"The truth," he says, punctuating each word with a thrust that sends sparks up my spine. "Where did you learn combat training?"
"My brothers," I choke out. It’s technically true—Nico and Dante, mostly, had drilled me for self-defense, the basics ofbeing a mob heiress. But that’s not what he’s asking, and we both know it. There’s something in my grip, my footwork, the way I almost snapped Tork’s wrist with surgical precision. Something I never meant for him to see.
He slows, leans in so his lips graze the shell of my ear. "Try again, sofiyushka. Your brothers taught you to shoot, maybe to throw a punch. Who taught you to kill?"
It’s like he can see straight into the catalogue of faces in my memory: the trainers, the tutors, the enforcer who taught a twelve-year-old girl to disarm a grown man before he could slit her throat. But I say nothing. I refuse to give him my secrets.
He moves his hand, finds a rhythm that should be illegal, fingers fucking me faster, thumb torturing my clit until my hips jerk involuntarily, chasing the pleasure even as my mind tries to deny it. The wet sounds are obscene in the hush of the study.
"Not good enough," he growls, biting the words into my neck. "Protection doesn’t teach joint locks that precise."
His fingers curl again, and I whimper, the edge of orgasm approaching, lethal and bright. He slows then, just enough to keep me trembling, to keep me wanting.
"You’re going to come for me," he says, and it’s not a request, not a seduction, it’s a directive. "You’re going to come on my fingers while wearing my collar, after fifty men watched me mark you as mine. And then you’re going to tell me everything."
He’s relentless, driving me higher, until I’m shaking in his grip, so wet I can hear how I coat his hand with every thrust. I’m desperate, clinging to the last of my composure as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge.
"Say it," he commands. "Say who you really are."
"I’m—" My voice is barely more than a gasp. I try to hang on, but he adds a third finger, the stretch nearly too much, and the pain-pleasure of it shatters my defenses.
"Say it," he repeats, fucking me mercilessly.
"I’m—" The words die in my throat as the orgasm hits, violent and sharp, white-hot pleasure radiating from my core and out to my fingertips. I bite down on his shoulder, muffling my scream against the tailored wool, tasting expensive fabric as I shudder and convulse around his hand.
He holds me upright, gentle now, supporting my weight as I tremble through the aftershocks. His face is inches from mine, and there’s something like respect in his gaze now, mingled with the familiar hunger.
He withdraws his fingers slowly, making me whimper at the loss. Then, maintaining eye contact, he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean, tongue sliding along each digit.
"You taste like secrets," he says, then presses those same fingers to my lips. "Taste yourself. Taste what your body admits even when your mouth won't."
I part my lips, letting him push his fingers deep into my mouth. I taste myself on his skin, tangy and shameful. My tongue moves against his fingers without permission, and his cock visibly hardens against his expensive trousers.
"Your brothers' protection training," he muses, fucking my mouth with his fingers, using them to turn my face toward the light. "That's your story?"
I nod around his fingers, playing overwhelmed even as my pussy clenches, already desperate for more.
He withdraws his fingers, dragging them down my chin, my throat, leaving a wet trail that makes me shiver.
"There's more," he says with certainty. "About what you really are under this princess mask."
He leans in, lips brushing my ear. "I'm going to peel away every secret, layer by layer, until I find the real you. And when I do, you'll beg to tell me everything else just to feel my cock inside you."
The promise makes my pussy throb even as rage flickers through me. He thinks he owns me. Has no idea I chose this, that I'm gathering intelligence even as my body betrays me.
"Fix your dress," he commands, stepping back and adjusting his obvious erection. "We have another hour, and you're going to play the perfect conquered princess. Every man out there needs to see you thoroughly claimed, smelling like sex and submission."
I smooth the silk with trembling hands. I reek of arousal, of shame and desperate need. The collar feels heavier now, warm from my flushed skin.
"Oh, and Sofia?" He pauses at the door. "Next time you come, I want to hear my name. Alexei."
He leaves me there, legs shaking, pussy still clenching around nothing, trying to understand how I'm supposed to gather intelligence when my body craves him like a drug.
Trying not to think about how badly I want there to be a next time.
9 - Alexei
Ican still taste her.
