5Vladislav Mikhailov’s pov I stand outside the room long enough, not to give her privacy but just to let her mind wander, imagining the worst. I know I forced her into this sham of a marriage to protect her but I don't want to show her that she has become my weakness. It will not be long enough before she uses it against me. All women do!I can hear her heavy breathing fill the room while doing as she’s told. I wasn’t lying when I told her I’d punish her. She will learn to love being whipped, chained, and gagged when I fuck her. She will soon be gladly willing to crawl on her hands and knees while begging me to use her however I want. Begging for her release. Her soft cries filter down from the hall, interrupting my thoughts. I won’t let it get to me.Never.I walk inside the room banging the doors and she is sitting on the reclining examination bed at the far end of the room. “Lie down. Flat on your back,” I growl. She does as she is told. Tears flawlessly ran down her face, d
CAITLYN CLARKE’S POV My husband stands in front of me, his shoulders square, not missing the stoic smile gracing his lips.The bell tolls—loud, jarring, and cruel. Like it’s announcing the newest couple in hell. Its intrusion slices through the thick quiet that had momentarily wrapped around the cathedral. I flinch but Vlad’s hand immediately snakes around my waist, yanking me flush to his body.“Vlad,” “Yes little rabbit,” he says looking down on me. “Go fuck yourself in hell,” I hiss, just low enough for him alone to hear.“Hell waits for me with open hands,” he chuckles—lethal, dark, like a man who finds delight in my misery. My body tenses. “It’s going to be fun,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, “dragging you there with me.”Then, as if sealing a pact with the devil, he takes my hand and leads—or drags—me down the altar steps. His guards are lined up outside the cathedral’s doors, stiff as statues. I bite my lower lip so hard I taste blood, fighting the sob trying to
Caitlyn’s POVI’m looking at myself in the mirror after Vladislav leaves me, making sure the tears haven’t ruined my makeup.I don’t understand.Why me?Why now?Why today?I always dreamt of having the perfect wedding. One where I would walk down the aisle to my future husband with my dad by my side, my friends and loved ones watching with teary smiles.One where I’d playfully rebuke my soon-to-be husband for sneaking into my room while I’m still getting ready.One where I wouldn’t be ashamed of wearing layers of tulle and a flowing veil.One where I could go a little overboard with everything—flowers, vows, joy.But this?Instead of the tears of joy I once envisioned, I’m fighting too hard not to ruin my makeup.Instead of marrying a man I love... I’m walking down the aisle to the devil himself.I step closer to the mirror and reapply my lipstick—the one wiped clean when he devoured my mouth minutes ago.A kiss I responded to.A kiss I enjoyed.And I hate myself for it.I should be
I’m waking up, but something feels… off. The sheets are softer, silkier, and warmer, and they smell woodsy with a splash of masculinity…definitely not mine. My eyes flutter open slowly, and my heart skips a beat. This isn’t my bed, not my fucking room, and not my world! My mouth is dry, my tongue is heavy, and my throat feels dusty. And my eyes, they feel so fucking crusty. And I'm not in my clothes, I'm dressed in an oversized black dress shirt that rides up with movement. I push myself up on shaky elbows, but immediately freeze when a sharp soreness pulses between my thighs. A dull ache spreads through my lower back, making me wince as the memory of last night starts to stitch itself together, bit by blurry bit. I blink rapidly, my mind trying to piece together fragments of last night. The gala. The garden. The fight. The rough sex. The way I…. The memory is a blur of thrusts, trembles, and hard screaming. Ooh, wait, this explains why my throat feels so fucking dry. I
Vladislav Mikhailov’s povContrary to what my haters scream in their echo chambers and what the poor bastards ruined by my chaos-thirsty soul will eagerly tell you, I’m not a beast.I know, I know. That sounds like a fucking joke. That’s a hell of a claim, especially coming from the man whose mere presence is enough to make Satan’s edgiest worshippers cower.If you’re judging by the body count or the nightmares I inject into polite society. Christ, even my ex-therapists would call bullshit. But they’re wrong. My beast isn’t all of me. It’s a hungry shadow that coils tight at my core.It breathes in the silence between my heartbeats.It feeds on obstacles, on problems, on enemies—and it thrives in the raw anarchy of power, and brings even the bravest to their knees—whispering for mercy they never get. It ripples to life in the moment life flickers out from their eyes.The devil twitches in his grave every time my beast wakes, and God help the world when it does. It’s why I lead th
Caitlyn’s pov I throw my head back as his fingers move inside me, his thumb drawing circles around my clit. Slick sweat covers my forehead as I writhe, and although the grass is rough, pricking my skin, it feels nervewrecking soft. His mouth moves all over my body, biting, nibbling and sucking everywhere from my earlobe to my fucking belly button.My hands move to grasp his head, my fingers sink into his hair, pulling and clenching. And he takes this moment to increase his rhythm, making me tighten around his fingers as my arousal slicks onto my thighs. I’m going to come. Just from the ministration of his fingers. Just when the wave is about to overtake me, Vlad moves his lips and starts licking my folds while his fingers are knuckle deep inside my cunt, moving in a now quicker pace, hitting my most intimate part. His lips around my folds, sucking on the soft tissues, his tongue rolling and twisting while his teeth graze on the clit. The pleasure buds low on my stomach, but wh