Page 38 of Violent Love: Viktor

I smiled beneath the mask. It didn’t matter that my hair was matted with grease or that I hadn’t bathed in days, weeks, or months. My Master was happy with me.

That was enough.

I dreamed of his tattooed hands. The spiralling snake no longer frightened me—it fascinated me. I wanted to see it again, to feel it curl around my throat. I missed the way his hair fell across his forehead, the dark beard that hid the scar on his jaw, and the eyes that watched me like a thing to be broken. They were always calculating and cruel.

I thought about him when I slept. When I ate. When I swallowed his cum like it mattered more than food.

I rolled off the mat as soon as I heard his footsteps. Snout off. My legs spread, my breasts pressing against the cold metal door. I got into position without thinking. Because if he saw me ready, maybe he’d use me. Maybe he’d feed me. Maybe he’d look at me again.

I waited.

And waited.

I whimpered. Then barked, soft and eager. Pleading.

Still nothing.

I looked over my shoulder at the window to check the light.

Morning.

So where was he?

The hatch didn’t open.

Click.

The sound was wrong. Not the hatch.

The door.

I scrambled back, heart slamming in my chest.

What had I done?

Why was the door opening?

Why now?

Was he angry?

Had I failed?

The door opened wider.

He filled the doorway.

My eyes drank him in. His hair was longer. Beard trimmed. And those piercing eyes were on me again. White shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Part of the snake tattoo was visible as his hands rested by his sides. His zip was closed.

He didn’t move or speak.

I hesitated—then slowly placed my hand on the floor, crawling to him. I knelt between his legs.

His lips twitched, but still, he said nothing.

I opened my mouth and tilted my head.

“Sukaah,” he murmured my name.