Victor didn't stop. As he moved with a dark, primal intensity, a cry began to rise from Alia's throat. But Victor was in no mood for mercy. He didn't want the world to hear herhe only wanted her to feel him.
He slammed his large, powerful palm over Alia's mouth, muffling her scream instantly. Her voice died against his skin, turning into a desperate, choked sound. He pressed her down harder onto the mahogany desk, his body weight pinning her completely.
Victor locked his gaze with hers, his eyes dark with a mix of lust and lethal possessiveness. He leaned into her ear, letting out a low, vibrating sound:
"Hmmm... quiet, Alia. Not a sound. I want you to feel this. I want every memory of that Korean boy to suffocate tonight under my touch."
Alia's breath hitched, trapped behind his hand. She couldn't speak; she could only stare into the void of his eyes. Victor's movements were rhythmic and punishing, a physical reclamation of his territory.
"Hmmm... don't fight it," he whispered darkly. "The more you struggle, the tighter I'll hold the chains. When you walk out of this room tonight, your body will remember only one name: mine."In the midst of Victor's darkness, something inside Alia snapped. The fear and the guilt of seeing Anashia collided with the raw, magnetic power Victor held over her. Instead of pushing him away, she chose to embrace the storm.
Despite the pain and the crushing weight of his body, Alia wrapped her arms around Victor's neck, pulling him closer to her. Her fingers dug into the hair at the nape of his neck, anchoring him to her.
Victor paused for a split second, surprised by her sudden response. He pulled his hand away from her mouth, but she didn't let go. Her eyes were tearful but burning with a dark intensity as she whispered against his ear:
"Break me if you have to, Victor. Use your pain to erase every other memory from my skin. I am yours... even if it kills me."
Her surrender didn't calm him it fueled his fire. His grip on her waist tightened until it left bruises. He realized that the more he tried to punish her, the more she became a part of his soul.
The rain outside turned into a tempest, mirroring the violent, passionate reclamation happening inside the room.The intensity inside the VIP room reached a breaking point. Victor's rage and obsession merged into a single, devastating act of reclamation.
He buried his face in the crook of Alia's neck, kissing and biting her skin with a feverish intensity, marking her deeply. It was as if he were carving his name back into her soul.
Lost in a blur of pain and dark ecstasy, Alia lost all control. She reached behind his back, her fingers digging into his spine, her nails clawing through his shirt and into his skin. As she scratched deep marks into his back, a choked, broken sound escaped her lips:
"Ahhhj... Victor!"
The feel of her nails tearing into him didn't slow Victor down; it only fueled his fire. He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back to look into her glazed eyes, whispering darkly:
"Remember this pain, Alia. Every time someone else even dreams of touching you, these scratches on your back and the marks on your neck will remind you—whose hell you belong to."
Alia closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his shoulder, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the room fell into a heavy, charged silence.The intensity inside the room broke through all barriers. As Victor claimed her with a dark, punishing passion, Alia's response became a frenzy of its own. Her nails dug deeper into the muscles of his back, drawing thin lines of blood that stained his shirt.
Victor was no longer just a husband or a don; he was a force of nature reclaiming his land. Every move he made was a reminder of his absolute power over her. He leaned into her, his voice a gravelly, raw whisper against her heated skin:
"You are in my blood, Alia. Tonight, I will make every cell in your body remember who owns you. No Korean ghost can save you from me."
Alia let out a choked, broken sound a mix of agony and dark ecstasy. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him into her as if trying to merge their very souls. The air in the VIP room became thick and electric with their heavy breaths and the rhythmic sounds of their collision.
Victor lifted her off the desk and pinned her against the cold wall. Her black shirt lay forgotten and torn on the floor. Every touch was an act of revenge and insatiable lust. He caught her lips between his teeth, devouring her breath, making sure that in this moment, there was no room for any other man's memory.Morning arrived. A thin sliver of soft sunlight pierced through the heavy velvet curtains of Victor's luxurious bedroom. The storm of last night had passed, leaving behind a heavy, charged silence.
Alia stood up from the disheveled bed. Her body was exhausted, but her mind felt strangely hollow. She picked up Victor's crisp white shirt from the floor and slipped it on. It was oversized, the sleeves hanging past her fingers until she rolled them up. The white fabric contrasted sharply with the dark, bruised marks on her neck—the undeniable stamps of Victor's possessiveness.
