot, circling and caressing with expert precision.
The added stimulation was more than I could bear.
My breath hitched, coming in harsh, ragged gasps as my back arched off the table, the pleasure building with each powerful, deep thrust.
“I knew my kukolka would love my cock,” he growled, his voice a low, primal rumble. “Come for me.”
I wanted to resist, to deny him, to deny what my body craved, but his dominance was overwhelming. His other hand wrapped around my throat, fingers pressing lightly into my flesh.
He didn’t squeeze, didn’t need to. The mere threat, the knowledge that he controlled the very air I breathed, was intoxicating.
It was a horrifying, arousing echo of the belt, how he’d choked me with his cock.
He was the Bratva, a monster, a killer, and I was just his captive, a plaything for his dark desires.
An orgasm ripped through me, a storm of sensation that left me lightheaded and euphoric. I hated him for it, but mostly I hated myself. He thrust into me several more times, his body tensing, his jaw clenching as he threw his head back, swallowing his own scream of pleasure.
For a moment, he collapsed on top of me, his weight a strangely comforting pressure. But it was short-lived.
As if despising that moment of vulnerability, he pulled back, unwinding my legs from around his waist and stepping back.
Placing his hands on my knees, he spread my legs wide.
I gasped as he impaled me with two of his fingers, drawing them out to reveal the crimson blood coating them.
With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean of my virginal blood.
With a sharp cry escaping my lips, I hastily backed away from him, sliding off the polished wood table. My arms instinctively wrapped around my exposed body, desperately trying to cover myself with the tattered remnants of my dress.
Unbuttoning his crisp shirt with deliberate movements, he slid it off his broad shoulders and extended it toward me. “Here, put this on,” he offered.
Instead of arguing, all I could do was stare at his chest and the intricate detail of the tattoos along his chest and over his shoulder. And then down one arm. How could a man so monstrous be so beautiful at the same time?
I shed my ruined dress and slipped into Dmitri’s shirt. His distinctive, spicy scent enveloped me, a reminder of his presence, as I threaded my arms through the sleeves. Foregoing the effort to button it, I wrapped the fabric tightly around myself, seeking some semblance of dignity.
As I prepared to leave, Dmitri’s firm grip encircled my arm, halting my escape. “Don’t defy me again,” he warned, his voice tinged with a strange mix of regret and authority as he kissed the back of my head. “It pains me to hurt you.”
Fighting back the tears that threatened to spill, I glanced over my shoulder, offering only a silent nod. He might have claimed my virginity, but he would never possess my love. I vowed never to give him the heir he so desperately desired. I refused to bring another monster into this world.