Page 67 of Savage Reign

As if she’s been waiting for permission, her climax crashes over her. She convulses with a broken sob, and her walls clamp down on my fingers as her release gushes over my hand and chin. I lap up every drop like it’s the finest nectar, growling my approval against her sweet pussy.

Sofiya goes limp, and I place gentle kisses along her drenched seam, soothing her through the comedown. My blood burns, every inch of me on edge because I’ve never felt anything this fucking intense. I’ve had more women than I can count, but none of them ever made me burn like this—no one but her. Since she came back into my life, I haven’t been able to touch anyone else. I don’t even want to.

When the last spasm fades, I withdraw my fingers, bringing them to my lips. Holding her dazed stare, I lick them clean. My cock is iron-hard and leaking, but this moment isn’t about me. Not yet.

She hesitates, her eyes darting around the room, lingering on the hard cement floor stained with the memories of blood and broken men. Then, her gaze shifts to the glowing red light of the camera mounted on the wall behind me.

Hurt flashes across her face. “What? You couldn’t torture me, so you’re going to send my family pictures of you seducing me?”

She’s right. That was my plan, but something feral and possessive flares in my veins at the thought of anyone else seeing her naked, vulnerable, and losing control.

Crouched in front of her, I grip her chin firmly, forcing her to look at me. “Do you think I’d let anyone else see what’s mine, moya sladost? Your pleasure, your pain, your body and soul—belong to me, your husband.”

Her lashes lower, a war of emotions playing across her face. She’s torn between the magnetic pull between us and resentment for how I’m blackmailing her family.

I trail a thumb across her bottom lip. “The only thing your family will see is images of the blade dragging along your clothed body,” I add, because no one but me will ever see her naked again.

I’ll choose a few stills from the video footage, one that captures just enough fear in her expression to leave them wondering what kind of hell I’ve put her through. But I won’t think about that right now.

I crash my mouth onto hers, claiming her lips all over again. Her tongue tangles with mine in a dance that makes my blood surge.

My fingers slide back into her drenched pussy, her soft whimpers against my mouth feeding my obsession. I’m desperate to bury myself inside her, to feel her come apart for me again, but when she pulls back, I know the spell is broken.

Her eyes flutter open, and her expression cuts through me like a blade, vulnerable and filled with something close to regret. “Nikolai,” she whispers, her voice thick. “Let me go… please.”

Please. That one word slices through me, leaving me off balance. I fight the instinct to tighten my hold on her. Forcing her to stay would destroy what little remains of the fragile connection between us.

Gritting my teeth, I slash through the ropes binding her wrists, grab my discarded shirt from the floor, and give it to her. “Put this on and leave.” My voice is rough with emotions I don’t want to name.

Her fingers clutch the fabric as she hesitates, her gaze lingering on me for the briefest moment before she slips the shirt over her shoulders. With that, she turns and rushes out, her bare feet silent against the cold floor. She doesn’t look back, and I don’t stop her.

SOFIYA

I race back to my room, Nikolai’s shirt clutched tight around me. My heart pounds like it’s trying to escape my chest.

In the bathroom, I wash my face before staring into the mirror. My reflection looks the same, but everything feels different. What just happened, and why the hell did I like it so much?

Nikolai couldn’t hurt me, but he’s left something worse—marks on my soul. Shame clings to me every time I think about how I let him seduce me. I promised Roman and Liza I’d find a way out of this, but instead, I’ve done the opposite. I’ve fallen under his spell, his touch so damn addictive that it drowns out every warning in my mind.

I know he’s using me to manipulate the Syndicate, but I still can’t resist him. He’s a craving I can’t deny, no matter how much I hate myself for giving in.

What will Roman and Liza think when they see those images of a knife near my throat? They’ll be distraught.

Sinking to my knees, I fish Valeria’s phone out from its hiding spot. A wave of relief washes over me when the screen lights up and the battery is still over half full. The signal bars are steady, which means Valeria hasn’t canceled her service yet. It doesn’t make sense—surely she knows it’s missing by now. Unless she assumes she misplaced it and is waiting for it to turn up. Either way, I’ll count it as a lucky break.

Messages and missed calls from Valeria’s contacts flood the screen, but there’s nothing from Liza. I didn’t expect there to be—she’s smart enough to know the risk. Still, I need to let her know I’m okay. Quickly, I type out a message:

Me: Any pictures Nikolai sends are staged. He never hurt or tortured me, but he wants you to think he did. I promise I’m OK. No updates yet, but I’m still looking. I’ll reach out when the time is right. Turning off the phone now to save battery.

I stare at the words for a long time before hitting send. I hope she believes me, and I hope it gives her some peace.

With a sigh, I power the phone down and tuck it away. My relief fades quickly, drowned out by a wave of sorrow. Because what I didn’t tell her is the worst of my lies: that I’m starting to fall for my captor.

I step into the shower, letting the hot spray cascade over my skin. Steam fogs the air, curling around me as the water streams over my body. I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, but there’s no escaping the images playing behind my eyelids: Nikolai in the basement—his dominance, his control, the way he unraveled me so completely I could barely breathe.

My hand drifts down, brushing over my stomach and lower, chasing the heat building inside me. My fingers find the place he claimed, and I bite my lip as I circle my clit, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

I press my forehead against the cool tile, my breath coming in shallow pants. I shouldn’t be thinking about him, but the memory of his soft mouth and the hard drag of the knife’s handle drives me closer to the edge.

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