55. Viviana

My bedroom door flies open like the lock doesn't exist.

The wooden frame shatters, spraying splinters across the floor. I have enough time to wonder if this is the attack Mikhail was warning me about.

He was right. Someone is coming for us. I need to get to Dante.

Then the thoughts disappear like smoke because it's Mikhail himself stalking across the scattered shards.

"What the hell are you?—"

He rips the comforter away where I had it clutched to my chest and presses me back into the headboard. His hand is an iron choker cinched low on my throat. His thumb drives painfully into my collarbone. I whimper and stretch away from him, but he doesn't give me an inch.

I want to say something, but the look on his face makes it impossible. I've never seen him like this. Rage is rippling off of him like a physical force. The heat of him soaks through my thin nightgown.

Does he know about the duffel bag I packed?

Does he know about?—

Before I can even cement why I should be afraid, Mikhail crushes his lips to mine. He closes the distance between us in a second and then he's everywhere.

I can tell myself that I don't want Mikhail until I'm blue in the face, but all it takes is one touch for me to melt. Need throbs between my legs.

I moan against his mouth and Mikhail hauls me against him and lifts me off the bed like I'm no more substantial than a ragdoll. His arm tightens around my lower back until I'm struggling to breathe. His hold and his mouth are relentless. I have no choice but to give what he wants.

As stars begin to speckle my vision, Mikhail drops me onto the mattress. I fall sideways with a gasp. I'm still a mess of limbs, trying to make sense of what he's even doing here, when Mikhail grabs the hem of my nightgown and shreds it straight up the seam.

That's not difficult to interpret.

"Why?" I rasp.

With the way we left things, I didn't expect him to come back tonight. I certainly didn't expect this.

"Because you're mine."

It's the only answer I get before he opens the ruined shreds of my nightgown and crawls over me.

He slides up my body slowly. I feel his erection, hard and insistent, over my ribs and between my breasts.

I'm dazed from the surprise of him being in my room—doing this—and from the intensity of how much I want every second of it.

He unzips his pants and his cock rests against my skin, hot and velvety soft. I press my breasts together, creating more friction as he slides between them.

Then he swats my hands away, grabs a handful of my hair, and drives himself into my mouth.

My throat bobs as I take him. He tips his head back and groans when I swirl my tongue around him and suck him deeper.

The last few days have been hell for both of us. I'm pissed at him, but that doesn't mean I don't understand that he's under stress, too. If this is how we both choose to burn off some frustration, I'll take it. I dig my fingers into his muscled ass and pull him deeper.

"Fuck, Viviana." He thrusts and holds.

Then in a blink, he's gone.

He rips my hands away from his body, slides off the bed, and, with one jerk, flips me onto my stomach. I barely have time to register what is happening before he drags my hips to the edge of the bed and sinks his cock into me.

"Oh my God." I arch off the bed, gasping as my body quickly adjusts to him. It's like pressing on a muscle you've overworked. It hurts in a way that makes me want to press harder. I lift my hips, taking him deeper.

Mikhail moves like we're in a hurry. Are we? Is there a clock counting down somewhere I can't see?

He wraps his huge hands around my waist and slams into me. I cry out, falling face first into the mattress. The bed rattles on the frame and the sound of our bodies slapping together echoes around the room.

My body flutters around him, desperate to grab onto something. But he's coming and going so fast.

"Mikhail," I gasp, struggling for purchase on the bed. Heat is building low in my belly, but it's happening too quickly. I didn't spend days thinking about this for it to be over in a minute. I want to feel every inch of him inside of me. "Mikhail, we aren't in a rush. We can?—"

Suddenly, his hand wraps around to muzzle my mouth.

I'm so shocked that, for a second, I'm frozen.

Then I open my mouth and clamp down hard on his finger.

He spits a curse in Russian, his hold loosens, and it's enough space for me to crawl away from him. He slides out of me, his cock twitching in the air between us. "You're treating me like a fucking sex toy. If you want to pound a Fleshlight, check your bedside drawer."

He grabs my ankles and yanks me to the end of the bed. His thumb strokes over my slit, dipping inside of my wetness. "Why would I, when you're here and ready?"

