Page 23 of Violent Love: Viktor

Another tear slid down her face.

I caught it.

Rubbed it cruelly into her skin.

“Such pretty eyes for aSuka,” I said mockingly, then slid my thumb into her mouth.“Lick. Clean your mess.”

She obeyed, licking the salty tear from my thumb as more streamed down.

Perfect.

I lifted the bowl, met her eyes, and spat directly into it.

“Open.”

She did, lips parting instantly.

“Wider,” I warned.

She obeyed.

I tipped the warm porridge into her mouth in thick, unrelenting scoops. It clogged her throat immediately. She gagged, trying to breathe around it, but I didn’t let go of her jaw until I felt her throat flex. Heard the panicked gulps.

Only then did I lean down, voice like silk laced with poison.

“If you ever refuse what I offer again…I’ll peel your skin instead of feeding you.”

Her pupils widened, not in disbelief.

In terror.

I released her jaw. She gasped, choking slightly as she tried to keep the porridge down. I wiped the remnants from my thumb onto her arm, leaving a slow, sticky trail.

Then I stood.

She dropped her head to the floor, hair spilling forward like a curtain. A final, silent offering. A surrender not spoken, but understood.

I bit down on my lower lip.

The tail twitched between her cheeks.

She didn’t even realise it.

Her shame made it dance.

Her fear was so palpable I could almost taste it. It hit me then—breaking her mind was sweeter than breaking bones. I understood why the Pakhan and Vadik revelled in torture over a quick kill. Breaking her this way—slow, psychological, intimate—was more satisfying than listening to her whimper in her sleep this morning.

“I’ll be back later,” I said casually, then slammed the door behind me, locking it with a quiet satisfaction.

Behind the wood, I pictured her on the floor—knees bruised, spirit frayed, tears crusted on her cheeks.

Not dead.

No.

Worse.

Alive. Owned. Starving for approval.