The ballroom has gone silent, everyone watching to see how Alexei handles his lieutenant's insult.
"Tork," Alexei says softly, death in his voice. "You mentioned sharing?"
The drunk lieutenant nods, too intoxicated to recognize danger. "Just a thought between brothers—"
"Let me share something with you instead."
Alexei grabs Tork's hand, the one that touched me, holding it up for witnesses.
"This hand touched what's mine," he announces. "Let me be very clear. She is mine. Not ours. Not negotiable. Mine."
The first finger breaks with a wet crack. Tork screams.
"This finger touched her." Snap. The middle finger bends backward, bone piercing skin.
"And this one." The ring finger follows, blood dripping onto marble.
Each break makes my pussy clench, wetness soaking through my panties. I'm sick, broken, getting off on violence done in my name.
"Every." Crack. "Single." Snap. "Finger."
The pinky breaks last. Tork collapses, sobbing, cradling his destroyed hand.
"Apologize to her," Alexei commands. "Kiss her shoe and beg forgiveness."
Tork crawls to me, blood trailing behind. I stand perfectly still as he presses his lips to my heel, mumbling apologies. The room watches in absolute silence.
"Anyone else," Alexei addresses the room, hand returning to my back, "who thinks what's mine is available for discussion?"
Silence.
"Good. Clean this up."
As security drags Tork away, Alexei leans down, lips brushing my ear. "Did you enjoy that, kotyonok?"
"I don't enjoy violence," I lie, though my nipples are so hard they hurt and my panties are soaked through.
His dark laugh makes me shiver. "Your body says otherwise. Your pupils are dilated. Your breath quickened." His voice drops. "You're dripping wet from watching me destroy him for daring to touch you."
Heat floods my face because he's right. My pussy throbs with need, empty and aching from his display of brutal possession.
He drags me through marble corridors, past guards who study walls as we pass. A door opens to reveal a private study filled with dark wood and leather and danger.
I barely register the sharp click of the lock behind us before Alexei’s hands are on me—one wrapped tight around my throat above the collar, the other fisted in the hair at my scalp, angling my face up until my back arches and I’m forced to meet his winter-pale gaze.
"That joint lock," he snarls, "perfect form, military precision. Where did a princess like you learn that?"
My pulse beats wild against his palm. I drag in a shaky breath, scrambling for the demure, empty-eyed look that’s protected me thus far, but he is not fooled. Not now. Not after what he saw.
"I don't know what—"
He cuts me off with a cruel chuckle, shaking his head like I’m a wayward kitten who’s bitten too deep. "Lie to me again and I'll make Tork look lucky." His other hand skims down the line of my body, hiking the dress up so the silk pools around my hips. In one motion, he slips his fingers beneath the elastic of my panties, finds the heat between my legs, and shoves aside the last scrap of dignity.
He’s rough, deliberate, like he’s been imagining this every night since he took me. Two thick fingers thrust inside me without warning. The stretch is sudden and obscene, and my body—traitor, traitor, traitor—welcomes the invasion with a slick heat that coats his hand.
"Your mouth lies," he bites out, driving his fingers deeper, "but your cunt tells the truth."
I clamp my lips together, straining to keep the moan behind my teeth. I will not give him the satisfaction. But he’s relentless, curling his fingers just so, grazing the spot that makes my knees buckle. The hand at my throat holds me up, keeps me locked in place as he works my body ruthlessly. His thumb circles my clit, slow at first, then faster, then a cruel feather-light tease that leaves me gasping and desperate.
