Nikolai
She was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen.
I could still picture her bent over the kitchen island—skin flushed and gleaming, thighs still trembling, lips parted like she was trying to remember how to breathe. Her ass, bright red, every inch of it marked by my hand. Beautifully punished and well deserved.
And nestled between those thighs, the pretty, blue-jeweled plug I’d slid inside her glinting under the low light. A silent, perfect reminder of who she belonged to.
Me.
Sitting next to me in the helicopter, her breathing was soft and uneven, like her body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over. That I’d pulled back. That I was letting her rest, at least for now.
My hand drifted toward her thigh, needing to touch her. She had come apart for me. Completely. Utterly. No restraint, no shame. And the sounds—Christ, the sounds—those gasps that turned into moans into broken, breathless cries as her body shattered and rebuilt itself in my hands.
I’d never forget that.
I’d chase those sounds for the rest of my life.
Even though I had known Sloane Kingsley would be beautiful in surrender, I hadn’t expected her to ruin me for anything less than that.
Than her…
Now there was no going back.
I ran my palm down her bare thigh slowly, possessively, taking in every little twitch, every pink flush. She made no effort to move or speak, but she was definitely keeping her eyes on me, curious but wary.
I reached up, curled my fingers into her hair, and gave a gentle tug—just enough to remind her that she wasn’t there because she planned it. She was there because I brought her, because I wanted her there.
The helicopter dipped slightly as we banked toward the building, a magnificent glass tower rising above the rest of the city, windows catching the night like a mirror.
My building. My top floor. My home.
I leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Don’t run when we land,” I said softly. “Not unless you want me to belt you right there on the landing pad.”
She stiffened, didn’t answer, but I saw her eyes widen and I knew that she understood.
The moment the rotors slowed, I stood first and pulled her up with me, my hand still firmly in her hair. Not cruel, just exactly as firm as she needed.
We stepped out onto the rooftop landing pad, the wind from the blades catching her hair and whipping it across her face. She looked flushed, small, rebellious, and ruined all at once.
My chest tightened at the sight.
I guided her forward with a tug, not letting go until we were at the door leading to the penthouse elevator—private, coded, secure. No one got up here unless I let them.
And tonight?
It was only her.
The elevator ride was silent. When the doors opened, we stepped into the top floor of the tower, sleek, open, cold in all the ways my world had always been.
Glass walls stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a full view of the city. The skyline flickered around us, lights like stars laid out below. Polished black floors. Steel fixtures. Modern furniture in muted tones.
It was clinical in a way. Powerful.
I walked her forward slowly, still holding her hair, guiding her across the floor like I was putting a prize into its place.
She didn’t resist.
Finally, I stopped in the center of the room and released my grip. She stood there, breathing hard, every inch of her screaming tension and confusion and defiance she didn’t know what to do with anymore.
I circled behind her, taking her in.
Red ass. The plug still peeking out between her bottom cheeks. Shoulders rising and falling. Raw and beautiful perfection.
My voice was calm when I spoke.
“You’ll sleep here now.”
She turned, just slightly. “Excuse me?”
“This is your home. You’re mine now.”
She didn’t respond, but her chest rose on a slow inhale, and I knew she was listening.
“Let me tell you what’s going to happen next. You are going to be my bride. My wife. And your father—” I smiled when she stiffened. “He agreed. He’s not going to get you out of it. Not with me.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but I shook my head, and her eyes narrowed in my direction.
“No, no. Don’t argue. It’s already done. You’re going to be my bride.”
She went still.
“I’ll give you time to let that sink in,” I murmured. “But you don’t have a choice. Your father made that choice for you. He knows that shutting your reckless mouth and stopping your dangerous little games requires a man who can handle you.”
I traced one finger along the curve of her ass, watching a shiver roll through her.
“And now that man is here.”
I straightened slowly, eyes raking down her flawless punished body.
“You can pout, you can scream, but you’ll say yes. Eventually.”
