"You watch Aleksandr," she whispers. "You watch me."
"Yes," I admit, bending until my breath grazes her ear. "Because I want no man touching what I intend to touch."
She shivers, then bites down on the sound that wants to escape. I catch it anyway, catching her chin and drawing her back to my mouth, slower this time, deeper.
The desk edge digs into her hips as I press her harder into it, her thighs tightening against me in reflex. I taste resistance and need in equal measure. "Say it," I tell her between kisses, voice rough. "Say you want me here. Say you'll give me truth with your body, not just your words."
Her nails rake lightly across my neck. She doesn't say yes. She doesn't say no. She leans in and bites my lower lip instead, dragging heat from me in a growl. I half expect her to pull away, but instead she smiles, not softly or kindly but like a woman who knows exactly how far she can tilt the balance. "You think you lead this," she whispers. "You don't."
Before I can answer, she slips out of my hold. The sudden absence of her body against mine is a sharper cut than her teeth. She sinks slowly to her knees, deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine. My breath catches—not because I'm unprepared, but because I know exactly what this means.
"Valya," I start, my voice lower than I want it to be.
"Don't command me," she interrupts, fingers already at my belt. "Not here. Not now. You wanted truth? Watch."
The sound of leather sliding through brass fills the room, louder than the candle's hiss. Her hands are steady, purposeful, and when she frees me, the cool air of the room is nothing against the heat that surges from her touch.
I brace a hand against the desk behind me, the other curling reflexively in her hair. She tilts her head just enough to make it clear. She allows my hand there, nothing more.
Her mouth hovers, breath warm, tormenting. "Still think I need a roof?"
My throat tightens around a laugh that comes out rough. "I think I need mercy."
She doesn't give it. Her tongue drags slowly along the length of me, unhurried, deliberate cruelty. My body jerks despite every effort at restraint. She watches me over the curve of her cheek, eyes burning with triumph.
"Tell me," she says, lips grazing, voice thick with defiance. "Tell me you're in control."
I grit out her name, but the sound breaks when she takes me fully into her mouth, all the way, her hand firm at the base. Fire floods me, and control becomes a story I can't sell to myself anymore.
Her rhythm is steady, merciless, swallowing down every ounce of command I thought I carried into this room. Each drag of her mouth is an argument she is winning, each flick of her tongue another truth forced out of me.
"Valya—" My hand tightens in her hair, not to stop her, but because if I don't hold something, I'll shatter.
She pulls back just long enough to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes gleaming, lips wet. "That's truth," she says, then takes me again, fiercer, as if she intends to break every vow I've ever made by the sound of my own breath. Her mouth seals around me again, and the sound it makes—wet, raw, a low choke when I push too far—scrapes fire straight up my spine. I grit my teeth, my hand flexing in her hair. She thinks she's setting the pace. She's wrong.
"Open wider," I growl, pushing her down until her throat protests with a gag. The vibration nearly undoes me. She claws at my thigh, not to escape, but to hold steady as I drag her back and forth on me.
The room fills with the slap of my hips against her mouth, the wet pull of her lips, the muffled, desperate noises she makes every time I bury myself deeper. Each sound drives me harder, until I'm fucking into her with a rhythm that feels like punishment and prayer at once.
Her eyes water, mascara smudging at the corners, and I swear she's never looked more dangerous. She tries to smile around me, a garbled hum that sends a violent shiver through me.
"Do you hear yourself?" I rasp, pumping her mouth slowly, then hard again, savoring the way her throat takes me. "That's not defiance. That's surrender."
She gags when I hold her there, my grip iron in her hair. Her nails dig crescents into my thigh and the sound that rips out of her throat is obscene, perfect. I ease her back just enough to let her breathe, strings of saliva catching the candlelightbetween us. Her chest heaves, lips swollen, spit smeared across her chin. "Not surrender," she gasps, voice wrecked. "Choice."
That word makes something snap in me. I fist her hair tighter, drag her back down onto me, thrusting deep, faster now, the desk rattling under my grip as her gags turn to wet, helpless sounds. The noise fills the room like confession. Every shove into her throat is a demand, every pull back a denial, and still she takes it, still she lets me.
"Choice?" I snarl, hips jerking, her throat wrapping tightly. "Then choose to choke for me."
Her throat works around me, gag after gag, spit slicking her chin, dripping down onto her blouse. The wet choke of it, the obscene suction, the slap of my hips—it's a symphony of ruin, and I'm the one playing her.
Her eyes roll up for a moment when I hold her down too long, and the gag that tears out of her is so sharp it almost breaks me. My jaw locks and my thighs tremble with the effort of not finishing right there.
"Fuck," I snarl, yanking her off me, my cock leaving her mouth with a wet pop and a strand of spit snapping between us. She gasps, coughing, mascara streaked, lips red and swollen.
Before she can smirk her victory, I've got her hauled up by the wrist, spinning her into me. Her body collides with my chest, and I slam my mouth down on hers, tasting myself on her tongue, tasting the wreck I made of her.
"You think you're the only one who can take control?" I growl against her lips.
