Page 163 of Inevitable Endings
“You think I didn’t miss you?” His voice is low, dangerous.
He crouches slowly, one hand cupping my jaw again, not gentle anymore, and the other grazing the edge of the collararound my throat.
“I’ve starved for you,solnyshko,” he says, voice like smoke and steel. “But not the quiet version. Not the soft one.”
His thumb slides across my lower lip, slow. Possessive.
“This version,” he growls. He leans in close, breath ghosting over my cheek, voice almost tender in its cruelty.
“And if you ask for the monster, you’ll get him. Because you own this monster.”
He doesn’t kiss me.
He doesn’t ask.
He rises from the crouch slowly, towering over me, then unzips his pants with that same casual violence he uses to give orders that end lives.
His cock is thick, flushed, heavy in his hand, and he doesn’t hesitate. He fists it once, twice, and my breath catches, helpless and pinned and dripping for him. I can’t look away. The posture collar won’t let me.
“Open,” he orders.
My lips part before the word even fully lands.
He slides his thumb over my tongue first, pressing down until I gag slightly. He watches the reflex with a flicker of dark satisfaction, then drags the wet digit down my chin, smearing my spit.
“You don’t get to use that mouth for questions anymore,solnyshko,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “Only for this.”
Then he pushes inside.
I choke, instinctively pulling back, but the collar holds me locked in place. My eyes water instantly. My arms strain in their restraints. My entire body flushes with shock and helpless arousal.
He doesn’t stop.
He fucks my throat like he owns it, hips rolling in slow, brutal thrusts. Not fast—methodical.Precise. Like he’s reclaimingterritory that forgot who it belonged to. His hand wraps in my hair, holding me still while his cock buries deep again and again.
“God, look at you,” he grunts. “Tears on your cheeks, drool on your tits, dripping through your lace like a desperate little whore, and you’re loving it.”
I moan around him, humiliated and unholy.
He pulls out suddenly, a string of saliva snapping between my lips and the tip of him, smeared down my chin. I gasp for breath, blinking tears from my eyes.
“Turn around,” he says, low and lethal.
I hesitate, but only for a second.
Then I obey.
He helps me onto the mattress this time, bent forward over it, cheeks pressed to the softer fabric. My arms are still bound to my thighs, so I can’t brace myself. I’m forced to arch, helpless and exposed.
He spreads me with both hands, rough, greedy, and groans.
“Fuck. Look at that,” he mutters. “Dripping down your thighs. You’ve been aching for me to break you.”
I shiver, throat raw, lips parted. “Yes, I have.”
He doesn’t give me a warning.
He drives into me in one ruthless thrust, so deep it knocks the air out of my lungs.
