Before I could react, he was on top of me, one knee pressing into the sofa's edge, his massive frame completely overshadowing mine.
"No—"
His palm clamped over my mouth, rough and unyielding.
"I don't want to hear another word." His voice was hoarse, eyes blazing with wild fire. "Every damn thing from your mouth is a lie. If that's all it's good for, keep it shut."
I thrashed my head, struggling desperately.
The sound of fabric tearing pierced the air. He hiked up my skirt, hooked the edge of my panties, and ripped them off in one brutal yank.
No hesitation—he unbuckled his belt, yanked down his zipper.
He thrust into me without warning, raw and brutal, no preparation whatsoever. Pain exploded through me, white-hot and excruciating, like I was being ripped apart from the inside. I wanted to scream, but his hand muffled it into desperate whimpers, my body arching in agony as he drove deep, his movements heavy and merciless.
"Why'd you betray me?" he growled, slamming harder with each accusation, his hips pounding against mine. "Is it better with Lorenzo? Does he get you this fucking excited?" Another savage thrust. "Which of your words are even true, Noelle?"
I shook my head frantically, tears streaming, but he didn't let up, his weight pinning me down, every brutal motion sending shockwaves of pain tearing through my core.
Finally, he pulled his hand away from my mouth.
I gasped, words spilling out in broken fragments. "I didn't—I swear, Kholod, it wasn't like that—"
He silenced me by ripping my bra down in one vicious tug, exposing my breasts. His hands clamped onto them, kneading roughly, fingers digging in deep. "You're just a lying bitch," he snarled, twisting harder as he kept pumping into me, the friction building despite the lingering ache.
I was furious, desperate, and then—my asthma flared up. I wheezed, my chest tightening, air escaping me. He reached into his pocket, yanked out an inhaler, and shoved it into my mouth mid-thrust, not slowing his rhythm for a second. "Breathe," he barked, forcing the puff as he rammed in deeper.
Relief flooded in quickly, but so did something else. With each punishing stroke, my body started to betray me—growing slick, heat building despite the pain. I felt the shift from pure torment to a twisted blend.
He noticed immediately. "Even like this, you're getting off?" he taunted, his voice thick with mockery. "Look at you, soaking wet already. What a slut."
Shame burned through me; I wanted to vanish, to crawl into some dark hole. "It's not—it's not like that," I choked out, but my hips bucked involuntarily.
"Then why are you getting wetter?" He accelerated, thrusts turning frantic and punishing. His fingers latched onto the tattoo on my chest—the mark claiming me as his—and pinched it hard, grinding down. Pain flared, but so did a dark jolt of pleasure, forcing a gasp from my lips.
I couldn't hold it back; a moan escaped, low and unwilling.
"Only I can make you like this," he hissed, staking his claim, his grip tightening as he drove in deeper, faster.
I hated his roughness, hated how he refused to believe me. But worse, I hated my own body—how it responded, craving more under his assault, pleasure sneaking in amid the hurt.
His pace turned feral, hips slamming with wild intensity. Pain and ecstasy blurred together; I couldn't tell if I was sobbing or moaning anymore, my voice breaking in the heavy air.
"Is this what you wanted from Lorenzo?" he demanded, pounding relentlessly. "Would you be this wet and slutty under him?"
My body went limp from the onslaught, every nerve alight, and suddenly, a bitter laugh escaped me. "Are you... jealous?" I managed, my voice shaky but defiant.
"Shut your mouth," he snapped, but I saw the flicker in his eyes.
"You're jealous," I pressed on, even as he kept going. "Not mad about betrayal—you're losing it over Lorenzo. You think I still want him!"
"I said shut up!"
"Kholod, admit it—you care. You're jealous as hell."
"You fucking—shut up!" His hand shot to my throat, squeezing, then he crushed his mouth against mine in a brutal kiss, silencing everything. He bit down hard on my lower lip, drawing blood, the metallic tang spreading through our mouths as he devoured me, his hips never faltering.
In that savage hold, something snapped inside me—a wild, reckless spark. My body was already yielding to him, syncing with every thrust. Why fight it anymore? If I couldn't escape, why not dive in? Let the Morozov boss serve me for a change. What the hell.
