Page 185 of Violent Possession

Every time Alexei thrusts, I feel the pressure squeeze a spot deep inside, a bundle of nerves that shoots electricity through my limbs.

“Like this… make me feel you…”

Alexei’s hand slides down my waist, pulling me against his hips, crushing, guiding my body to mold to his.

My hands grab onto whatever they can. My fingers dig in shamelessly, embedding my nails to leave deep marks—I want to see them tomorrow, I want to remember.

The sofa creaks, our skin sticks together, and every inch of me exists only to be fucked by Alexei.

I try to touch myself, but he pulls my hand away, pins my wrists above my head, and shoves even deeper. His other hand goes to my hip, holding me in place as he fucks me, rhythmic, cruel.

My vision blurs. I swear I see stars.

He fucks me deep, again, again. Each thrust hits that nerve bundle directly, and I just want more. My whole body trembles, begs, and I moan loudly, without any shame, just for him to hear, just for him to know the effect.

“Fuck, boss… like that…”

I don’t even know what I’m saying. I just know that every time he thrusts, something implodes inside my head. I’m left breathless, shameless, without a filter. My entire body burns, throbs, aches for him.

I press against him, I grind, begging, and I can’t even ask properly.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. He just goes deep.

The sofa creaks, Alexei pins me with one hand on my neck, his thumb pressing right on the spot that makes me lose my breath. My vision darkens, explodes in flashes. Pain and pleasure intertwined.

I lose any illusion of dignity. I become softer, more open, more on the edge, because Alexei never slows down. He only changes the angle, the force, the rhythm.

I feel the sweat running down, sticking our skin together, mixing the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and his cologne. The smell of dried blood, too, from new and old cuts.

“Alexei,” I moan, my voice failing, “I’m going to… fuck, let me come…”

He releases my wrist, grabs me by the hair, and pulls me up until I’m face to face with him. His eyes are shining, cruel.

“Come. Come for me, Griffin.”

I obey with everything I have. The orgasm is a shock, a wave that destroys all resistance. I come so hard I’m sure I’ll never feel anything again, that this is the world’s last gasp. My whole body arches, my muscles lock, but I can still feel him inside me, thrusting, thrusting, until he comes too, hot and thick and without retreat. Alexei bites my shoulder, his moan muffled against my skin.

We collapse together, a mess of sweat, cum, and exhaustion on the expensive sofa that will surely never be the same. He stays on top of me for a long time, his head buried in the curve of myneck, his breath hot and irregular against my skin. I hug him, my cold metal hand a contrast to his warm back, and just… breathe.

The sound of the city, which before seemed miles away, begins to seep back into the apartment. A distant horn, the siren of an ambulance. The world outside keeps spinning, indifferent to the war and peace that just took place in this room.

Alexei moves, pulling out of me with a gentle slowness. The silence between us is no longer tense, no longer a game. It is just… silence.

I turn my head on the upholstery, enough to look at him. His face is relaxed, the mask of control completely dissolved.

He looks younger. More human.

“I think,” I whisper, “we broke the sofa.”

A sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a laugh. He opens his eyes and looks at me, and in them, I see the same exhaustion and the same peace that I feel.

“I’ll get another one,” he says.

He raises his hand and brushes a lock of sweaty hair from my forehead. The gesture is so simple, so tender, that my heart gives a painful jolt in my chest.

And there, in the middle of the mess we created, in the silence of our home, I close my eyes and, for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to sleep.