Slowly, but surely, I proved to him how much I wanted this, every movement charge with intent.
This wasn't just sex. This was power play.
And I was determined to claim my victory.
My fingers trembled slightly as I unbuckled his belt, my eyes locked onto the dark, smoldering intensity of his gaze. I slid his pants and underwear down in one fluid motion, exposing him fully. His cock surged upward, raw and urgent. A slow, triumphant smile curving my lips.
"Fuck," he gasped, breath trembling not just with need, but something darker. Charged. Like electricity beneath his skin.
I took him into my mouth, swallowing him whole. Hard and demanding, impossibly alive with my tongue wrapped around his large cock. His hand tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, desperate. All while I licked and sucked, tasting more of him, feeling his grip tighten, almost painfully fierce in my hair.
His hips thrust against my uncontrollably. My hand cupping his balls, steady and sure, drawing out a deep groan that rattled through his chest. I could feel him trembling, on the edge. So close, achingly close.
But before the release, he yanked me up, crashing his mouth onto mine, hungry and fierce. His hands hiking up my black skirt, then yanked down my matching underwear, all of them falling in one swift motion. Then his fingers dug into my hips, holding me tight as he pulled me down onto him, deep and raw. My thighs straddling him, holding on.
"I've missed you," he murmured against my neck, his hands slipping beneath my blouse, beneath my bra, pressing into my breast as I moved, riding the ache that neither of us could ever fully escape.
He yanked my blouse up over my head, his breath scorching against my skin as the fabric slipped away, leaving me fully exposed right above him. Instinctively, my hand moved on its own accord, diving beneath my bra, my fingers trembling with a fierce urgency as I unclasped it and let it fall away like a fragile shield torn too late.
"Exquisite," he breathed, those dark green eyes of his glowing with a rare mixture of awe and tenderness that made my heart tighten.
Cool air brushing against my flushed skin as I moved against him. Harder. Faster. Desperate to feel every inch of him buried deep inside me. Even when his words, that look in his eyes, held me captive. Like I was more than flesh and desire. Like I was his world, and he was mine.
"I need more," I moaned, my nails digging into his chest with raw hunger as I reached for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, I peeled them open, the rough scrape of expensive fabric against his skin echoing the wild, erratic beat of my heart.
"Take what you need, Princess," he murmured, his voice ragged and raw, caught between pleasure and pain. "I'm all yours to take."
I clung to his chest, nails digging into his skin as I rode him harder. Faster. Deeper. Each movement a desperate claim.
My head falling back at the exquisite feel of him stretching me, filling me the only way he could. This was where I belonged. With him inside me, tangled in this fierce, fleeting moment. It was too perfect, too fragile to be real.
Every thrust was a brutal collision of raw need and something darker, something tragically beautiful. It was like we were desperate, clutching at a moment we both knew was slipping away. Beneath the heat, the desperation, there was this fierce, aching tenderness that jus wouldn't go away. A silent confession woven into every gasp, every touch, every fevered breath we shared.
He rose, his mouth closing over my nipple, sucking and biting hard. I moaned louder as I rode him harder, heading closer to the edge, trembling.
And he knew, the way his hands gripped my hips, driving into me deeper and faster, each stroke hitting a place that unleashed a storm of pleasure deep inside me.
I closed my eyes, clutching his broad shoulders like my life depended on it, as waves of pleasure crashed over me. Relentless, pounding, one after another.
He buried his face against my chest, his other hand sliding up to cup and knead my breast, murmuring something low and tender in Russian against my skin. I bit my lower lip hard, fighting the urge to speak those three words I knew he longed to hear. I love you, Alex.
But I couldn't give him that. He didn't deserve it. Instead, I let my fingers brush through his hair, savoring the softness beneath my touch, holding onto that fleeting tenderness.
Then, without warning, he pushed me down. My back slammed into the floor with a sharp thud, but before the sting could fully register, he was already gripping my hips, driving deep and fast into me. My legs hooked tightly around his waist, keeping him close as plunged in and out of me with fierce desperation.
I had nowhere to hold onto but the hard wooden floor beneath me. My fingers clawing at it as he drove into me. Harder, faster, like he was chasing his own escape.
"Alex, fuck," I moaned, drowning in the relentless flood of sensation.
"So tight," he gasped, his voice rough and ragged, his thrusts growing wilder, more fevered. "God, I love you so much."
The urgency in his movements sending a fierce wave through me. Each collision driving us both closer and closer to the edge.
His grip on my hips tightened when we spiraled together, raw and unrelenting. A violent, beautiful crescendo sweeping over us, shattering the world into fragments of breath and heat. I couldn't help but cried out his name as I came, lost in the storm.
As the intensity began to fade, he drew me closer, his arm tightening around me until there was no space left to breathe without him. His breath brushed my ear, warm and unsteady.
"No one will ever make you feel as loved, Isolda," he whispered it like a vow, laced with longing and something heartbreakingly true. "No one but me."
I shut my eyes as tears slipped free, tracking silently down my cheeks. He was right, and that was the cruelest part of it all. No matter how fiercely I fought this, no matter how often I told myself he was a monster, something in me still reached for him.
Even after he shot my fiancé. Even after he dismantled my family's empire with frightening ease. After he nearly killed my grandfather.
I still couldn't find it in me to truly hate him.
In the end, I had lost anyway.
His thumb brushed my cheek tenderly, bringing me back to the present. "Why are you crying?"
I could still feel him buried inside me, the evidence of our pleasure, flowing down between my thighs, raw and unforgiving. A cruel reminder of how weak I was for him. How weak I would always be, unless I truly destroyed him.
"Don't cry," he said, his voice achingly soft, so unlike him. He sounded like a man who had lost something irretrievable.
Just like I had, that day.
And in the silence that followed, wrapped in his arms, I finally understood the truth I had been avoiding. Our lives were no longer separate things, no matter how fiercely I wished them to be. Because he hadn't just taken pieces of my life.
He had woven himself into it.
Too deep to cut out. Too permanent to escape.