Page 33 of Filthy Little Fix

I don't wait for any further response.

I don't know what to think about all this. Itdisgustsme to imagine Nyx spewing his perversion over Dmitry—worse, overSvetlana. What will he do, gethardat her first rudeness?Beglike a whore for Dmitry to lose his temper and beat him to death?

Fuck. Damn it. Ineedto keep him controlled. I don't know when Dmitry or Svetlana will come to try to talk to that aberration, but Iknowhe expects a reward for his work. And I know—I knowtoo well—the headache he causes when he's frustrated. I can't predict what he'll do with my siblings if I don't give him something.

This is against my initial rules. Nyx wasn't supposed to feel minimally satisfied in this place, only controlled. I know I can use pain to make him submit to me, but he expectsmorenow.

I take a deep breath. He did the work. Within my impossible timeframe. I need to reward him.

I know what he wants.

My boots hit the marble, carrying me faster than usual down the corridor. The anticipation, a hot and unwanted nervousness, churns in my gut. He is waiting. He isalwayswaiting for this, for the breaking of my own rules.

I open the door to his room. He's still in the desk chair, and he turns in it, resting his arms on the top of the backrest to look at me. He smiles at me. He hasn't slept, and it's obvious in his dark circles and contained exhaustion. But the smile is unmistakably Nyx.

"You delivered," I say. The victory over the Malakovs and the secured systems should be satisfying, but his damned satisfaction overshadows it all. "Everything. The Malakovs are bleeding, and the systems are secure. For now."

He tilts his head, resting it on his arms with complicity. "And my reward?" he whispers. His eyes, dilated, burn with an insatiable hunger.

I can feel the heat rising in me.

I loathe this feeling.

"On your knees," I snarl with the bitterness and disgust of my own growing desire.

Slowly, he stands up. That familiar reverence returns to his face, even more pronounced by all the bruises. He walks closer to me.

He kneels.

His head tilts back, exposing the pale line of his throat, his bruised jaw, his slightly swollen lips. His eyes devour my face, burning with raw hunger.

Despite the physical exhaustion of the last 24 hours, the unmistakable bulge in his worn pants begins to rise, pressing against the faded fabric.

Here he is.This sick fuck.

I grab the back of his neck and pull his head closer. He gasps, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You earned your reward, Nyx," I say, with contempt.

He stirs, his hands coming up to grip my thighs, eager.

I unzip my fly, and Nyx gazes at my fingers with reverence. I pull my dick out. It throbs against my will in response to theobscene sight of Nyx kneeling and reverent before me, legs open, and the growing bulge in his pants.

He begins to lean forward, already parting his lips, ready.

But I wasn't done. He wouldn't dictate the pace. Not now. Not ever.

I tighten my grip on his hair, pulling his head back sharply, away from my cock. He sighs. Of course, he likes the hostility. His hands on my thighs clench.

"No," I snarl. "Idictate what you do. Understood?"

His breath hitches in a small, airy moan. "Yes, sir…"

At least,Icontrol this.

I grab his chin, forcing his mouth open wider than he intended. I guide myself, brutally, into his mouth, pushing past his lips until his tongue meets my hardened shaft.

His moan is immediate. He convulses, squeezing my thighs, digging his fingers in. I feel his wetness on my cock, a viscous, sticky warmth that coats me. I sigh. He moves his tongue against me, hewantsthis, and it feels damn good.