The suite is warm with low golden light, a soft contrast to the nerves rattling beneath Lily’s skin. She stands in front of the full-length mirror, her snow-blonde hair spilling in loose waves over her shoulders, catching the lamplight like silver. The black lace clings to her curves as if tailored for sin—the bra barely containing the full swell of her breasts, the garter straps a teasing trail down to her sheer thigh-highs. She smooths the front of the thong resting high on her hips, more for something to do than necessity.

Her heart has been a hummingbird in her chest all evening. She’s done thousands of shows for Viktor—his voice a dark lull through her headset, his requests always precise, unyielding, addictive. But this—meeting him here—feels like stepping across an invisible line she can never uncross.

The city glows below, neon ribbons reflecting on the glass as Lily stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Her breath fogs faintly against the cool surface. She keeps her hands at her sides like they’d agreed, every nerve alive under the black lace clinging to her skin.

Her heart is an unsteady rhythm in her chest. She’s shown herself to thousands, but never like this—never to one man who knows her better than anyone else without ever touching her.

The door beeps. Clicks open.

Heavy footsteps. Unhurried. Each one deliberate against the thick hotel carpet. The air changes—he’s here.

Warmth engulfs her back as two large hands slide around her waist. Not tentative. Possessive. His palms are rough, calloused, fingers spreading over her stomach until his thumbs brush just under the lace band of her bra.

“You listened,” his voice rumbles, deep and accented, right against her ear. “Good girl… moya devochka.”

The leather of his mask grazes her temple as he leans in to breathe her in, slow and savoring. She can’t help it—her thighs press together, a tiny movement, but not small enough to escape him.

A low laugh vibrates against her back. “Ahhh,” he murmurs darkly, “you squeeze those pretty legs for me, ptichka?”

Heat floods her cheeks. She nods, but he tsks softly.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” she whispers, barely audible.

“Good.” His approval is a caress in itself. “But I haven’t even touched you properly… and already, you tremble. Do you know what that does to me?”

She swallows hard. She can see him in the window’s reflection—taller than she’d even imagined, all black clothing stretched over a frame too large to be real, the black mask stark against his skin, and those eyes—sharp, brilliant gray, locked on her.

He takes her wrists, lifting them to press flat against the glass. “Keep them here. Don’t move until I tell you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she says again, a little steadier this time.

“Khorosho, malyshka. Good girl.”

His hands glide down her sides, over the swell of her hips, lingering just long enough to make her shiver. Then he steps back.

“Turn around,” he orders softly.

She pivots slowly, breath caught, facing him fully for the first time. The coat is gone, revealing a black dress shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Broad chest, powerful build. The mask hides his face, but those eyes pin her in place.

He tilts his head, watching her like prey. “On your knees.”

Her thighs tighten again before she can stop them.

The corner of his mouth curves beneath the mask; he laughs, low and pleased. “Obedient… and eager.” He gestures to the carpet at his feet. “Kneel, moya lyubov’.”

Her body moves before her mind can catch up, sinking gracefully to her knees on the plush carpet. She looks up at him, chest rising and falling fast, as he slowly unbuttons his cuffs, every motion unhurried, deliberate—like he has all night to break her apart piece by piece.

“Good,” he says again, voice like velvet over steel. His gloved fingers tilt her chin higher. “Look at me. Only at me. Tonight, you are mine, Lily.”

And God help her, she wants nothing else.

His thumb strokes along her jaw, a gentle contrast to the gravel in his voice. “Do you have any idea,” he says, low and accented, “how long I have craved this? Hm?”

She swallows, barely able to speak. “Viktor…”

He laughs softly, darkly. “Da. Say my name like prayer, ptichka. I have spent months watching you on that screen. Watching you tease yourself for me with your little toys, pretending they were enough.” His hand cups her throat lightly—not choking, just holding, making her feel the breadth of his hand. “You think I could ever be satisfied with that? Watching my Lily make herself come… while I sat alone, fists clenched, wanting to ruin you properly?”

Her breath stutters. Her nipples strain against the lace, achingly tight.

His gray eyes narrow, amused. “Take it off,” he orders softly. “The bra. Now.”

