Because in that moment, as I stood there with the sea burning gold around us and his shadow stretching long across the deck, I realized something that scared me more than ARCHEON ever could.
Dmitri Markov didn’t need to touch me, threaten me, yell at me, or fuck me to make me feel undone.
He just had to exist.
His face turned back toward mine and his gaze dropped. It was a gradual, deliberate sweep, and I felt it like a physical touch. It lingered at my breasts, my nipples, which had tightened beneath my thin swimsuit until they were hard, unmistakable points against the fabric.
Heat flooded my face. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed. Dmitri was the kind of man who missed nothing.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “You’re wondering if I’m going to take you the way my brothers did.”
My mouth opened, but I couldn’t force the denial past my lips. It was true. I was wondering. I was terrified of the answer and desperate for it all at once.
I managed a breathless, “No.”
He took a step closer, and the air went out of my lungs.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he murmured. “It’s not up to you.”
My throat went dry. My heart hammered against my ribs like a frantic, trapped bird. “Then…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
His gaze roamed slowly up to meet mine, and it was ice cold. “I’m going to take you, Kara, but not the way my brothers did,” he said. “I’m not going to be gentle.”
And then he moved.
It wasn’t a lunge or a grab. It was just… an adjustment of space. One moment, there was two feet of air between us. The next, his hands were on my arms, his grip like iron bands, and he was pulling me toward him. I stumbled, my bare feet scrabbling for purchase on the smooth, sun-warmed teak.
“Get your hands off me!” The words ripped out of me, high-pitched and scared.
I struggled. I thrashed. My hands flew up, claws out, aiming for his face, his expression utterly unconcerned. It was like fighting a statue. He didn’t even flinch. His fingers tightened on my arms, a precise, painful pressure that cut off circulation and made my hands feel numb and useless. He turned us, his movements economical and terrifying, and backed me up against the polished railing of the yacht. The hard, unforgiving metal bit into my back.
“Stop fighting,” he commanded in a low rumble that held no emotion. It wasn’t a plea; it was a statement of command.
“Fuck you,” I gasped, renewing my struggle, shoving against his chest with all my strength.
Every bit of my struggle was fruitless.
He took my wrists in one of his large hands, pinning them to the railing with an inescapable grip. His other hand went to the thin string of my swimsuit tied at my hip. He tugged once. The fabric gave way with a soft swishing sound. The other side followed. My suit bottoms fell away, becoming a useless scrap of Lycra floating down to the deck at my feet. I was mostly naked now, exposed to the sun, the sea, and his cold, assessing gaze.
I expected a sneer, a gloating comment. I got nothing but his flat, predatory stare. He released my wrists only to spin me around, forcing me face-down over the railing. The cold metal pressed against my stomach and breasts, the vast, indifferent ocean spread out below me. My hands flew out and gripped the railing, knuckles white, my body a rigid line of fear, abject arousal, and bold defiance.
I was trapped. Bent over. Presented. Utterly exposed.
I heard the rasp of his zipper, a sound that was more terrifying than any shout. Then the unmistakable brush of his cock against my entrance. I was already slick. My treacherous body, flushed with adrenaline and that dark, shameful heat, was already wet for him. I could feel the arousal between my thighs, a humiliating testament to my own undoing.
“Please,” I sobbed, the word a ragged, desperate plea against the wind. “Don’t.”
He answered me not with words, but with a brutal, punishing thrust that buried him to the hilt. I screamed, a harsh, ragged sound that was torn from my throat by the sheer, shockingforce of him. There was no preamble, no gentle stretching to accommodate his size.
He was just… inside me. A hard, unyielding invasion that stole my breath and sent a searing, blinding pain through my core.
This was nothing like Roman and not even Lev. Lev had been a storm, but this was an earthquake that was reshaping my very foundations from the inside out.
He didn’t wait for me to adjust. He didn’t give me a moment. He set a fierce rhythm, his hips snapping against my ass, the sound of skin slapping against skin a raw, violent percussion in the quiet sea air. Each thrust drove the air from my lungs, each impact a fresh wave of pain that was quickly blurring with pleasure, making my pussy clench and my body quiver with desire.
His hand came down on my ass, a sudden, stinging blow that made me cry out. He didn’t stop. He spanked me again, then again, taking up a relentless, punishing rhythm that matched the ruthless pounding of his cock.
In no time at all, my ass was on fire, a hot, throbbing mess of pain, but the sensation was connecting directly to the traitorous ache between my legs.