She stood before the full-length mirror. The collar of the white shirt couldn't hide the hickeys. She tried to catch a glimpse of her back, still sore from the night's intensity. She could smell Victor's heavy cologne lingering on the fabric, wrapping around her like a second skin.
The door creaked open. Victor walked in.
He was wearing only black trousers, his broad chest bare. On his back, the long, crimson scratches from Alia's nails had dried into dark reminders of their battle. He held a cup of black coffee, leaning against the doorframe as he watched her. The predatory rage was gone, replaced by a cold, calculative calm.
Victor looked at her in his white shirt and felt a flicker of dark pride. He walked up behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror. He leaned in, whispering near her ear:
"My shirt looks good on you, Alia. But the white fabric is doing a poor job of hiding those red marks on your neck. Everyone will know exactly what happened inside the tiger's cage last night."
He rested his chin on her shoulder and gestured to the scratches on his own back in the mirror.
"And these marks on me? Your little gifts. So, shall we continue this 'game' today, or are you ready to be my quiet, obedient Queen again?Alia looked at Victor's reflection in the mirror and gave a small, embarrassed smile. She turned around, avoiding his direct gaze, and said softly:
"Give me the cup, let me make you a fresh one. And... looking at your back, I feel so ashamed, Victor. I didn't realize I had been so... aggressive."
Hearing the word 'ashamed' from Alia's lips made Victor's eyes darken. He set the coffee cup aside and pinned her against the wall. He leaned into her ear and began breathing out vulgar, heated Russian words (Dirty talk).
His voice was a gravelly snarl:
"Suka... (You little brat...) Ashamed? Where was this shame last night when you were clawing the skin off my back? I want these marks to stay there forever as a souvenir of your nails."
He continued in a string of raw, dirty Russian phrases, telling her exactly how "sinfully beautiful" she looked in his oversized shirt and how much he enjoyed seeing her so broken yet defiant. He reminded her that no matter how much she blushed, she belonged to this dark, violent world and to him.
"Ty moya malen'kaya daryonok... (You are my little gift...) This shame of yours belongs only to me. If anyone else ever gets a glimpse of this side of you, I'll bury them alive.The tension reached a point of no return. The way Victor growled that forbidden Russian word, "Suka," sent a violent shiver down Alia's spine, shattering the last of her defenses.
"Ahhh... Victor!" The cry escaped her lips before she could stop it. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers clawing at the fabric of the white shirt she was wearing. Victor grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his obsidian eyes, which were now glowing with a dark, triumphant fire.
"Da, moya suka... (Yes, my suka...)" he whispered again, his breath hot against her skin. "This sound you make is my favorite morning music. No matter how much you blush, your body knows exactly who it was made for."
He pressed his thumb against the bruises on her neck, making her gasp. Alia felt herself drowning in the toxic magnetic pull of this man. She leaned her forehead against his bare chest, breathing raggedly.
"You are terrifying, Victor... you know exactly how to strip me of everything."
Victor pulled her even tighter, his voice dropping to a lethal, possessive tone. "Not strip you, Alia I am filling you. You will stay in this room all day. Wearing my shirt, carrying my marks. I want you to feel, with every breath, that you exist only by my leave."Victor's dominance over Alia was absolute. In the morning light, her body under that white shirt was like a forbidden poem, driving Victor into a deeper obsession.
Victor moved behind her, pressing his hard, muscular chest against her soft back. Alia's body shuddered at the contact. He wrapped his arms around her, sliding his hands slowly over her body, gripping her waist and pulling her flush against him.
His hot breath fanned over her nape as he whispered in that gravelly Russian tone:
"Shto ty chuvstvuyesh', malyshka? (What do you feel, little girl?) Why are you trembling? When my hands are on you, do you still remember that Korean boy, or do you forget everything?"
He slid his hand under the hem of the white shirt, his palm pressing firmly against her thigh. His fingernails dug slightly into her skin, as if returning the favor for the scratches she left on his back.
Alia struggled to breathe. She tilted her head back, resting it on his shoulder. Victor stared at her reflection in the mirror, his eyes dark and unwavering.
"Under this white shirt, only I know how helpless you are, Alia. This body is my fortress, and I tolerate no trespassers here."
Alia let out a faint moan, "Ahhh... Victor, no more..." but Victor didn't let go; he only pulled her tighter, sealing her as his own.