Her hands rise instinctively, trembling slightly as she reaches behind to unhook the clasp. The black lace slides down her arms and she lets it fall between them. Her breasts lift and fall with every shaky inhale, bare under his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers grazing just beneath one breast, teasing the weight without touching where she needs. “Even better than I imagined. And I imagined… everything. How your skin would taste. How you would sound with my cock deep in you. How many times I could make you scream for me in one night before you begged me to stop.”

She moans softly at his words, thighs pressing tight again.

“Ahhh, there,” he purrs. “Already wet for me, aren’t you? I can smell you, moya sladost’ (my sweetness).”

Her lips part, but he leans in, his mask brushing her cheek, his voice a sinful whisper at her ear. “I’m going to ruin you tonight, Lily. Break you apart until you forget your own name. Until the only word you can remember is mine. Viktor. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” she breathes, almost a sob of need.

He chuckles darkly, straightening to look down at her. “Good girl. Then open your mouth. Let me see what else that tongue can do besides moan for me.”

The sound of his belt unbuckling is louder than anything else in the room, each click and slide deliberate, unhurried. Her breath catches when his pants fall low on his hips, when his hand disappears briefly to free himself.

And then she sees him.

Her lips part on a soft, involuntary whimper. God. He’s… beautiful. Thick, heavy, perfect—everything she’s ever wanted without admitting it to herself. Not one of her expensive toys, not one of the countless men who’d begged to see her on camera, came close to this. To him.

Viktor catches the sound she makes—tiny, broken, almost pleading—and a deep, dark laugh rumbles from his chest.

“Ohhh, look at you,” he says, accent curling around the words like smoke. “My hungry little ptichka. Mouth watering already?”

She nods quickly, desperate, and he tsks softly. “No, no. Use your words, like good girl.”

“I… want you,” she whispers, voice raw.

“Of course you do,” he murmurs with wicked satisfaction. “I built you for this.”

His hand sinks into her snow-blonde hair, gathering the silken strands into a firm hold. He tilts her head back just enough for her to look up at him—her ice-blue eyes wide, pupils blown with need, lips parted. He drinks in the sight like a man starved.

“Never thought I would get this close,” he says, his thumb stroking her cheek in contrast to the grip on her hair. “All those nights, watching you pretend your little toys could fill you. Watching you come for me while I sat alone, imagining this. Always imagining this.”

He guides her closer, the head of him brushing her lower lip. Her tongue flicks out instinctively to taste him—salt, heat, male—and she moans softly.

Viktor’s gray eyes flash, and his jaw tightens beneath the mask. “That’s it, moya lyubov’,” he growls softly. “Open for me. Take what you’ve been craving.”

And as her lips close around him for the first time, he exhales a low, shuddering sound—half pleasure, half triumph—fingers tightening in her hair as though he never intends to let her go.

A low, guttural groan escapes him, rough and unrestrained, vibrating through the hand fisted in her hair. “Bozhe moi…” he mutters under his breath, voice breaking into his native tongue for a moment before switching back, thick with need. “I knew it. I knew your mouth would be like this. Heaven.”

His hips roll forward in a slow, controlled rhythm, feeding himself past her lips, deeper each time. She takes him willingly, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks, her tongue working over every hot, hard inch. The salty taste of him, the way he throbs against her tongue—it’s intoxicating.

Above her, Viktor’s gray eyes blaze, fixed on her like she’s his entire world. “Look at you,” he praises, voice low and reverent in its darkness. “On your knees for me, taking me so perfectly. Moya devochka, you are gorgeous like this. Do you know that? Mine. All mine.”

She moans around him, the vibration making him hiss between his teeth. The sound startles even her—wanton, desperate—but she can’t help it. Her thighs squeeze tighter together, slick gathering between them, her need almost unbearable.

He catches the motion, of course. He always does. A harsh laugh breaks from him, dark and pleased. “Ahhh, you feel it, don’t you? You’re dripping for me already. Can’t help yourself while you make me feel like this.” His pace quickens slightly, controlled thrusts of his hips as he pumps into her mouth, every movement deliberate.

His free hand strokes her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye, tender in contrast to the grip in her hair. “So beautiful, Lily,” he murmurs, voice softer but no less intense. “I could watch you like this forever. On your knees, lips wrapped around me, those blue eyes begging for more…”

He groans again, head tipping back for a moment, jaw tight beneath the mask. Then his gaze snaps back down to her, unrelenting. “Don’t stop, ptichka. Show me how much you love this. How much you love me.”

