ANASTASIA
I should've said no.
But the coldness in him felt like a challenge. That spark of connection in the bar had left me hungry. Even if the game had turned cruel. So I followed him.
The elevator was silent. Suffocating. He stood beside me, heat and power rolling off him. But the curiosity was gone. He was still looking at me. I could feel it. The way you look at something expensive you just bought.
The doors opened. Top floor. He took the key from my hand, fingers brushing mine without warmth. Swiped it. The door clicked open.
The room was a palace. Windows everywhere, the city spread out below like a map. Lights winking up at me. Cedarwood and rain on glass in the air. A massive bed, stark white, dead center.
The door closed. He turned. Pinned me against it. His body hard against mine.
"Who are you?" Low growl in my ear.
A strange, bitter calm settled over me. Broken plans. One last reckless impulse. I tilted my head back, met the cold fire in his eyes.
"Does it matter?" I whispered.
He searched my face for a truth he didn't expect to find. Then a rough breath, like surrender. He kissed me.
Not gentle. A claiming.
His mouth was hot, branding me. Whiskey. Power. Something cold and cynical underneath. A jolt shot through me, fried every instinct I had.
His hands fisted in my hair, gripping my head, angling me deeper. His tongue pushed into my mouth. Conquest, not invitation. I gave in without a fight.
He pulled back, breathing hard, green eyes burning. "Who sent you? Who are you to look at me like that and pretend you're not playing a game?"
My heart hammered. The lie came easy, rising from the ashes. "I'm nobody. Just a woman who wanted to know what it felt like to be in a room with a man like you."
His eyes narrowed, hunting. "Too perfect. Too fucking perfect."
He stepped back. But only to look at me.
His gaze raked over me. Terrifying. Thrilling. My silk dress felt like nothing.
He grabbed the fabric at my shoulders. One violent yank. The sound of ripping silk filled the room.
I gasped. Half fear. Half excitement. He tore the rest away. Brutal. Efficient. Left me standing in heels and black lace panties.
He cupped my breasts. Thumbs brushed my nipples. I gasped, back arching, pressing into him. He leaned down, sucked one nipple into his mouth, biting until I was moaning against him.
His hands moved down. Hips. Ass. Squeezing, kneading, fingers digging in. I moaned, pushed back against him. The heat of me soaking through the lace.
He spun me around. Bent me over the couch. Hooking his fingers into my panties. Pulling them down.
His fingers traced along my slit. I moaned, pushing back, desperate.
He dropped to his knees behind me. Grabbed my ass. Buried his face in my pussy. I cried out, gripping the couch, pushing back against his mouth. His tongue licked and sucked, diving in, and my legs shook as he pushed me closer.
He stood. Gripped my hips. Positioned himself at my entrance. The heat of him pressed against me.
Then he stopped.
"You're a virgin." His voice thick with disbelief. Hunger.
I looked back at him, glassy with lust. Desperate. "Please."
Something in him snapped. He drove into me. One brutal thrust.
The pain was sharp. Searing. But the pleasure swallowed it whole. My body clenched around him. I came hard before he was even fully inside.
He was relentless. Flipped me onto my stomach. Drove into me from behind. Every stroke a claiming. His fingers found my clit, rubbing and teasing until I cried out again, shaking.
Again and again he took me. Every time he came, his cock stayed hard, still inside me, still fucking me. I was scared he'd fuck me to death. The fear only made it better.