I rose, slow and commanding. “Open.” When he did,I shoved my slick fingers past his lips—still wet from my orgasm—and he groaned, sucking them like he was starving.
Then I climbed into his lap and dropped down onto his cock in one brutal, greedy thrust—so deep, so hard, I gasped like I’d been punched. He filled me to the brim, thick and pulsing, and I swore I could feel every throb, every vein, as he pulsed inside me like he belonged there.
His head snapped back on a choked gasp, throat bared like a sacrifice, every muscle in his neck and shoulders pulled razor-tight under sweat-slick, flushed skin. The cuffs dug into hiswrists as he yanked against them, body bowing hard off the mattress, hips snapping up in frantic, helpless rhythm.
“Fuck, Kira,” he groaned, voice thick and ruined. “You’re so fucking sexy when you own me like this. Use me—fuck me exactly like that.”
The metal clinked again—he fought the restraints, but never begged for release. He just surrendered completely, worshipping with every ragged groan, every desperate upward thrust from below.
“I’d give you my fucking soul,” he rasped, eyes glassy and wild. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop riding me.”
I rolled my hips, dragging out every inch, every reaction. My thighs were slick, my pussy swallowing him greedily, squeezing him deeper.
I grabbed his cheeks firmly between my hands, forcing his gaze to lock with mine. “Say who you belong to,” I demanded.
“You,” he gasped. “I belong to you. I’m yours. All fucking yours.”
“Good boy,” I whispered, lips brushing his.
He looked up at me, eyes glassy with need. “Uncuff me, Kira. I need to touch you. I need to kiss you—please.”
I leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “You haven’t earned my kiss yet.”
Then I pulled off him suddenly, leaving him hard and wanting.
I slid off the bed, moving slow and taunting, my body still humming from the contact.
“Malaya,” he said, straining against the cuffs, “don’t you fucking dare.”
But I didn’t stop—I walked straight for the door, bare and gleaming, wicked smile sharp enough to cut.
“Next time,” I said over my shoulder, “if you want to fuck me, maybe don’t treat me like I’m disposable.”
I walked slowly, letting him watch the sway of my hips, letting him sit there, cuffed and wrecked, while I put one foot in front of the other.
Then I heard it.
The wooden frame behind me groaned under the strain—an ugly, splintering crack tearing through the room.
I turned just in time to see it fracture beneath the force of his arms.
Maksym stood.
Still cuffed. Still wild.
But free.
My breath snagged in my throat.
I stepped back on instinct, pulse hammering—not quite fear, more like the electric thrill of prey feeling the predator close in.
“Don’t,” I whispered, voice trembling.
He didn’t listen.
He advanced with terrifying calm, cock rigid and flushed, chest rising and falling like he’d clawed his way out of a grave. I turned to run, but I barely made it two steps before his body crashed into mine. He slammed me against the wall—breasts flattened to the icy surface. I gasped, hands flying up to brace. He kicked my legs apart, gripped my ass with both cuffed hands, and spread me wide.
“No—”
