Page 56 of Violent Possession

He doesn’t rush. Alexei is methodical even when jerking someone off—he must be taking mental notes, measuring every reaction, every tremor in my body.

“You don’t know how to beg properly,” he says softly.

I laugh. “Then teach me.”

His hand squeezes, rhythmic, precise. It coaxes sounds from me that I never let out.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I say, drawn out.

“You keep asking for it,” he murmurs against my face, kissing my jaw, and I feel my cock throb harder, obeying only him.

My hands tremble with such a desire to tear his control in half. I slide my mouth to his ear.

“I don’t want just your hand, boss.”

Before he processes it, I’m already moving in his lap, rising enough to create space.

That half-smile reappears in Alexei. He helps me pull down my pants just enough, while I undo his belt—genuine leather and a gold-plated metal buckle or some shit. The space is ridiculously tight, but I manage. I always manage.

My breathing is too heavy when I pull down his zipper. Alexei doesn’t even have to do anything but watch me, relaxed and cruel.

I lower myself enough to expose, and my cock already throbs with anticipation just feeling his warmth so close.

“It’s been months since I’ve been fucked properly,” I say as I position myself over him.

And I like the idea of it hurting a little.

I position myself. I try to move on my own, but his hand on my waist guides me with cruel precision. “Not so fast,” he says as he makes me descend inch by inch, slowly enough to drive me crazy, until I’m completely full of him. “Like this…”

“Ngh…”

When I finally settle, his nails dig into my skin—a silent order that he’s in charge here.

Alexei takes a deep breath, I see his control cracking. But he doesn’t groan.

He plunges me into him and I let out a dirty moan. I want to feel everything, I want him to keep me in this place until I can’t take it anymore.

“Fucking use me, Alex... I’m here for it.” My voice comes out hoarse, but soon dies in a moan as I lean back on the seat and start to rhythm, fast, deep, feeling every inch of him tear its way inside me. My hips go down and up hard, the pain burns and it’s a fucking delight.

But his hand immediately stops me. His fingers dig into my waist and hold me in the air for a second, preventing me from going down further. The order is physical: I only continue ifhewants me to.

“Slowly,moy khoroshiy?*,” he says, and it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.

He pulls me back into a slow rhythm, slowly down, controlling the weight of my body until I’m completely full of him again. I tremble, gasping, but Alexei maintains a firm grip, regulating every inch, every thrust.

If I speed up too much, he holds me and dictates the cadence. If I try to ease up, he presses me until the pain tears again. He’s the one who orchestrates my entire will.

The cold palm of his hand goes up my throat and squeezes, calibrating my breathing. It makes me see stars. It only makes me hornier.

“That’s it, fuck,” my voice fails, breathless.

I try to get the rhythm back and he corrects me again, pulling me hard onto his lap. The impact opens me up more, hits my limit, and my head falls back, moaning loudly.

“Alex...”

“Look at me.” The command comes with the squeeze on my neck, forcing me to look into his eyes.

“Fuck...”