Dripping wet body went limp but still… responsive. Every twitch, every gasp, every damn moan all for me. She had no control, none. I took it from her. And the way she crumbled in my grip, the way her body sang with need even when she hated me fuck. I was already hard again, just looking at her like this.
She tried to push me away. Tried. But her hands fell uselessly at her sides, too weak to do anything. Her mind screamed no, but her body always begged for more, even now, when I’d already devoured her once tonight.
My body hummed, every fiber coiled tight. I could do it again. I could have her again. I wanted to. The need to bury myself inside her was so sharp, so fucking raw, it clawed at me, begging to be satisfied. But…
I held myself back.
Her body slumped against mine, spent, barely conscious. I scooped her up, her head lolling against my chest, and carried her to the bed. She made a small sound-almost a whimper-before slipping under, her light snores soon filling the room. It was the only time she was quiet, when she was like this-exhausted, used up, limp in my hands.
I sighed.
Here we go. We needed to work on her stamina.
Cleaning her up, I picked her up.
I tucked her in, pulling the covers up to her chin, like I gave a damn. Maybe I did. I didn’t know. It’s fucked up.
I leaned over her, staring at her peaceful face, and a part of me hated it. Hated that she was so still, so quiet. That she could sleep while I sat here like this.
I pulled away, grabbed a cigar from the table, and sat on the couch, watching her. The glow of the burning tobacco lit the room in brief flashes as I inhaled deeply. My heart hammered in my chest, a slow, maddening pulse.
Two weeks.
Two fucking weeks. I had to leave her for two weeks, and I already didn’t want to go.
I glared at the cigar, twirling it between my fingers, the smoke curling upward. My chest felt tight. Not the usual kind of tight-the adrenaline rush, the thrill of control-but a strange tug. Right there on the left side. Where that stupid, useless heart was. I could still feel her warmth on my skin, still hear her fucking voice.
The clock ticked. Two more hours until I had to board the flight. The thought made my jaw clench. I didn’t like it. I didn’t fucking like it. Leaving her here, unattended, unguarded, without me…
My hands tightened around the cigar, crushing the end between my fingers. Fuck.
She had no idea. She didn’t understand what I needed. What I wanted. What I felt. Hell, I didn’t even understand half of it. But it didn’t matter. She was mine. She always had been, from the moment I saw her. From the moment she looked at me with those wide, terrified eyes, like I was the devil himself. And maybe I was. Maybe I am.
But she still came to me. Over and over again. She always would.
I grinned, watching her chest rise and fall, her soft little breaths filling the room. So peaceful, so serene. So fucking breakable.
I could do it right now. Wake her up. Take her again. She’d hate me, she’d scream, she’d fight-and I’d love every goddamn second of it. Watching her break was the best part. Watching her try to fight against something she could never win against-me.
But then… I looked at the clock again. Two fucking weeks.
It pissed me off, this feeling in my chest. The thought of leaving her. Of someone else even breathing near her. Irrational? Maybe. But I didn’t give a damn about rationality. Rationality was for weak men. I wasn’t weak.
I shifted, the leather couch creaking beneath me as I stood up. I couldn’t sit still anymore. My body thrummed with energy, with tension, and I needed to release it. My knuckles cracked as I rolled my shoulders, pacing the room like a caged animal. Two weeks without her. Two weeks without this.
The thought gnawed at me. It was wrong. I hated it.
I had no fucking choice, though. Business. Power. Control. The things that kept her in line. The things that kept me in control. I had to go.
But… fuck.
I moved to the window, staring out at the dark street below. I could just imagine it. Some bastard, some pathetic fuck thinking he could get close to her while I was gone. Someone thinking they could touch what was mine.
Ivan motherfucking Morozov.
I ground my teeth together, fists clenching at my sides. It would be a mistake. A deadly mistake.
I would find him. I’d make him scream.
The thought calmed me a little. Made me smile.
But it wasn’t enough. I flicked the cigar out the window and turned back to her, my eyes trailing over her sleeping form, memorizing every inch of her. The way her hair splayed out on the pillow. The curve of her neck. The slight rise of her chest.
Mine.
She was the one thing in this world that I couldn’t let go of. And I wouldn’t. Not for anything. Not for anyone.
My body still hummed with the need for her. But I wouldn’t wake her up. Not yet.
I turned back to her, my little bird was asleep and oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.
I dragged my hand through my hair feeling the sweat still clinging to my skin. My jaw clenched.
I was fucking sure she’d try to get into touch with that bastard. And knowing the blood in his veins, he’d too. The only solution was to keep her locked up for the time being. But then… that’s only slow down my plan.
On second thought, why was I even delaying it?
I had my pawns in right places. Just one strike. Wouldn’t it accelerate everything if Ivan approached my little bird? He’d definitely introduce her to his brother, and then… I could use her to get to him.
Lucius Morozov.
Now there’s a name that always made my blood fucking boil. The rat had been hiding, slithering around in the shadows like the fucking leech he was. Thinking he was smart. But nobody was smart when they were up against me.
No one.
Ivan, though? Ivan was the key. And my little bird? She was under his radar. Though he was too stupid to realize he was never getting a taste. She wasn’t his to touch. Never would be.
But… maybe I could give him that hope.
I chuckled to myself lifting the cigar to my mouth and dragged in a puff.