And she does—moaning low, taking him deeper, everything in her wanting to please him, to earn the rough sounds of pleasure spilling from his throat. Viktor’s composure falters—just a crack in the mask of control he’s held so tightly. A guttural growl tears from his chest as he pulls free of her mouth with a wet pop.

“Stand up. On your knees still, but higher,” he orders, voice rougher now, almost shaking with restraint. She obeys instantly, rising onto her knees as he looms over her, towering and consuming every inch of her world.

His hand dives to her chest, palms engulfing the full weight of her breasts. “Bozhe… perfect,” he groans, kneading them, thumbs brushing over the stiff pink peaks of her nipples. “I dreamed of these. Big, soft, so mine.”

She gasps, head tipping back as he squeezes them together, and then he steps closer, pressing the thick length of his cock between them.

“Open that pretty mouth for me, moya sladost’,” he growls, gray eyes dark and feral above the mask.

She parts her lips willingly, tongue peeking out just enough to touch the head of him as he thrusts between the creamy swells of her breasts. The sight—her pale skin, flushed with arousal, his length sliding between the perfect valley of her chest—is enough to make him curse low in Russian.

“Beautiful,” he rasps, hips pumping slowly at first, then harder, heat building with each pass. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. My perfect girl. My Lily. Look at you, giving me everything I’ve wanted…”

She moans, the vibration traveling up through him, and his fingers tighten on her breasts, holding them firmly around him as he uses her. Every thrust drags across her sensitive nipples, making her whimper, thighs clenching hard beneath her.

“God, I’m close,” he grits out, voice raw. “Going to mark you, cover these perfect tits, fill that sweet mouth—take all of me, moya lyubov’, take it…”

Her eager nod is the last thing he needs. He thrusts once, twice—then groans deep and broken as he spills across her chest, hot and thick, streaking her pale skin. His other hand grabs her jaw, tilting her face up, and he pushes into her open mouth just as he finishes, giving her the rest, watching as she swallows him down like she was made for it.

When it’s over, he doesn’t step back. He stays close, breathing hard, gray eyes locked on the sight of her—on his mark glistening on her breasts, on the obedience in her gaze.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, voice roughened to reverence. “Mine.”Lily drags her fingers through the hot mess he’s left on her skin, slow and teasing, and brings them to her mouth. Her tongue curls around each digit as she licks him clean, never looking away from him.

Viktor’s breath catches audibly. His chest rises and falls like a restrained animal, and those gray eyes narrow with raw hunger.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice like dark velvet. “So eager to taste every drop of me.”

She smiles faintly, emboldened, and whispers, “Take off the mask, Viktor. I want to see you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move—just stares at her, unreadable. Then his hand lifts, slow, deliberate, and he peels the black leather from his face.

Her breath stops.

Sharp cheekbones, a strong, square jaw dusted with dark stubble, full lips parted on a shallow inhale. But it’s his eyes—those brilliant gray eyes, unshielded now—that destroy her. They burn into her, unrelenting, consuming.

“Bozhe,” he mutters, almost to himself, “look at you… and you still want more.”

She can only nod, her insides molten, trembling with the sheer force of her desire for him.

Viktor’s mouth curves into a dark, wolfish smile. “Then you’ll have it all.”

He strips with efficient movements, every layer discarded until there’s nothing between them. His body is a work of brutal beauty—broad chest, carved muscle, a physique that speaks of raw strength and discipline. She feels small beneath the weight of him, and she loves it.

“On the bed,” he orders, voice low and absolute. “Hands and knees, moya lyubov’. Now.”

A shiver dances down her spine at the command. She rises, walks to the bed on shaky legs, and climbs onto the soft sheets. The city lights spill across the room, painting her pale skin in silver as she settles onto her hands and knees, heart hammering.

Behind her, Viktor exhales a low, reverent curse in Russian. “Perfect. So perfect for me.”

The mattress dips as his weight joins hers. She feels the heat of his body draw close, his hands sliding over her hips, claiming her all over again.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispers near her ear, voice like fire and silk, “how long I’ve waited to fuck you like this?”

Viktor’s hands on her hips tighten suddenly, halting her. She glances over her shoulder, confused, but he’s already moving—sliding back off the bed, his gray eyes locked on the perfect curve of her body.

