Page 43 of Violent Love: Viktor

With the Pakhan updated, the urgency to transform the girl into my perfect pet had diminished. The first fracture was in place, and I was ahead of schedule. I could relax now. Take my time. Enjoy tormenting my little bitch.

I tapped the ash into a tray and picked up the one meant for her. Braised chicken thighs, creamy mash, her favourite pickled cucumbers on the side. Heaped. Steaming. More than generous.

And beside it, my cock.

She’d still need to earn it.

???

Every night she slept beside me, untouched. By the time the sun rose, she’d crawled close, her hand always resting on my chest—as if to reassure herself that I was alive and still beside her. I helped her wash, brushed her teeth, and kept her in the bedroom so she could acclimate to the space and bathroom.

She never touched the back of her mask. Not once.

But her fingers often found the collar.

My balls were drained morning, noon, and night—but I wanted more.

And I knew she did too.

Her constantly wet pussy was driving me to distraction.

???

I woke to her weight curled against my chest.

She was quiet. Still. One hand resting on my chest, the other…

My jaw locked.

Her fingers were on my face. My scarred face.

Not exploring. Not trembling. Just…resting there. As if I was hers.

No one touched my scars. Not since they were given to me by Yuri’s men.

The rage hit before I could stop it. Not loud, not wild—cold. It surged through my chest and curled around my spine like barbed wire.

With a calm that belied the turmoil inside me, I climbed out of bed and laced my runners.

I needed a run before I did something I’d regret.

Violence was my world, but her slight form wouldn’t survive my brand of violence.

I smiled grimly.

My brand of violence against her mind was far more potent. And far more permanent.

???

She was asleep when I put the bowl of millet porridge and berry compote on the nightstand. I went to the wardrobe to get a few supplies. Once retrieved I slammed the wooden door shut to watch her jump.

Her sensitivity to smell and hearing had heightened. She sat up and the blanket fell to her waist, baring her pretty pink nipples. She sniffed the air and crawled to the edge of the bed, awaiting instruction. I placed the items on the bed.

“Are you ready to earn your breakfast?” I murmured to her, cupping her breasts.

“Woof. Woof,” she barked through the mask, placing her hands on her thighs.

I picked up the chain and hooked it onto her collar, before pinching the clip open to trap her nipple. Her immediate hiss ofpain made me smile while I felt a phantom pain on my scarred face. I attached the second clamp on her nipple before admiring my work. There was enough tension from the chains to tug her nipples upward.