She tilts her chin, meets my gaze. Eyes wild, lips parted, hair stuck to her cheek in sweat-damp strands.
"You want to play games, Sofia? Fine. Let's play."
I reach for her, winding my fist in her hair and yanking her head back. The action exposes her throat, that pulse hammeringlike a hummingbird’s wings. I want to bite it. To taste the copper of her blood on my tongue.
Instead, I press my thumb to her jaw, force her mouth open.
She knows what’s coming. Her tongue flicks out, quick as a snake.
“You want to break me?” she says, voice hoarse, almost a whisper.
“I want you to remember who you belong to.”
“Then take it.”
It’s not an invitation, it’s a dare. I accept.
I unbuckle my belt, every motion deliberate. Her eyes never leave mine. Even now, there’s no shame in her, just the white-hot hatred of a caged animal. She’s magnificent, even as she kneels in blood and pain, waiting for the next test.
I free myself, already hard. I want to prolong the moment, to make her suffer, but I can’t wait. I grip the back of her head, thumb digging into her jaw, and push inside.
She opens for me—wide, ready, unflinching. The first thrust is brutal, hitting the back of her throat. She gags, just once, then recovers. Breathing through her nose, she looks up at me.
I fuck her mouth with savage strokes, giving her no time to breathe. I want her to cry, to break, but she doesn’t. Her hands clutch my thighs, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. Each time I slam into her, her gaze sharpens, as if each blow hones her further.
She is suffocating, but she refuses to pull back. Tears stream down her cheeks—part pain, part defiance. Mascara smears like war paint. She chokes on me, but never averts her eyes.
My vision blurs. Every synapse in my body fires at once. I want to make her beg, but I’m the one who’s helpless. This is not the power trip I intended. This is forfeiture, surrender.
And then she moans, vibrating against my cock. Her eyes close in pleasure, and in that split-second I realize she’s enjoyingthis, controlling this, controlling me. Sofia Rosetti, on her knees, is still more powerful than I will ever be.
The orgasm hits like a car crash. I come hard, and she swallows every drop, never breaking eye contact. I shudder, entire body shaking, then rest my hand on the top of her head, forcing her to hold me inside until I’m spent.
When I finally let go, she sits back on her heels, chest heaving. Her throat must be raw. A line of spit and semen slips from her lip; she wipes it away with the back of her hand.
She smiles at me. Bloody, broken, but triumphant.
I stagger back, unable to hide the tremor in my hands.
"Did I pass your test?" she asks, voice hoarse, wriggling slightly to relieve the ache between her legs. "Or should I try on more shoes?"
I stare down at her, chest heaving, more undone than I've ever been. She's on her knees, bloody and used, and somehow she's still winning.
I tuck myself away with unsteady hands. "Get cleaned up. We're done for today."
At the door, she speaks again.
"Alexei."
I pause but don't turn.
"I wasn't the only one on my knees just now."
I leave without responding, closing the door hard. In the hallway, I lean against the wall, breathing ragged.
She walked on bleeding feet for ninety minutes without flinching.
She took my cock down her throat like it was her idea.
