VALYA
His grip on my wrist is like iron, pulling me down the back hallway of my father's estate, away from the glitter of the gala, away from the prying eyes that would never forgive this. My heels skid on the marble as he drags me through a side door, then shoves it shut behind us. The music from the ballroom muffles to a distant hum. It's just us now—me pressed against the cold wood, him looming like a storm cloud that has finally broken.
"Do you know what you looked like tonight?" Dmitri's voice is low, dangerous, the accent curling sharp around every word. "Parading in that silver dress, slit to your hip, showing every man in that room what belongs to me."
I want to argue, to bite back with something cruel. But his hand is already on my thigh, dragging the silk higher, his other palm braced above my head, caging me in. His eyes burn down into mine, ice-gray and merciless, and my mouth betrays me.
"Maybe I wanted you to notice."
His jaw flexes. Then his mouth is on mine—brutal, claiming, devouring. He tastes of vodka and smoke, his tongue thrusting past my lips like he owns the right to take. My gasp feeds him. He growls into me, grinding his hips against mine, and I feel the thick, hard press of him through his trousers.
He breaks the kiss only to drag his mouth down my throat, sucking hard until the bruise blooms, sharp and stinging. "I'm going to mark you everywhere," he murmurs against my skin. "So no man forgets who you belong to. Not your father. Not Sergei. Not anyone."
His hand finds my breast through the silk, palming me roughly, thumb circling the nipple until it stiffens against the fabric. I arch helplessly into his touch. He chuckles, low and cruel. "Such a spoiled little princess. But this body was made for me."
I gasp as he yanks the straps of my gown down, baring me. The cold air hits my nipples before his mouth does, hot and wet, sucking one deep, teeth scraping. My cry echoes in the small room. He switches, tugging the other with his teeth while his hand pinches the first. The pain makes me moan.
"Dmitri."
He pulls back just enough to snarl, "Say my name again. Say it when you scream."
I can't think. His hand slides lower, under my skirt, fingers finding me wet and ready. He groans, a sound so filthy it makes my thighs shake. "Look at you. Drenched already. Tell me, Valentina—did you touch yourself before this party, knowing I'd be watching you?"
I bite my lip, defiant, but his finger circles my clit and I break with a whimper. His laugh is dark, victorious.
"You'll learn," he growls, pressing two thick fingers inside me without warning, stretching me until I cry out. "You'll learn what it means to be taken by a man, not some boy who whispered lies in your ear."
His other hand fists in my hair, tugging my head back so he can mouth over my throat again, sucking hickeys into every inch of skin he can reach. My body writhes against him, torn between fighting and giving in.
He drags his fingers out of me, slick with my arousal, and shoves them into my mouth. "Suck."
I obey, sucking hard, my tongue curling around his fingers, tasting myself. His cock twitches against my hip and he groans, eyes closing for half a second. When he looks at me again, it's feral.
"You'll take my cock the way you're sucking my fingers. Deep. Hungry. No complaints."
He pulls his hand free, then grabs my waist, turning me toward the long oak desk in the corner. Papers scatter as he shoves me forward, pressing my chest against the polished surface, my ass raised high. His palm smacks down hard, the sound echoing, the sting making me cry out.
"You think you can mock me? Call me your father's dog?" His voice is rougher now, lower, his hand spanking me again, harder, until the burn spreads. "I'll show you what I am. I'll fuck you until you can't walk back into that ballroom without everyone knowing you've been ruined by me."
My thighs tremble, wetness slicking down them, humiliated by how much his filthy threats make me ache.
He leans over me, his breath hot at my ear. "Open your mouth, princess. Beg me to give you what you need."
The smack of his palm still burns across my ass when he shifts behind me. I hear the rasp of his breath, the low scrape of his belt buckle, and for a moment I think he's going to take me now—rough, merciless, like he promised. But instead, the weight of him disappears.
I glance back over my shoulder, chest pressed to the cold desk, and my breath catches. Dmitri is on his knees.
"Don't move," he growls, hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise. He spreads me open, baring me shamelessly. "You want to mock me like a dog? Then I'll eat like one."
The first drag of his tongue is brutal, a flat, wet stroke from my entrance up over my clit, slow and deliberate. My cry echoes sharp against the paneled walls. He groans low in his chest, like the taste of me is something he's been denied for too long.
"Sweet little cunt," he mutters into me, lips and tongue working like he's devouring a feast. "I knew you'd be dripping for me. Do you even realize how wet you are?"
I can't answer. My fingers claw at the polished desk, my body arching back against his mouth. He licks me again, slower, circling my clit with the tip of his tongue until my thighs shake. Then he plunges in deep, tongue fucking me hard, groaning like a man starving, each growl vibrating straight through me.
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep the sound down. His response is immediate—he smacks my ass, hard, making me cry out.
"Don't you dare hide those sounds from me," he growls, licking me again, rougher. "I want every scream, every moan, every filthy little whimper. Give them to me."
