Page 4

Chapter four

Nick

Heat curled in Nick's stomach, lower, pooling thick and heavy. His own cock twitched, aching for touch, but he was trapped, pinned beneath Viktor's weight, forced to lie there and witness every inch of raw, unfiltered desire playing out above him.

Viktor exhaled roughly. "Look at you." His voice was thick with arousal, low and rough like gravel. "So desperate."

Nick made a strangled noise, somewhere between protest and something infinitely worse. "Me?" His voice cracked before he could rein it in. "Oh, I’m the desperate one?" He tried for sharp, for biting, for some kind of cutting remark that would put distance between them. It came out embarrassingly weak.

Viktor smirked like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having. His pace didn’t slow. If anything, it got more deliberate. More intentional .

Nick wanted to fight back, to snap something vicious and pointed, to turn this moment into something he could control. But he couldn't think—couldn't do anything except watch, wide-eyed and breathless, as Viktor’s hand moved faster, as his hips rolled into his own grip with a shuddering breath, as the slick, wet sound of it filled the space between them.

Then Viktor’s free hand gripped Nick’s thigh, hard, fingers digging deep enough that Nick knew he’d be feeling it tomorrow. The pressure sent a sharp jolt of sensation straight to his groin, a collision of pain and pleasure that had him arching into the touch before he could stop himself.

A whimper slipped past his lips. Immediate, involuntary. His stomach dropped the second he realized it had happened.

Viktor heard. His eyes flashed, predatory satisfaction darkening his already blown pupils. "You like this," he snarled, voice ragged, breath coming fast. It wasn’t a question. "My attention. You’ve been asking for it. All that bluster." His fingers tightened, nails just barely scratching against Nick’s skin. "You're a noisy little pet dog, barking at what he wants."

Nick bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, furious with himself, with his body, with the way he couldn't stop reacting. He refused to give Viktor the satisfaction of an answer.

But there was no way to hide it.

Not when his thighs trembled under Viktor’s grip. Not when his chest rose and fell too fast, too uneven. Not when his own cock was aching, heavy, pinned between them, leaking against his stomach as Viktor kept going .

And there was definitely no way he could tear his gaze away from Viktor’s hand.

Viktor leaned in, his breath hot against Nick’s skin, voice dripping with authority. “Admit it.”

Nick clenched his jaw so hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack. Absolutely not. He wasn’t giving Viktor the satisfaction. He scrambled for a comeback—something cutting, something witty, something that would wipe that insufferable look off Viktor’s face.

But nothing came.

His body had betrayed him in the worst way possible. Every breath felt too thick, too hot. Blood rushed south, his hips shifting instinctively toward the source of his torment. Weak. Weak.

Viktor’s smirk deepened, eyes flashing with knowing amusement. Damn wolf could probably smell how wrecked he was.

Nick sucked in a breath and scowled. Fine. If he was going down, he was going down swinging.

“Oh, absolutely,” he deadpanned. “I live to be tackled naked in the dirt by my overbearing co-worker. It’s really fulfilling a lifelong dream.”

Viktor huffed a laugh, low and rough, but his amusement didn’t soften him. If anything, the heat in his gaze only darkened, turned sharper, like he was savoring the fight even as he crushed it under his weight.

With a firm grip, he seized Nick’s chin, forcing his head back until their eyes locked. "Look," he commanded, voice a dark velvet snarl.

Nick tried to summon the defiance that had always been his shield, the cocky grin, the easy sarcasm that kept people at arm’s length. But here, pinned beneath Viktor’s overpowering presence, he had nothing. It crumbled to dust.

His throat felt dry as sandpaper, the words he wanted to spit out caught there. His skin burned under Viktor’s hold, his jaw aching from the pressure of those fingers. Viktor was so close. Too close. Heat radiated from him, every inch of his powerful body pressing Nick into the earth like he belonged there.

“There’s not much to look at,” Nick rasped, barely getting the words out.

Viktor’s smirk sharpened. His thumb brushed over Nick’s jaw, deceptively gentle as his fingers flexed, keeping him trapped. His eyes flicked over Nick’s flushed face, over the way his pulse jumped at his throat, the way his breath came too fast, too uneven. “You’re shaking,” Viktor murmured, satisfaction curling through his voice like smoke.

Nick gritted his teeth, hating how easily Viktor could see through him. Hating the way he felt pinned beneath that knowing gaze, stripped bare in more ways than one. He forced a breath, grasping for control. “Allergies,” he shot back, voice rough.

Viktor laughed, deep and satisfied, and Nick hated how much he felt it, how the sound of it sent a shiver straight through him.

Every nerve in Nick’s body was on fire, overloaded with sensation. His breath hitched as Viktor moved above him, fisting his cock, dragging this out just to make him suffer.

Nick couldn't tear his eyes away. He didn’t want to look— he shouldn't be looking —but he did.

