Page 16 of Viripotent

I hate the prick, he’s a fucking heartless cunt. Choosing a different option than usual, I try to take over his game, acting unbothered in my current state, and squeeze his dick harder.

“Can’t be that good if you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

I’ve done something that no one else in existence has, made the mighty Vartanov shut the fuck up.

My smugness is obliterated as he kicks at the body by his feet and nods his head towards it.

“Can’t be that good if you’re not crying.”

There’s a double meaning to his words, and I know I should feel something other than inconvenienced due to being coveredin blood. There’s no betrayal in my voice as I lie and watch his eyes darken.

“I was a little sore after the club, then in the back of his car.”

It’s not anger staring back at me. It’s excitement as Vlad drops his weight down a fraction. He’s still not touching me, and my hips move, chasing the warmth ghosting my thighs. He grabs the outside of my thigh and pulls me down, making me gasp at the abrupt movement and finally getting a hint of relief. The moan choking me nearly distracts my senses from his stupid question.

“You’ve finally dealt with the problem?”

Humiliation sticks to my skin at his ridiculous thoughts. It’s an everyday thing. Age isn’t a qualifier of virginity, and his obsession grates on my nerves. He’s in his mid-thirties, and acting like I’m wrong for being a twenty-five-year-old virgin has me getting defensive.

“There never was a problem to be dealt with.”

Pushing up with his hand beside my head, he calls my bluff with a smirk.

“You should have told me sooner, meelaya. We could have spent this time getting closer to your uselessness.”

My body reacts without thinking at his insult. I push back and bring my leg up, aiming the sharp point of my heel into any part of his body I can reach. He catches my ankle, dulling the impact, and spins me so I’m lying on my front. There’s no labored breathing or proof it took any exertion as he folds my legs in half and sits over them. It’s too easy for him, and he grabs my wrists together in one hand to hold them at my back. The sharp point of the knife is covered in red as he gently lifts my hair off my face, making me breathe harder.

Bringing the tip of the knife back into view, I freeze as he taps my cheek, starting his fucking monologue.

“You’re a spoilt little princess, and you need to learn your place.”

My mouth doesn’t sense the danger, and there’s no fear in my voice.

“I’m a queen, not a fucking princess.”

This dickhead has a knife in the same hand he used to choke his own mother, but I can’t stop the battle. I need to win against him, to have the power of going head to head with the devil and winning, under my belt. He’s a self-proclaimed monster, and I don’t need to alter anything about myself with Vlad. His opinion means fuck all to me, and he’ll never be of any use.

His brain is rubber, bending and pushing everything back no matter what I do. Bringing his face closer, more pressure is put on my contorted body, making it harder to breathe without suffocating me. His words are slow and tinged in darkness.

“And a queen’s job is to protect the king.”

Leaning further into me, the very weapon I tried to use against him scrapes against the back of my thigh, making me hiss.

He doesn’t keep the pressure there and moves back. The hold on my wrists loosens, but I don’t pull my hands free as his deadly order touches my ear.

“If you try to attack me again, I won’t be as kind. Get cleaned up. You have ten minutes, or my men will assume you’re here to reward them for the night.”

He steps away, giving me space to move, but I crawl forward, ignoring his eyes on my ass.

Swinging my legs over the bed, I go to collect my discarded dress right by his feet, and he kicks it up with his foot. He catches it easily, keeping it hostage as I look for a robe to use instead.

“Wash the blood off first.”

His voice is softer. It wouldn’t be classified as gentle for anyone other than the ogre it came from, and his steps echo behind mine the entire way to the bathroom.

I’m not ashamed of my body, which he’s already seen, and leave the door open. Turning the faucet on, I wet a washcloth as he tuts, being a control freak.

“I said shower, not a whore’s bath.”

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