“Stay,” he orders, voice low and commanding. She freezes in place as he circles to the side, then climbs back onto the mattress—this time beneath her.

She gasps as his big hands grip her thighs, pulling her down until she’s straddling his broad chest, then lower, until his mouth hovers just shy of her slick heat.

“Bozhe…” he breathes, eyes drinking her in like a starving man about to feast. “I knew it. I knew you would be the finest delicacy I’ve ever tasted.”

And then his mouth is on her.

Lily cries out, the sudden hot, wet stroke of his tongue a shock to her system. He licks her like a man possessed—long, languid laps that turn into quick, precise flicks against her most sensitive spot, drawing moans from her throat she’s never made before.

“Viktor!” she gasps, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her hips jerking involuntarily.

He growls against her, the vibration shooting straight through her core. “Ride me, ptichka,” he commands against her slick folds. “Sit on my face like the little queen you are.”

She hesitates only a moment before giving in, shifting to straddle his face fully. His hands immediately seize her full, round ass, kneading greedily, spreading her wider for his tongue to plunge deeper.

“Oh—oh God!” she squeals as he devours her, relentless, unashamed. He eats her like he owns her, each flick, each suck, each graze of his teeth pushing her higher and higher. His fingers dig into her ass, holding her still when she tries to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“You taste,” he groans between licks, voice raw and muffled by her flesh, “like sin itself. My perfect girl. My sweetest addiction.”

She’s panting, trembling, every nerve aflame, and when he sucks her clit hard and swirls his tongue just right, her cry splits the air—loud, uncontrolled, shattering.

Viktor doesn’t stop. He rides her climax with her, drinking down every drop of her release like it’s what he’s lived for. Only when she collapses forward onto shaky arms does he finally ease up, kissing her inner thigh reverently.

“Exquisite,” he whispers, dragging his mouth up her skin. “I could live with you on my tongue, moya lyubov’.”

Then his hands slide from her ass to her waist, flipping her effortlessly onto her back beneath him. His gray eyes blaze down at her, his mouth wet with her, and he growls, “Now… I take you.”

Viktor doesn’t give her another second to prepare. One powerful thrust and he’s buried to the hilt inside her.

Lily’s scream rips through the room, raw and uninhibited, her back arching off the bed as white-hot pleasure floods her.

“Fuck,” he growls, deep and guttural, his head tipping back for a brief, shuddering moment of restraint-breaking ecstasy. “Tight. So fucking tight, moya lyubov’. Better than any dream.”

She whimpers beneath him, her body already adjusting to the sheer size of him, her nails digging into the sheets. “Viktor—”

He laughs darkly, leaning down over her, his gray eyes blazing. “That’s it. Scream for me. Let them hear how good I fuck you, hm?”

Her answer is another cry as he draws out, slow and deliberate, only to slam back into her, harder this time. She feels every inch of him, stretching her, claiming her.

His large hand slides up her trembling body, over her chest, before wrapping firmly around her soft neck—not choking, just holding, grounding her to him, owning her. “Look at you,” he rasps, watching her breasts bounce beautifully with each deep thrust. “Perfect tits, perfect mouth… perfect pussy gripping me like you never want me to leave.”

Her lips fall open on a desperate moan, tears of pleasure pricking her eyes.

“That’s right, open for me, moya sladost’,” he praises, voice low and filthy in her ear. “So beautiful when you moan for me. So good. So mine.”

He thrusts deep and slow now, each stroke deliberately hitting the spot that makes her toes curl, watching her unravel beneath him. His thumb brushes her lower lip, then pushes between her lips into her mouth, and she suckles it instinctively.

“Bozhe…” he groans, losing a fraction more of his control. “This mouth, this body… Lily, you were made for me. Do you feel that? Do you feel how perfectly you take me?”

“Yes,” she chokes out around his thumb, hips lifting to meet him, needing more. “Viktor… please…”

“Please what, ptichka?” he taunts, dark amusement curling his mouth. “Please don’t stop? Please fuck you harder? Tell me. Tell me exactly what my perfect little slut wants.”

She sobs out the words, shameless now. “Harder. Please, harder!”

His grin turns feral. “As you wish.”

