The sound of the silk tearing was like a gunshot in the silent, vaulted hall. The emerald fabric, once a masterpiece of elegance, hung in jagged ruins from Andrea's shoulders, exposing the pale, trembling curves of her breasts. The only thing left covering her nipples was the sheer, frantic rise and fall of her chest as she stared up at the gold-eyed monster looming over her.
Viktor didn't give her a second to breathe. He reached out, his massive arm sweeping across the obsidian table in one violent motion. Plates shattered against the stone floor, silverware clattered into the shadows, and the remains of the roasted meat were cast aside like trash.
"Since you wanted to be center stage, Andrea," he growled, his voice a primal vibration that seemed to bypass her ears and strike straight at her womb. "I think it's only fair that you're served properly."
He grabbed her by the waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hips, and hoisted her onto the table. The obsidian was freezing—a sharp, shocking contrast to the radiating heat of Viktor's body. Andrea let out a gasp, her heels clicking uselessly against the edge of the stone as he shoved her back until she was flat on the dark, polished surface.
"Viktor, you... you arrogant prick," she choked out, her hands flying up to push against his chest. But even as she cursed him, her body was screaming a different story. Her green eyes were blown wide with a dark, terrifying arousal, and her pussy was already sopping wet, the tiny lace string of her panties practically useless against the flood of her own desire.
"Look at me," he commanded, pinning her wrists to the stone above her head. He loomed over her, the scent of him—pine, smoke, and raw, unrestrained Alpha—drowning out everything else. "Look at the man you think you can play with."
He reached down, his hand catching the hem of the ruined silk and stripping it away completely. He didn't be gentle. He tossed the emerald fabric onto the floor, leaving her bare save for the gold choker and the scrap of lace between her legs.
"You're beautiful," he hissed, his gaze raking over her. "And you're mine. Every inch of this skin, every drop of this heat. It all belongs to the Wolf."
He didn't waste time with sweet words. He reached between her legs, his hand cupping her through the lace. Andrea's back arched off the table, a strangled moan escaping her lips as his palm ground against her swollen clit.
"You're soaking," he noted, a cruel, triumphant smirk tugging at his mouth. "All that talk, all that sass, and your pussy is begging for me. Isn't it, Kotenok?"
"Fuck you," she whispered, her head falling back against the stone.
"Not yet." Viktor hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and ripped them away with a single, violent jerk.
He didn't wait. He bent down, his face disappearing between her thighs. Andrea screamed as his tongue made contact—hot, rough, and relentless. He swiped across her clit, his nose buried in her dark brown curls, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. He used his teeth, nipping at her inner thighs before returning to the sensitive, throbbing nub of her clit, sucking on it until Andrea was thrashing against the obsidian.
"Viktor! Please... oh god..."
He ignored her pleas, his fingers diving inside her, testing her tightness. He was aggressive, stretching her with two, then three fingers, his thumb never leaving her clit. Andrea's mind was a blur of emerald silk and golden eyes, the friction of his tongue and fingers pushing her closer and closer to a breaking point she couldn't escape.
When she was on the very edge, her hips bucking frantically against his face, Viktor pulled back.
He stood up, his breathing a jagged roar. He unzipped his trousers, his thick, vein-ridged cock snapping out, dark and heavy with the promise of his knot. It was monstrously large, the head already weeping with pre-cum.
"Watch me," he growled.
He grabbed her knees, shoving them back toward her shoulders until she was completely open, her drenched pussy exposed to the firelight. He didn't use a condom. He didn't even use spit. He simply aligned himself and drove in with one brutal, unrelenting thrust.
Andrea's world exploded. He filled her so completely she felt her ribs might crack from the inside. He was too big, his length bottoming out against her cervix, stretching her walls to their absolute limit.
"Mine!" he roared, his eyes glowing like twin suns as he began to hammer into her.
The sound of their bodies hitting—the wet, rhythmic slap of his pelvis against her ass and the squelch of his cock sliding in and out of her drenched heat—echoed through the empty dining hall. Viktor was a beast in the truest sense. He didn't care about finesse; he wanted submission. He wanted to mark his territory in the most visceral way possible.
Andrea was lost. Her hands, finally free from his grip, clawed at the obsidian, her nails scraping the stone as she took every inch of him. She was swearing, crying out his name, her internal muscles clamping down on his thick shaft in a desperate, rhythmic pulse.
"I've got you," he rasped, his hand clamping around her throat, forcing her to look at him as he ramped up the speed. "You're not a nurse tonight, Andrea. You're the Pakhan's bitch. Say it!"
"I'm... yours!" she screamed, her climax finally shattering through her.
Her body convulsed, her walls milking him with a frantic, desperate intensity. At the same moment, Viktor let out a primal, earth-shaking growl. He buried himself as deep as he could go, his knot beginning to swell at the base of his cock, locking them together on the cold obsidian table.
He shuddered as he came, his hot, thick seed pumping into her in a seemingly endless torrent. He stayed there, pinned to her, his heavy chest heaving against her breasts as the firelight danced over their joined bodies.
For a long time, the only sound was the crackle of the logs and the ragged gasps of two people who had just destroyed each other.
Viktor pulled back slightly, his eyes clearing, though the gold still flickered at the edges. He looked down at her—flushed, ruined, and marked—and reached out to brush a stray dark brown lock from her damp forehead.
"Rule six, Andrea," he whispered, his voice a dark, possessive promise. "You don't just eat at my table. You are the feast."