“I’m trying.”
“I know.” He reaches for my jaw and holds it. His other hand finds my shoulder, applying a slow pressure downward. “Go down on your knees for me.”
My breath stutters. Still, I drop to my knees because the stone feels more solid than the freedom he’s offering. Viktor isn'tjust teaching me the path of a blade, he is carving a path through my own fear until there’s nothing left but the demand in his voice and the heat of his palm against my jaw.
“You see, this is also control. This is what I crave.”
My throat tightens. “You learn the blade by giving it a clear path. You learn me the same way.” His thumb brushes my lower lip. “No fear. No blade. No rush. Just you listening.”
I nod. It feels automatic. Needed. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s the control I want.” He slides his hand into my hair. “Take my cock out.”
My hand shakes when I reach for his belt. My thoughts are a whirlwind. I thought he was going to throw me out. I thought. The metallic click of his belt and the sound of his fly opening brings me back to the present. Viktor watches my face while he undoes the last of the buttons, looking like he wants to see whether I’ll stay or break.
Then the flushed tip of his cock brushes my mouth. The salt and heat of his precum coats my lips. He chuckles, tapping the head of his dick against my bottom lip. “Open.”
My jaw slackens as he guides himself inside. I moan at the sensation of him filling my mouth. “That’s it, krasavchik. You’re so good to me.” His hand tightens around the back of my neck, keeping me in place. I hum around him, trying to keep up with the pace he’s setting.
Viktor leans back against the table and widens his stance. One elbow rests on the wood behind him, between the knives, and he uses the other to hold me there. It’s cruel, but I feel safe. Sitting on my knees between his legs, with those green eyes fixed on me, makes me feel seen. Like I finally have a purpose that isn't just surviving.
I lick around his tip, take in the precum, and fondle his balls. My body hums with need, unfocused but sharp. His cock in my mouth. His hand at my throat. The certainty of being heldexactly where he wants me. Every sound he makes narrows my world until there’s nothing outside this room except his hands, his voice, and what he tells me to do.
I work his shaft, sliding up and down. Saliva gathers and spills at the corners of my mouth. Viktor pulls back with a quiet tssk. “Making a mess, krasavchik. A gorgeous mess.”
Maybe that’s what I am right now. I don’t try to name it. I only know this feels sharper than fear. Clearer. Like being placed instead of drifting. “Take your dick out, Jonah.”
I fumble with the strings of my pants, my hand digging in eagerly. “Pleasure yourself.”
My eyes flutter shut when I grab my weeping cock. A muffled moan slips out as I search for a rhythm. “Keep your mouth on me. Make me come.”
Viktor sighs. His cock pulses. I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks and using the roof of my mouth to maintain a steady, dragging pressure. Every time he shifts, I tighten my throat around him, letting out a low hum that vibrates against his skin. His fingers slide back to my throat and squeeze. My knees press harder into the floor. The table edge digs into my shoulder.
I can’t breathe.
The panic flares, a sharp echo of the shower, of the cold water and the terror of drowning under his hand. But this time, the fear doesn’t stay cold. It settles into a familiar heat, flooding through me, urgent and consuming. My body doesn’t fight him anymore. It waits for the pressure. It craves the way he decides when I get to taste the air again. He is a predator, and I am finally accepting that I want to be caught.
He controls my air. He controls my balance and my pace. Still, my free hand keeps stroking.
“I’m close,” Viktor mutters.
I focus on the swell of him, drawing the tip into the back of my throat until my eyes sting. I don't pull back. I lean into therestriction, my tongue curling around his length to catch every bit of friction.
“Blyad’, malysh. That’s it. Fuck.”
Viktor squeezes tight. He releases the pressure just as my mouth fills. I take every drop he gives me, swallowing him down like a secret. Only when he hauls me to my feet do I finally cough, dragging in the air. My knees threaten to give. Viktor doesn't let me fall. His hand clamps on my jaw, guiding my face up.
“Breathe through it.”
The room tilts. The knives blur on the table behind him. His grip is the only fixed point in the world. He taps my cheek once, a focused movement. “Look at me.”
I do. His eyes lock on mine. “Good. You did good, Jonah.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, anchoring me. He takes a cloth and wipes my mouth. “We’ll keep practicing with the blades. This is my world, Jonah. And these are my conditions.”
My chest tightens. It isn’t fear anymore. It’s a grounding weight. The rules don’t feel like a threat. They feel like structure. Like something solid is finally settling into place.
“I’ve laid it all out for you, krasavchik.”
I nod before I can think about it.
