Page 74 of Violent Love: Viktor

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Actually, he got pretty fierce about the suggestion.

I had to wonder if he liked the idea.

He certainly loved my tongue up there.

I glanced at Dasha rolling around in the litter tray.

“Not like that, Dasha,” I murmured, digging a little hole and setting her rump on it.

She clung to my hand, then attacked me with her tiny talons of fury.

Litter training was a work in progress.

“Bad girl,” I scolded gently.

Dasha’s bowls on the floor caught my eye.

My mind drifted to Borki.

I thought of Master’s voice.

Open, he’d said, again and again.

While my stomach growled. While my cunt throbbed.

Food.

Water.

Cock.

Reward.

I hadn’t understood it at first—just obeyed because I didn’t know how not to.

But it was a pattern—a rhythm.

Conditioning dressed as care.

Now I was feeding Dasha the same way.

Small portions. Regular intervals. Gentle correction when she got it wrong.

Keeping her close. Dependent.

She meowed when I left the room.

I used to cry when he left me, too.

Still did, sometimes. She was soft. Helpless. Easy to train.

So was I.

I stared at her little twitching tail as she sniffed the water bowl. My chest tightened with something I couldn’t name.

Had he known this would happen?

Had he given her to me so I’d see it?

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