Page 7

Chapter 7

The Fall Begins Here

Vasiliyi

O ne touch.

That’s all it takes to make the cracks in my control splinter wide.

Her fingers graze the line of my chest, tracing the edge of my tie. My blood answers instantly, heat roaring through me in a pulse that drowns out thought. Every lesson in restraint I ever learned—on the battlefield, behind bars, in rooms where weakness meant death—vanishes.

She’s my undoing. Not with a scream. Not with a betrayal.

But with a goddamn whisper.

My hands grip the desk on either side of her thighs, wood groaning beneath the strain. I should step back. I should rein this in.

But Galina doesn’t deserve gentleness right now. Not after what she tried to do.

And still…I don’t want to punish her.

I want to possess her.

Consume her.

Worshipher in the most twisted, carnal way possible until there’s no space left between our sins.

She tilts her chin up like a challenge, like she knows the chaos she’s stirring in me. And maybe she does. Maybe she always did.

Because she’s not innocent.

She’s not even pretending to be.

She’s the flame I keep touching even as it burns me down to bone.

“On your knees.”

My voice is low, rough, but controlled. A command dressed in velvet. It doesn’t snap; it sinks. And the second the words hit her, I see it—the tremor in her legs, the breath she forgets to take, the way her lips part like she’s already halfway there.

Her throat works. Swallowing fear or anticipation—I can’t tell.

And God, I don’t care.

Because her eyes tell me everything.

Those eyes, wild and dark, burn with the same fire that’s swallowing me whole. It’s not just obedience I see—it’s want. A mirrored madness. Lust threaded with danger. Need that should terrify her.

But she’s never been afraid of the right things.

Her mascara is smudged from earlier tears. Her mouth is swollen from my kiss. She looks like a fallen queen.

Mine.

“Whatever happens next,” I murmur, stepping closer, “depends entirely on how well you please me.”

She doesn’t flinch.

She kneels.

And fuck if it doesn’t level me.

There’s nothing docile in the way she lowers herself. It’s slow. Intentional. As if she’s not surrendering to me, but to something older, darker—something we’ve both been circling since the moment we met. It’s not submission.

It’s fate.

And as her hands settle on my thighs and her mouth hovers over the line of my belt, I realize?—

This isn’t power.

It’s worship.

And I’m not sure which of us is about to break first.

I pull out my length, letting it spring free from my pants. Her eyes locked on it, Galina takes it in her hand and rubs it on her cheek. As if she’s marking me. Pleasure is burning through me as she drags my cock over her soft face, over her mouth. I think I might die of lust.

Parting her lips, she looks ravenous. “It’s big,” she states evenly, looking up at me provocatively, and slides her tongue over her lower lip. I’m about to combust as the realization hits me. She has managed to turn the tables again.

I twist a strand of her hair in my fist and give it a nice tug. She whimpers softly, looking up at me submissively.

Christ, she is getting off on this. I’m dying to pull her up and touch her pussy, see what exactly this does to her.

But then she slides her tongue along my shaft, grinning up at me mischievously. Slowly, ever so slowly, she puts my cock inside her mouth. I close my eyes and lean my head backward, feeling her hot breath against my skin.

Her on her knees, craving my dick, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. She is magnificent. She sucks my cock like it is a part of her whole, lips slick with spit and eyes meeting mine with a desire that threatens to unravel me. She swirls her tongue along my length, and I break into a sweat.

I want everything this woman can give.

“Look at me, lisichka ,” I urge, and she obeys. Blissed out, unable to escape. My muscles tense.

She continues to work eagerly, swallowing me down. Every nerve is taut and ready to snap at the feel of her hot, wet mouth around me. I hold back; the urge to fuck her throat grows. But I refuse. I want to enjoy this as long as possible. No movement, only the sound of slick and slurping.

“Fuck,” I groan, my control fraying, but I refuse to end it just yet. “If you’re not careful, lisichka , I might paint that pretty face of yours white, show everyone I own you.” My hands reach for her neck, and that’s when Galina starts bobbing her head. I almost lose it then and there, her saliva dripping and my cock slippery, coated with the heat of her mouth. My eyes are locked onto hers, determined and filled with lust.

Her right hand grabs my ass, pulling me closer. The roughness of her nails reminds me this woman loves pain. I catch a glimpse of those bruises, faded and yellow against her skin. Seeing those marks peeking from her modest clothing nearly drives me over the edge, remembering how I put them there.

But now...her mouth is full and her throat is constricted. Her left hand is fondling my balls, and her lips are wet, red and swollen.