And with a rough growl, he slams into her again, harder, deeper, the bed rocking under his force as he drives into her with relentless, claiming strokes, praising her in a stream of dark, filthy Russian and English alike. Her moans spill out in a beautiful, desperate chorus. “God… yes… yes… yes!”

Viktor’s rhythm falters for a moment—then a deep, guttural growl rips from his chest. His hand tightens on her throat, his face lowering until his lips brush her ear.

“No,” he snarls, voice low and vicious. “I am the only god you’ll ever speak of in this bed. Say my name, moya lyubov’, not his. Say Viktor.”

“Viktor!” she cries out instantly, her voice breaking with pleasure.

He laughs darkly, the sound pure triumph. “Good girl.”

His hips slam into her harder, deeper, driving her up the bed, the headboard thudding in rhythm with his possession of her. His gray eyes burn down at her, watching her breasts bounce with every thrust, watching her lips fall open around wanton cries.

“Say it again,” he commands, rough and unyielding.

“Viktor!”

“Louder!”

“VIKTOR!”

He growls his approval, his grip firm on her throat as he pounds into her, relentless. “That’s it. My name, only mine. You want to come? Tell me what you are.”

She’s nearly incoherent, tears of bliss streaking her temples as she sobs, “Yours! I’m yours, Viktor!”

A savage smile twists his lips. “Damn right you are. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

He leans down, mouth brushing hers, voice a dark promise. “I’m going to fuck you so deep into this mattress that you’ll wake up aching for me. I’ll ruin every other touch for you, ptichka. No man will ever make you come but me. I’ll live in your veins, in your skin, in your fucking soul. Crave me for the rest of your days—because you’ll never get free.”

She shatters beneath him, body convulsing, his words detonating something inside her as she screams his name again and again.

And Viktor, groaning low and feral, drives into her harder, riding her climax as though claiming every piece of her, until there’s nothing left between them but heat, breath, and his possession written into her very being. Viktor’s thrusts slow, deep and grinding now, drawing out her overstimulated whimpers. His hand slides from her throat down between their bodies, fingers finding her swollen, sensitive nub.

She gasps sharply at the contact, her body jolting.

“Ohhh, that’s it,” he purrs, his accent thick, each word like a caress and a command all at once. “So sensitive now. I can feel you fluttering around me, squeezing me like you never want to let go.”

His fingers circle her clit with unrelenting precision, his cock still buried deep inside her, pulsing with every slow thrust. “You feel that, moya sladost’? How perfect you are for me? How you take me in this sweet, tight little cunt like you were made for it?”

She moans helplessly, hips arching into his touch, trying to chase more.

Viktor chuckles darkly, low in his chest. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m going to drain you. I’m going to fuck you until you’re begging me to stop, until your body can’t give me one more orgasm.” His voice drops to a growl against her ear. “And you’ll still want me. You’ll always want me.”

Her moans turn to cries as his fingers move faster. The pleasure builds so fast it’s almost unbearable.

Then, suddenly, his hand leaves her clit—only to land back on it in a sharp, stinging smack.

She shrieks, her body clenching violently around him.

“Come for me,” he snarls, his hand resuming its ruthless rhythm, the head of his cock dragging perfectly over her deepest spot. “Now. Come, Lily.”

Her release crashes over her like lightning, a raw, keening scream tearing from her throat as her body spasms around him. She convulses in his hold, gripping him so tightly he groans brokenly above her.

“Bozhe…” he grits out, hips grinding deep to feel every pulse of her climax. “That’s it, moya lyubov’. Milk me. Show me what this perfect little pussy can do.”

She sobs his name again, lost to the pleasure, as he keeps rubbing her through it, prolonging every wave until she’s trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

Viktor chuckles, low and dark, the sound vibrating against her overstimulated skin. He slowly withdraws from her trembling body, savoring the way she clenches at the loss, and then he flips her effortlessly onto her stomach.

She gasps as he settles behind her, his massive hands spreading over her soft, full cheeks. He kneads them roughly, possessively, watching the flesh yield to his grip.

“Bozhe, look at this ass,” he groans, gray eyes devouring the sight of her laid out for him. “Soft… round… perfect. Just like the rest of you, ptichka. My perfect girl. My perfect body.”

Her cheek presses into the sheets, flushed and wrecked, but she turns her head just enough to meet his gaze over her shoulder. “Don’t stop, Viktor,” she pleads, voice raw with need. “Never stop.”

