I pull away just for a second—just enough for her to wail in protest, to glare at me with those electric blue eyes full of murder and longing. I stroke the inside of her thigh with my thumb, gentle for the first time all morning.
“Make me come, Alexei. Make me come.”
I look up, lips shiny with her, so she knows who did this to her. “You’d beg the man who’s holding you captive?” I ask. “The man who’s going to destroy your family?”
She laughs, a wild, desperate sound, and says, “I’m not begging. I’m ordering you. Make me come or so help me God, I’ll fuck every last one of your men until I find one who can.”
The rage in me is instant and nuclear. I bite the soft mound of her pubic bone, hard enough to bruise, and she yelps, but the sound is pleased, greedy. I hate and love her for that. She wants the punishment. She wants everything I can give and more.
I spit on her pussy, watching the slick slide down her lips, then go back to work, sucking her clit between my lips until she’s sobbing. This time I add two fingers, pounding them in and curling up, hunting for that spot that makes her scream. She’s shaking now, her whole body taut like a bowstring, and I can feel her getting close.
I want her to remember this every time she tries to defy me. I want to own her orgasms, make her body betray her.
When she’s about to come, I snarl, “Now, kotyonok,” right into her cunt, and she detonates. Hips bucking, thighs locking around my head, her nails rake down my arms and leave blood behind. She milks my fingers, clenching so hard I think she might break them off inside her.
The sight, the sound, the taste—it’s too much. I rut against the mattress and lose control, coming hard and fast, spattering the ruined sheets with my own mess. She sees it, sees what just the taste of her has done to me, and smiles with her eyes even while she’s still trembling in the aftershock.
I crawl up her body, covering her, pinning her wrists to either side of her head. My cock is still twitching, leaking onto her stomach. I don’t care. I want her to see it, to know how wrecked she makes me.
She looks up at me, breathing in ragged gasps, and says, “Was that so hard?”
I lean down, lips grazing her ear, and whisper, “Next time, I tie you to the bed and make you beg for hours.”
She grins, unafraid. “Promise?”
I kiss her, deep and bruising, and let her taste herself on my tongue. She kisses me back, just as hard, teeth clashing against mine. For a moment there is nothing in the world but this—her, me, the taste of blood and salt, the ache in my bones, the knowledge that I’d do anything to keep her here, even if it means breaking her a thousand times.
18 - Sofia
Iwatch him sleep and enumerate all the ways I’ve betrayed my family.
Morning light filters through bulletproof glass, painting Alexei's face in soft grays. His breathing is deep, even. The exhaustion from last night, from everything we did to each other, has finally caught up with him. The sheet pools at his waist, revealing the scratches I left on his chest. Evidence of my complete surrender.
The list keeps growing in my mind, each item another blade between my ribs:
I deleted intel that could save Rosetti lives. The Kuzmins meeting, security details, everything Nico needs to protect our operations. Gone with three taps of my finger.
I lied to Nico. In that parking garage just days ago, I looked him in the eye and pretended everything was fine. Then again on the phone yesterday.
I'm sleeping with the man who kidnapped me. Not just sleeping, but choosing him, craving him, waking up wet from dreams of his hands on my body.
I told him about the deleted intel. Confessed my treason while his cum was still dripping down my thighs.
And worst of all: I woke up in his arms this morning and my first thought was that I could stay here forever.
My chest constricts. I slip from the bed, careful not to wake him. His white shirt lies crumpled on the floor where he threwit last night. I pull it on, the cotton soft against my bare skin, his scent surrounding me.
Standing at the window, I stare out at the compound grounds. Somewhere out there, my family is planning. Marco running operations from his penthouse. Nico probably awake already, that sixth sense of his prickling, telling him something's wrong with his sister.
What am I becoming?
I was raised to be a weapon. The family's secret blade, honed to perfection. Every skill, every instinct trained to protect the Rosettis. My knife is under the mattress where I've taken to hiding it these past few nights. Close enough to reach if needed, but not strapped to my thigh like it would be if I still felt like the enemy's captive.
Too comfortable. Too safe. Too fucking stupid.
Marco would never forgive this. Would see it as the ultimate betrayal of our father's memory.
Nico would… God, Nico knows something's wrong. He heard it in my voice on the phone. The slight catch when I lied, the pause before I said everything was fine.
