bChapter /bb84 /b

Elena’s POV:

“What the fuck, Niki?!” I shrieked as his teeth grazed the top curve of my chest again, biting hard enough to leave a mark. My voice cracked, faw with disbelief, and I gripped his hair, yanking him back just enough to meet his eyes. They burned—not with lust, not only–but something far more dangerous. Possessive. Unrelenting. Unapologetic.

“Use your safewordi,/i” he growled, breath fanning across my corbone, his fingers sliding down between my thighs with no hint of gentleness. b“/bbAnd /bbru /bstop.”

I didn’t. Couldn’t.

And I hated myself for it.

“Shit, wait–I didn’t shower,” I hissed through clenched teeth, chest heaving as his mouthtched onto my other breast, lips closing baround /bbthe /bbpeak/b, tonguepping mercilessly. The soft cotton of my shirt was gone, discarded somewhere between his hands and the couch cushions. bMy /bbbra /bbhung /blimp over the armrest. The air was cool against my skin, but my body was boiling, blood surging in my ears.

He didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t.

My jeans were next–unzipped and pulled clean off in a roughb, /bpracticed movement that had me gasping as my hips lifted on instinctb. /bThe sudden brush /bbof /bair against my soaked panties made me clench my thighs together.

Goddammit. Why did my body react like this?

I felt exposed, vulnerable–and yet every part of me buzzed, ached, needed. He tugged my underwear aside with brutal efficiency and thrust two fingers in without warning.

“Ngh–fuck, Niko-” I gasped, back arching as the sudden stretch shot pain up my spine, but it faded just as quickly when his thumb found bmy /bbclit /bband /bbegan circling it in slow, precise swirls. My hands gripped the couch, knuckles white.

He didn’t speak. Just watched. Watched me unravel on his fingers, watched the flush bloom across my chest and down my stomachb, /bwatched the bway /bmy lips parted with every stuttering gasp.

Then he stood, kicked off his cks, and positioned himself between my spread legs, his cock hard and heavy, flushed dark with arousal. He bdidn’t /bbsay /bba /bword. Just grabbed my hips, yanked me forward, and mmed into me in one ruthless thrust.

“Ah–fuck!” I shouted, head thrown back, body arched, mouth open as the sharp b

of the stretch gave way to a dizzying, devastating fullness.

He didn’t wait.

He didn’t ask.

He set a punishing rhythm, his hips mming into mine, the p of skin on skin echoing off the high ceilings of the penthouse like bthunder/b.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t soft.

It was rage. Desperation. Possession.

And bI /btook it.

My arms wrapped around his shoulders on reflex, legs locking around his waist, but it wasn’t intimacy–bit /bwas survival. bHe /bbfucked /bbme /bblike /bbhe /bbwas /bbtrying /bbto /bbreak me, like this was the only way he could keep me close, keep me his.

“Slower,” bI /bgasped, barely coherentb, /bnails digging into his bback/b. “S–slow-

Chapter b84 /b

bHe /bbdidn’t/bb. /bbHe /bwent harder. Like he knew my body better than I knew it myself. And I knew…he did. He had learned how to bcontrol /bme. He’d learned that bI /blike pain and dominance. And using the safe word right now would be useless. Not because he wouldn’t stop, but because I bdidn’t /bknow bif /bbI /bwanted him btoo/bb. /bbI /bwas truly….too far gone.

b“/bbAh/bi–/iahh~! Fuck, Nikil” My voice broke, a high–pitched cry as the pleasure cracked through me like lightning. My orgasm hit me like a brick wall- build–up, no slow crest, just a sudden, shattering release that made my vision go white and my limbs lock around him.

But he didn’t stop. I felt over sensitive.

He fucked me through it, merciless, relentless, his hands bruising on my hips, breath harsh in my ear, I came again–again–minutester, sobbing into his shoulder as my muscles seized, sweat slick between us.

My throat was raw. My body trembled. My mind was scattered, a mess of emotions I couldn’t name.

It was only when I felt him twitch inside me, felt the sudden tightness of his jaw against my cheek, that I remembered

“Not inside,” I rasped, voice hoarse, pushing weakly at his chest.

He didn’t react.

“Niki-“I tried again, firmer this time. “Not inside.”

He stopped.

Everything stilled. His arms braced on either side of me, head hanging low, hair falling over his eyes. His chest heaved against mine. And then I felt itb–/bba /bsingle, wet drop on my stomach.

Then another.

Oh god.

“Niki?” I whispered.

He didn’t respond.

I reached up, cupping the back of his head, and that’s when I felt the tremble in his body. The shaking.

He was crying.

What the hell…?

He pulled away slowly, withdrawing from me with a strangled sound that wasn’t quite a bgrunt/b, wasn’t quite a sob. His hands adjusted his pants in jerky,

awkward movements. He wouldn’t look at me.

“Go,” he said, voice t, rough.

“What?”

“You can go,” he repeated, still not meeting my eyes. “You don’t need to do this anymore. I won’t force you.”

I sat up slowly, blinking in confusion. My braingged behind my body. “What…what are you talking about?”

He turned his back to me, heading toward the stairs. “You can use the downstairs shower before leaving. I’ll set some clothes for you.”

There was a crack in his voice–small but deep. It ran through every syble, every word. A crack he was barely holding together with sheer bwill /b

And my heart twisted.

I wanted to scream at him. bTo /brage. To ask him why the hell he was acting like this. Why he’d shattered me and then fallen bapart /bbhimself/bb. /bbBut /bbI /bbdidn’t /bbsay /bba /b

word.

Not as I rose from the couch on shaky legs, not as I stumbled into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I stood under bthe /bwater for what fen tie hours, watching the evidence of everything swirl down the drain.

When I emerged, a soft green dressy folded neatly on the couch. The first one he’d ever bought me. I stared at it for a long time, towel bwrapped /bbaround /bmy dripping body, hair stered to my neck. My throat clenched.

I dressed in silence, tucking my jeans and shirt into a bag. My movements were mechanical. Emotionless. Like if I paused for even a second, I’d start crying again and never stop.

I nced up the stairs..

No sign of him.

Good.

I told myself it was good.

“Come on, Elena,” I whispered. “You’ve been made a fool by Vetrovs too many times. Don’t be an idiot again.”

With every step toward the elevator, I repeated the words in my head like a mantra. He kept a secret. He used me. This isn’t love. This isn’t trust. This bisn’t /bsafety.

But as the elevator doors closed behind me, my chest ached like something had been torn from it.

The driver waited silently at the entrance, and I climbed into the car without a word. The ride passed in a blur. I didn’t look out the window. Didn’t bspeak/bb, /bDidn’t breathe properly until we reached my mother’s house.

Only to freeze the second I walked in the door.

Three men were inside.

One seated in our wingback chair like he owned the ce, another standing at his side with a gun holstered on his belt, and a third–on the floor.

My breath hitched.

“Sergei Morozov,” I bit out through clenched teeth as my gaze locked on the man in the chair.

He turned slowly, meeting my eyes with an expression I couldn’t name.

Pity?

Affection?

Regret?

“Hello, Elena,” he said softly.

Wha