“Yes… Master,” I moan, moving the toy closer to my clit.
His voice grows even deeper, sending shivers down my spine.“Now, imagine me kneeling between your legs, spreading them further apart as I taste you.”
“Oh… fuck.”
I can sense his dominant energy lingering in the room, even though he’s physically absent. My hand trembles as I grip the vibrating dildo, imagining it’s his wet tongue flickering against my throbbing clit.
“Now, picture my cock thrusting deep inside you, punishing you for breaking in,”his commanding voice echoes in my mind, igniting a primal fire within me.
“Yes, please, Master, punish me,” I groan. I push the green monster deeper into my dripping pussy, moaning with pleasure as I imagine him taking complete control of me.
“Good girl,”he hisses.
I imagine his strong, muscular body pressing against mine as he thrusts deep inside me. Each slow and deliberate movement sends waves of pleasure through my body, making me moan with desire.
“Squeeze my cock with your wet, velvet vise of a pussy,”he orders, spurring me on. My body responds eagerly to his every command, rising and falling with each thrust. The scent of him fills my senses, driving me wild with need. I can’t get enough of him, even as the image of his face is burned into my memory.
With a moan, I sink the dildo deeper, its girth stretching me wider. I feel my walls clench around it, fighting to keep it inside me.
“Fuck yeah, baby. Milk me dry until I fill you to the brim with my cum. Squeeze every last drop from me and let me explode inside you.”
I’m totally gone, completely at the mercy of my own imagination. Every stroke of that dildo feels like it’s his cock,owning me, claiming me, fucking me silly. I’m lost in the fantasy, drowned in the sensation of being thoroughly, utterly possessed by him. And then, it smacks me in the face like a cold bucket of ice: I haven’t been fucked like this in so goddamn long.
“Yes, Master. Please. I need more. Take me, claim me, fill me…”The pleasure builds until I’m practically vibrating out of my skin, lost in sensation and fantasy. That’s when my eyes flutter open—and holy mother of plot twists.
There’s not one set of those storm-gray eyes watching me anymore. There are two.
One still smolders from the portrait. But the other… the other belongs to a very real, very alive, very not-painted man lounging in the armchair like he owns the place. Which, given the whole portrait situation, he probably does.
His leg is crossed casually at the knee, but there’s nothing casual about that predatory gaze. It’s like someone took that painted smirk and dipped it in pure sin.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper, frozen in place. The neon green monster is still happily buzzing away, apparently oblivious to my impending doom. “I’ve officially lost it. The weed finally broke my brain.”
But no amount of blinking makes him disappear. He’s there. All six feet of suited danger, watching me with eyes that promise both pleasure and punishment.
Mini-Devil Me appears just long enough to whisper, “Congratulations, you’ve upgraded from self-care to breaking and entering with a side of sexual offense.”
11
Konstantin
A while ago
“Suka,” I grunt, slamming shut Le Corbusier’s “Towards a New Architecture.” The leather binding makes a satisfying thud against the ebony shelf, but it does nothing to quiet the rage coursing through my veins.
Tatiana’s smirk flashes through my mind—that knowing look as Boris laid out my father’s ultimatum. Even in a coma, the old bastard finds new ways to control my life. My mother’s silence burns worse than Tatiana’s smugness. Always the dutiful wife, even now.
The scent of cedar and leather drifts through the air, faint and familiar. Usually, it’s enough to settle me, but tonight it feels as useless as the untouched glass of cognac beside me. The liquid catches the soft glow of the sconces, shimmering like a taunt.
I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the butter-soft leather of the chaise lounge. The hidden reading room issupposed to be my sanctuary. The place I come to think, to escape, to remind myself that in a world of chaos, there’s still order. Tonight, though? Even the bookshelves lining the walls feel like they’re closing in.
My fingers wrap around the burner phone—a specialized model we use only for internal communication, virtually untraceable. The weight feels heavy in my palm, a reminder of all the secrets these walls have witnessed. Before I can stop myself, I press speed dial for Arseny. It rings twice.
“Boss.” Arseny’s voice is crisp, a faint hum of background noise betraying he’s somewhere he shouldn’t be. Probably a casino. “What’s with the emergency bat signal? Did someone die, or are we planning on killing someone?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply. “You’re very funny, Karpov. Don’t quit your day job.”
“Noted.” He pauses, and I can almost hear the flick of a poker chip between his fingers. “So? What’s so urgent you’re calling me from the Batcave?”