His grin turns feral, satisfaction curling through him like smoke. “Never,” he promises darkly.

He spreads her creamy cheeks wide, exposing her glistening heat, and growls low in his throat. “So wet for me still. So ready to take me again.”

Without warning, he pushes inside with one smooth, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

She screams, fingers clutching the sheets as he fills her from behind, hotter, tighter than he could have imagined.

“Bozhe moi…” Viktor groans, his head tipping back, savoring every inch of her squeezing around him. “This pussy… this perfect, perfect pussy. Mine. Always mine.”

His hips begin to move, powerful and steady, driving into her with long, claiming strokes that make her body jolt forward on the bed. His hands stay on her ass, gripping, kneading, guiding her back onto him with every thrust.

“You feel that, moya sladost’?” he growls, leaning forward until his chest presses to her back, his lips brushing her ear. “This is what you begged for. What you’ll always beg for. My cock, deep inside you, making you remember who you belong to.”

“Yes!” she cries, meeting his thrusts as best she can, lost to the relentless pleasure.

He snarls in approval, his pace quickening, hips slamming into her with raw power. “Good girl. Take it all. Take every fucking inch of me. Let me ruin you from the inside out.”

Viktor’s hand slides up her back, finding the silken length of her snow-blonde hair. He gathers it in a thick handful, then twists, wrapping it tight around his wrist until there’s no escape.

“Arch for me,” he orders, voice a low growl.

She obeys instantly, her spine bowing, ass lifting higher for him, her perfect body displayed as he pounds into her from behind. The sight nearly undoes him—her creamy skin glowing in the city light, her back taut and trembling, her hair like spun frost in his grip.

He leans down, his chest pressed to her arched back, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “Your hair,” he murmurs, voice husky and accented, “it reminds me of winters in my country. Pure. Untouched snow.” His hips slam into her, making her cry out. “And when I’m done with you, moya lyubov’, I will coat your insides just as white. Fill you so full you’ll feel me dripping down your thighs for hours.”

A strangled moan tears from her throat, her body clenching hard around him at his words.

He growls in response, teeth scraping her ear. “Tell me,” he demands, his voice dark command. “Tell me how much you’ve craved me. How much you’ve needed me.”

“I—always—” she stammers between his thrusts, the force of him making coherent speech nearly impossible. “Always wanted you—always—”

“Louder,” he snaps, yanking her head back by her hair so she’s forced to cry out.

“I NEED YOU, VIKTOR! I’VE ALWAYS NEEDED YOU!”

His chest rumbles with a savage, satisfied laugh. “Good girl,” he growls, driving harder, deeper, punishingly perfect. “I’ll give you everything you’ve been craving, ptichka. Every last drop.”

Viktor releases one last guttural growl, seizing her hair with both hands, wrapping the silken strands tight around his fists as he slams into her with brutal precision. Her body jolts with every thrust, the wet sounds of their joining filling the room alongside their ragged breaths.

“I’m going to come,” he snarls into her ear, voice wrecked, primal.

“Yes!” she cries, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. “Inside me, Viktor—please! I want it inside me—mark me, make me yours!”

Her plea detonates something in him. A broken laugh tears from his throat, dark and victorious. “Begging for my seed like a good little ptichka,” he groans, driving harder, deeper, each stroke hitting so perfectly she’s beyond thought. “Take it. Take all of me!”

Her release hits without warning, a violent, overwhelming wave that rips through her entire body. She screams his name, sobbing as her pussy clenches down on him like a vise, milking him.

The sensation destroys him. With a savage roar, Viktor thrusts to the hilt and comes with her, spilling deep inside her in hot, pulsing waves, his entire massive frame shuddering with the force of it. He holds her there, buried to the root, his fists still tangled in her hair, as though he could fuse their bodies together.

“Mine,” he rasps against her ear, voice hoarse with feral satisfaction. “Marked. Filled. Forever mine.”

She collapses beneath him, trembling, her tears wetting the sheets, but she’s smiling through the aftershocks, completely undone. And as he softens inside her, he stays, unwilling to leave her warmth, his lips brushing her temple softly now—possessive even in tenderness.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his accent a reverent purr. “My perfect snow-haired angel. You’ll never escape me now.”

And she doesn’t want to.