The sight of Viktor above him, muscles flexed and straining, his body rolling into motion with purpose, was impossible to ignore. Moonlight cast sharp shadows across his broad chest, highlighting every ridge of his abs, the deep lines cutting down to where he was hard and heavy, sliding slick and hot between Nick’s thighs. Every motion was deliberate, focused, like Viktor was making a point.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

The sensations were impossible to block out—the heat of Viktor’s body, the weight of him pressing him into the damp earth, the steady, rhythmic push of movement. The sound of skin on skin filled the air, wet and obscene, each movement deepening the unbearable tension winding through Nick’s core.

His breath came in uneven bursts. His fingers dug into the dirt, grasping for anything solid as his body reacted in ways he refused to acknowledge. A traitorous shudder rolled through him, shame and need tangling into something unbearable.

Nick clenched his jaw, desperate to keep himself in check. He fought to suppress the sounds building in his throat, but each thrust made it harder to hold on. He felt raw, exposed, like Viktor was unraveling him thread by thread, breaking him down until there was nothing left but sensation.

The sound of Viktor’s breathing was ragged now, his growls turning guttural, his control slipping. His grip on Nick's thighs tightened, nails biting in, as his rhythm turned desperate, erratic.

Nick barely had time to react before Viktor stiffened above him. His entire frame shuddered, muscles locking tight as a deep, primal sound tore from his throat.

Then heat. Wet, thick, undeniable.

The first hot splash hit Nick’s stomach. Then another, splattering across his chest. He flinched as a spurt landed high on his cheek, cooling too fast against his flushed skin.

Marking him.

Nick sucked in a sharp breath, pulse hammering so hard he swore he could feel it in his teeth. The force of it was overwhelming, dragging him under, leaving his skin flushed, his breath shaky, his body aching with the aftermath of something that shouldn’t have felt this intense.

Viktor exhaled roughly, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths. Nick was still trapped beneath him, slick and shaking, his mind a complete blank.

Nick scowled, more out of instinct than anything else. “Jesus,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You really don’t believe in giving a guy a warning, huh?”

Viktor’s breath hitched—a sharp exhale that was almost a laugh. Almost.

Then, with a lazy, satisfied smirk, he dragged a single finger through the mess on Nick’s cheek and lifted it, deliberately slow, to Nick’s mouth.

Viktor’s voice was still rough, thick with satisfaction as he murmured, “Open.”

Nick’s entire body seized, like something deep inside him had short-circuited.

No. No, absolutely not. He clenched his jaw, refusing to react, refusing to acknowledge the heat crawling up his spine, the way his pulse hammered like a drum beneath his skin. He needed to move, to twist away, to shove Viktor back and put space between them…

But he didn’t.

His mouth parted, just slightly, and that was all the permission Viktor needed.

Viktor's fingers slid through his lips, pressing firm against his tongue, tasting of salt and heat and humiliation. Nick inhaled sharply through his nose, but the scent of sweat and musk and something purely Viktor filled his senses, thick and inescapable.

His body betrayed him. Again. A low, broken sound slipped from his throat before he could stop it, vibrating against Viktor’s fingers. His face flamed with instant shame, heat rushing from his neck to his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, mortified, furious with himself, desperate to pretend it hadn't happened.

But Nick wasn't lucky—not now, not ever.

Viktor heard it. His breath hitched, a quiet, satisfied sound, and then he pushed deeper, his fingers pressing against Nick’s tongue, tenderly fucking his mouth.

Nick should have bitten him. Should have turned his head, spat, cursed, anything to shatter the moment, to pull himself out of this spiral. He wanted to snap back, to lunge for Viktor’s throat, to wipe that smug expression off his face. But he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel.

And the worst part—the absolute, undeniable worst part—was that he was still hard.

His lips closed around Viktor’s fingers, his breath shuddering as the taste of him flooded his mouth, warm and unmistakable. His cock ached, flushed and heavy between them, proof of his own betrayal. His skin was too sensitive, too aware of every shift, every slow drag of Viktor’s fingers over his tongue, every flex of muscle above him.

"Good boy," Viktor murmured, amusement laced through the rough edges of his voice. Then he pulled his fingers free with a slick pop, and got to his feet.

"Have a nice night," Viktor called over his shoulder, voice dripping with smug dismissal.

And then he left.

The bastard just left .

Nick lay there, staring blankly up at the night sky, his brain firing off useless signals, trying and failing to process what had just happened. His body still trembled—not just from exhaustion, not just from adrenaline, but from something darker, something deeper, something he refused to name.

His lips were still parted, his breath ragged. The taste of Viktor lingered on his tongue—warm, salty, undeniable. It coated the inside of his mouth, thick and invasive, refusing to fade no matter how much he swallowed. The cool night air prickled against his sweat-damp skin, the sticky mess on his chest and stomach a brand, a mark, evidence of just how thoroughly he had lost tonight. He wanted to wipe it off, to scrub himself raw, to erase it all. But his limbs wouldn’t move.

And his traitorous cock was still hard.

A wave of humiliation rolled through him, sharp and hot. What the hell just happened?

The forest around him was eerily still, as if the trees themselves had the decency to be embarrassed for him.