I bite my lower lip, swallowing down a moan. "I'm not your prostitute; I'm your wife."

Mikhail rotates his wrist and slides a finger inside of me. He curls against my walls, stroking the words out of my head and every bit of resistance out of my body.

I part my legs for him, my knees wilting on either side of his hips. He slips a second finger inside of me and I fall against his chest.

"I know you're not a prostitute," he whispers against my temple. "You open your legs for free."

"Hey!" I shove off his chest, but his thumb circles over my clit and my breath hitches. The argument stutters out of me. "You c-can't talk to me like?—"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want with you."

My face burns. I try to shove him away, but he holds me steady with one arm while he slides a third finger inside of me.

"Are you going to tell me to stop?" he growls. His blue eyes are practically black. Whatever version of Mikhail is in front of me now, he isn't here to apologize or find some relief. He's here to fight.

I have no idea what this is about, but I'm more than happy to oblige.

I claw my nails down his abs, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. Then I wrap my hand around his cock. He's still wet from being inside of me, and I stroke him from root to tip.

His breath catches. I know he's just as helpless here as I am.

Whatever it is that draws us together, it's got a tight hold on us now.

"I don't want you to stop," I purr, twisting my hand around him. "I want you to fuck me—hard. If you actually want to punish me, you'll have to walk away."

He swallows, debating it. Debating leaving me on the bed, throbbing and desperate. It really would be a cruel and unusual torture.

The problem is, it would torment him, too.

There are no winners in this little game. Mikhail seems to realize that at the same moment I do.

We surge towards each other, lips crashing together so hard it hurts. I scrape my nails through his hair and tug at the strands, angling his head to give me better access.

He rips his hair out of my grip and pins my arm to my side. With his other hand, he presses his cock to my pussy. He drives into me in one stroke, but I'm more than ready for him this time. I take all of him, gasping against his mouth.

He moves slower this time, letting me feel him. But I don't have any illusions that he's doing it for my sake. Mikhail wants to feel me, too.

I tighten around him and he growls. He moves like he's going to lay me down on the bed, but I hook my leg behind his knee. He stumbles back, barely managing to catch us from tumbling across the carpet.

"What the fuck, Viviana?" he snaps.

In answer, I plant my feet on the floor and grind down against him. I ride him into submission, pressing him onto his back.

He could have us both on the bed in an instant if he wanted, but he stays down. I plant my hands on his chest and let the frustration and anger and confusion that has been building in me for days funnel into this one act. Maybe, finally, I'll be able to let him go. If I can fuck him into the floor and take what I want, maybe I can prove to myself that Mikhail isn't special. I'll ride him out of my system and be done with this toxic rollercoaster we've been on.

It's hate fucking. Toxic, violent, turbulent hate sex, pure and simple.

"I'm close," I murmur, my nails biting into his skin. I move faster, riding him until I'm panting.

I clench around him, wanting nothing more than to take him down with me. Mikhail must have the same idea. He grits his teeth and growls, "Come for me like my pretty little whore, Viviana."

He grips my thighs and pulls me against him again and again. When I'm close enough, he sucks my nipple into his mouth and his teeth clamp down over sensitive skin, and I can't fight it for another second. I need this.

"I'm coming," I cry, leaning back to let him find a new angle in me. "Mikhail, I'm?—"

Falling.

I yelp as my back hits the floor. My body is convulsing around nothing, achingly hollow as Mikhail looms between my legs.

He's stroking himself fast, his top lip curled back like he's disgusted with himself.

"I'm doing what I should have done that night in the bridal suite," he growls, pumping his cock with his own hand faster and faster.

I lie there in shock and he comes with a muted groan, coating my stomach with the hot, sticky splatter of his release.

Even dumped on the cold floor, I'm still riding my orgasm. My pussy pulses weakly around what should be Mikhail while my head is spinning.

What is he talking about?

Once Mikhail empties himself on me, he stands up like it's a race to see who can get dressed first. He's zipping his pants when I manage to get to my feet.

I grab his arm. "What the fuck was that?"

He jerks away from my touch. The force of it sends me back onto the bed. I bounce on the mattress. "What is this? What are you?—"

"I know what you did."

I start to ask what he means, but when I look in his eyes, I realize I already know.