Page 45 of Jewel of the Assassin

16

It will be ownership. Even through pain

ROMAN

Oh, I’m not finished with her. Not by a long shot.

If I were a more noble man, I’d let my wife rest. And take her when the sun rises.

Thank fuck I’m not a noble man.

Instead, I roll her over, retrieve the needle and tube from my bag of toys, and give her a controlled dose. My kernel of mercy is ensuring she is passed out for this next process as I prepare her ass to take my cock.

When the sun rises, I’ll still be balls deep in her. And then…I will finally let her rest.

For now, I gather her into my arms—limp, soft, trusting. Exactly as I want her.

I carry her through a narrow stairwell of the dungeon and into a prepared lower chamber of my domain. My luxury sex dungeon. A thousand toys for both torture and temptation. Most of all, totality.

A rack. An iron cross. A siege d’Amour chair. Fuckingmachines for maximum punishment. I will use one on her at some point. Dark eagerness thrills my blood at the notion of her rebellion.

I lay her on the padded bench carefully, admiring the welts, tokens of devotion and discipline. She breathes evenly, still drifting on the drugs.

Good.

I prepare the items. Warm water. The soft rubber syringe. Linen towels folded with military precision. Everything clean. Everything precise.

She’ll wake soon. She’ll feel everything—every step meant to ready her, to mold her. She may squirm. She may cry. But she will crave it. And when she finally opens those eyes, still clouded with the remnants of sleep and drugs, I’ll be waiting.

Her body stirs faintly beneath my hand. Even in this state—adrift between waking and dreams—she feels me. Feelseverything. I stroke her spine, then part her cheeks with care and reverence. She moans, no more than a breath, as I press the lubricated tip of the syringe against her tight entrance.

“Easy,” I whisper.

I push inside. The seal breaks. The water floods in, warm and slow.

Her body arches slightly, hips shifting with the growing pressure. There’s no resistance. I shift her to one side. It’s beautiful—watching her belly rise gently, the flush blooming across her chest. I imagine her belly growing heavy and full with our child. Boy or girl, I don’t care. But Valentina Makarova will bear my heir.

Her body trembles. Her breath quickens.

Then—release.

A soft sound escapes her lips. Her thighs twitch. The warm flow spills from her onto the stone floor, guided by the slant of the drain I installed.

The act is both a violation and contrition. Next, I clean her gently with the warm water and linen, then kiss the swell of her hip before I bring her to the prepared bath and bind her to thesling chair. No door. Just a specially-installed bath area with a claw-foot tub and plumbing system programmed to my digital chip.

I secure Valentina’s arms behind her neck—both to support and so it will not interfere with my next purpose. Then, I lock the sling holds into the metal brackets on the tub and slowly adjust until she’s in the proper position.

For a few moments, I pace the marble floor of the adjoining bathroom, scanning her body. I turn the lights up so I may see her with no interference.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Heated arousal swells my cock at the blood and cum still coating her thighs. I fully intend for her to feel the burn of my cock for a week.

Soon, she’ll wake.

Stroking my jaw, I pause to fully take her in. She’s art in motion—legs parted from the chair, spine arched in a perfect curve. The ends of her hair spill into the bath like liquid gold. Her breasts are lifted, firm and full, rose-tipped and immaculate. Flawless. Every inch of her begs to be studied…or devoured.

Can’t resist those pretty tits.

The swells still bear my handprints, but I take time to study and worship these breasts. The nipples stiffen beneath the pads of my thumbs. A quick intake of breath has her chest rising.