When his grip slides down to anchor my hips, I gasp against his lips. He takes it as permission, grinding me back into the unforgiving wood, making sure I feel just how easily he owns me.
I claw at his shoulders, half desperate to push him off, half desperate to keep him there.
“Niko,” I manage, but it comes out as a plea, not the protest I intended.
His hand doesn’t leave my throat. He keeps me pinned there like I’m prey, his thumb pressing lightly at the base of my jaw so I can’t look anywhere but at him. His eyes are dark, sharp, and hungry—like he’s been waiting for me to snap just so he can break me apart.
He shoves my legs open with his knee, rough and unyielding, and I gasp. He paws at my pants, and I gasp when the fabric rips, leaving me bare to him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice gravel wrapped in silk. “So angry…and so wet.” His fingers slide between my thighs, and I jolt as he drags them through my pussy, slow at first, then harder, deliberately making me feel every inch of his touch.
My back arches against the table, my hands gripping the edge until my knuckles ache. I want to push him away. I want to pull him closer. Both urges collide, and I can barely breathe.
“Stop—” I choke out, but my hips betray me, rolling toward his hand.
“Stop?” He tilts his head, mocking. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” He presses two fingers inside me in one harsh thrust, making me cry out. “But you won’t. Because you love how it feels when I take what’s mine.”
A broken sound escapes me—half denial, half moan.
His mouth crashes onto mine again, his kiss as brutal as his touch. He swallows every gasp, every protest, every plea, until all that’s left is the raw, blistering ache of wanting him.
Then he pulls his hand away, and I almost whimper at the loss. My thighs tremble, my body strung so tight it hurts.
“Niko, please….” The word scrapes out of me before I can swallow it.
“Oh, you beg me so prettily. How can I refuse,ogonek?” His voice is dark silk, cruel in its pleasure.
He sinks two fingers inside me again, deeper this time, curling until he finds that spot that makes me see stars.
A loud cry rips out of my throat. My nails dig into his arms as I grind down on his hand, chasing every maddening stroke. “Oh, fuck, Niko—please.”
“Yes,” he growls, his tempo quickening. “Keep begging, my pretty girl. Keep begging.”
His mouth traces down my throat, hot and possessive, until he reaches my breasts. He latches onto one hard nipple through the thin fabric of my shirt, sucking hard enough that I arch and cry out. Even with the barrier, the heat of his mouth burns through me, and I swear I’ll go insane from it.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
He drags his tongue over me, leaving wet circles, then bites. Sharp. Claiming. I shudder violently, my body at his mercy.
A third finger slides inside me, stretching me, filling me until I gasp. “Oh, fuck,” he snarls against the swell of my breasts. “You’re so tight. So fucking tight,moya devochka.”
I writhe under him, my body spiraling, that edge so close I can taste it. I’m seconds from breaking apart, from surrendering everything to the ruin of him—
And then he’s gone. His fingers slip free. His mouth lifts away.
The world drops out from under me. My body clutches uselessly, bereft, as though it doesn’t understand why he stopped. My eyes fly open, glazed and furious, to find him smirking down at me like he owns me. Like this was all his game from the start.
Heat sears my face—anger, humiliation, unbearable want.
“Fuck you,” I spit, breathless, shaking, hating how wrecked I sound.
His smirk deepens, cruel and beautiful, and he leans closer until I can taste the ghost of my own arousal on his lips.
“You will,” he murmurs, his voice silk over steel. His hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And you’ll keep fucking me until I decide you’re done. Until your legs shake and your throat is raw from screaming my name.”
Heat explodes low in my stomach at his words, traitorous and unstoppable. I want to slap him again. I want to claw his face. Instead, my thighs press together, desperate for friction, for him.
He notices—of course, he notices. His smirk turns into a dangerous grin.