A wave of pleasure rushes up my spine, sparks igniting and coursing through every blood vessel in my body. Galina bobs her head up and down, her cheeks bloated and hollowed, as though she’s eating a popsicle. When I caress her hair, pulling lightly, she swallows hard. My hips jerk forward in spasms, her throat constricting. My ears ring, and my knees threaten to give. I grit my teeth, a low moan escaping me as I come, my release warm and thick. Galina draws out my peak with slow movements, swallowing my come and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

I’m watching Galina clean my cock, her cheeks flaming. She thinks she’s caught in my web, this glorious nightmare of a woman. She doesn’t know she’s the one who’s caught me. Her soft whimper of surrender cuts deep—both victory and defeat wrapped in a single breath. She has no idea how completely she owns me, how deeply she’s carved herself into every shadow of my being. That trembling sound echoes in my chest like a funeral bell, marking the death of whatever control I thought I had. She fears the monster I’ve become, but she doesn’t understand—she’s the one who shaped this darkness. In the polished desk surface, my reflection stares back with my father’s steel-gray eyes. But where his held only cold calculation and cruelty, mine blaze with something far more destructive when they look at her. Behind my careful mask of ice lives a beast I can’t control, one that makes my hands tremble when I let myself acknowledge what she does to me. That’s what truly terrifies me—knowing no woman should be able to handle the storm inside me. No one should look at every jagged edge, every blood-soaked shadow of who I am, and not run. The darkness, the violence, this fucking obsessive need to possess her completely—it would send any sane person running for their life. Yet here she is, on her knees, offering not just her body but a mirror to my own twisted soul.

I can’t afford this weakness. Every move she makes screams of hidden agendas, of plans within plans. She’s been lying since the moment she walked back into my life, playing a game only she understands. And that makes her lethal. These thoughts wind through my mind like poison vines, setting my nerves on fire until every muscle trembles with the need to claim, to punish, to own.

She. Is. Mine.

It feels right, making this woman submit.

Leaning down, I tug her upright. Something’s changing, the feeling spreading across my skin as I lick my lips. It’s an urge that goes beyond owning her.

I want her. In a way that men like me should never consider. I’ve been feeling it since the first moment I noticed the light brown flecks in her green eyes. Now, as the air crackles with tension, the hunger tears at me, raging and tearing my body into shreds.

“I won’t fuck you now,” I say. Her lips move, but nothing comes out. A shiver moves up her body, and her fingers twitch. “However,” I draw out the next words slowly and carefully, emphasizing the intensity behind them, “I want to see how much you get off on being roughed up.”

The look on her face says she knows what’s about to happen. A punishment she’s undoubtedly expected.

Tearing off her panties in one clean movement, I bring the edge of my finger to her lower lips, parting them. Her eyes grow darker when I push her thighs apart and swipe my finger through her slit. God, she’s more than wet, she’s flooding and begging. One stroke and the liquid slicks my fingers slipping inside her and brushing that sensitive knot. Galina curls into a ball, a moan escaping her.

My fingers plunge inside her again, teasing her clit and picking up the tempo. I have the perfect punishment in mind for a woman like her. She’s used to having everything and getting all her needs met. Well, it’s time for her to learn otherwise.

The room is dark, the computer screen providing gentle lighting. The rest of the club is lively with loud laughter and music that barely vibrates through the walls. Her father had built this place to be a soundproof vault to hold prisoners and secrets.

What a fucking lie. But the irony of how he built everything only for it to be taken away is justice. His daughter on my desk, her legs open wide for me to do as I please.

And here she is, body flushed and red, demanding more.

“You’ve tested my patience,” I remind her, holding her hips in place. I tease her, brushing against her opening, and watch her fall apart. By the time I plunge into her hard and fast, she’s already quaking on the precipice. But I keep her from falling with shallow pumps. Again and again, until she stops thinking, whining, crying, and wailing. The frustration and confusion mark her face. My fingers are fast and relentless, yet I make sure to hit the spot that pushes her further into torture. When her muscles lock, I don’t let her tumble over.

Even though I want to see her unravel, I force myself to pull my fingers out with a jerk, refusing to give her the release she needs. She cries out. But nothing will sway me.

Maybe the idea of this being a punishment sinks in. Whatever she sees in my face—the threat and warning in my darkened gaze—sobers her, chases the feral beast from her eyes. Before she can speak, I dig my fingers into her arms, dragging her toward the door.

“We’re done for today,” I snarl, pushing her.

She straightens up slowly, her legs shaky, adjusting her clothes with calm and controlled movements. From my spot, I watch her walk away, listen to the click of her heels on the hardwood floor, already regretting what I’ve done. Each breath reminds me of her blazing skin, of my fists curled around her delicate, trembling shoulders. Of the heat between us. As the door closes behind her, I lean over the desk, slamming my hands against the polished surface. My reflection shows a man unraveling, his self-control crumbling. My fists ache, yearning for her soft and warm flesh to sink my fingers into.

Fuck, I’m going insane.

The realization hits like a bullet to the chest—clean, precise, and potentially fatal. If I’m not careful, Galina will be my downfall. Not because she’s trying to destroy me, but because she makes me want to destroy myself, to tear down every wall I’ve built, every lesson I’ve learned about survival. And in this world, where weakness equals death, wanting her this desperately might be the last mistake I ever make.