The plan was already forming in my head. Dangle her in front of him, make him think he’s close enough to have her. Let him get sloppy. He’d slip up. And when he would, Lucius would come crawling out of his hole to save his little brother.
And I’d be waiting.
The beauty of it all? Ivan wouldn’t even realize he was being led to the slaughter until it was too late.
I looked over my shoulder at her again. This time… she had turned slightly to her side, the blanket slipping just enough to expose her soft tits, nipples hardened from the cold.
My eyes locked on her chest, and something dark twisted in me. Unconsciously, I licked my lips, my mouth already dry from the cigar, but now all I could think about was the taste of her skin.
Before I knew it, my mind had ditched the idea of finishing this cigar altogether. What was a cigar compared to her? The thought of it made me almost laugh. I wanted something more-something better. I wanted to taste her again. I wanted to feel her squirm under me as I claimed every inch of her.
Fuck, I wanted to suck on those perfect nipples, feel them harden further between my teeth. I could already imagine the way her back would arch, her body unconsciously offering itself to me, like it always did. That’s what she was-mine to take, mine to devour, whenever and however I pleased.
I stepped forward, my breath catching as I imagined leaning down and-
No.
I stopped myself, biting back the urge. She was asleep. Too much for even me to keep pushing. For now, at least.
I chuckled to myself. Self-control. Who would’ve thought I had any?
But there was something in the way she lay there, all soft and vulnerable, completely unaware of how close I was to losing it.
The temptation was there, no doubt. But there’d be time for that. Time for everything. Patience, I told myself, rolling my shoulders as if I could shake off the tension. But fuck, it was hard to stay patient when she looked like that.
The truth was, I didn’t want a cigar. I wanted her. I wanted to breathe her in. And like my body had a default response to her presence, I tossed the cigar to the side before stepping towards her till I was hovering over her.
I leaned down and brushed a finger over her cheek, watching her shift in her sleep. She’d hate me for it, of course. For using her like that. But she was mine, and that meant she didn’t get a say in how I played this game.
She’d hate me, sure-but deep down, she’d know this was how it had to be. She’d scream, cry, fight me when she found out. And fuck, maybe I’d let her. Maybe I’d let her scratch, claw, and break down.
It wouldn’t change a thing.
Ivan would fall. Lucius would crawl. And I’d win.
I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face as I imagined Lucius’s face when I finally had him in my grasp. The look of defeat. When he would realize he’s the one who’s been cornered this time, and not me.
Carlo was bound to die when he double crossed me, and Donatello was asking for it.
But even if I didn’t care about other four, I knew my father would ask for the reason. And for that, I do have a plan. Lies that’d give my father the reason he want and at the same time give me Morozov’s head.
That plan also included Ivan Morozov. After the close incepection on him, I had a good idea about his life. Morozov family regarded every family other than Russian their enemies. That put me in a compromising situation, but since Alexei Volkov’s my guardian, it was as easy as to snap Morozov’s neck.
Despite that, the Donatello clan, along with Carlo’s, were his allies. The enemy’s friend was still a enemy, no?
The pieces always fit when you knew how to twist them. Allies, enemies, pawns-it was all the same, really.
The chaos couldn be controlled.
Morozov. That son of a bitch built his empire off my ignorance, made me look like a fucking idiot. And now? He though he was untouchable, sitting on his pretty little throne with his pillars of loyalty holding him up. But every pillar has a crack. You just have to know where to strike.
Two fucking years. Two years I’ve waited, planning every goddamn move. Piece by piece. And now, it was all falling into place. Every deal, every threat, every crooked bastard who wanted Morozov gone-they were my tools. My fucking weapons. I didn’t give a shit about alliances, didn’t give a damn who was on my side or against me. They were all collateral, nothing more.
But more bloodshed? Not yet. That would send me back to Italy faster than I could spit in my Morozov’s face. And I couldn’t have that. Not when I was this fucking close. So, I’d play nice, smile like a good little boy, listen to my father’s constant nagging and Alexei’s pointless grumbling. Keep the mask on a little longer. They’d all see soon enough.
Kyle would stay out of it. Since he’d be in Russia to protect my ptichka.
She was my ace. My little bird. The key to this twisted fucking game. It was already good enough that she caught Ivan Morozov’s eyes, and that’s exactly what I needed. I’d let him think he was winning, let him fall into that trap. Then I’d tear his fucking world apart.
One wrong move from him and everything he’d built would burn. And I’d be standing in the ashes, smiling.
But as the initial plan of making my little bird Ivan Morozov’s muse, I realized I’d have to change it. Not because it was wrong-no, the plan was fucking flawless. But something had shifted. Or maybe it was me.
The thought of him putting his hands on her…
Fuck.
I wasn’t supposed to care. She was just a tool, a goddamn pawn in this game of blood and revenge. But the second I imagined Morozov touching her, breathing down her neck, that smug bastard getting too close-it hit me like a bullet to the gut.
No one touches what’s mine.
My little bird would still play her part, but it wouldn’t be as Morozov’s muse. She’d be the fucking dagger in his back, and I’d make sure she knew exactly who was holding the hilt.
But first… I’d have to remind myself that I couldn’t lose control. Not yet. Not until every piece falls perfectly into place. And Morozov pay the price of messing with me.