Chapter 188 Shared by the Alphas 2

Chapter 188 Shared by the Alphas 2
The black Mercedes cut through the pre-dawn darkness on the Long Island Expressway, tires hissing over wet asphalt. Isabella sat in the back seat with her wrists zip-tied in front of her, Viktor’s suit jacket draped over her shoulders to hide the ruined gown. She had not been given permission to speak. The driver, Luka, never once glanced in the rear-view mirror.

They turned off onto a private road flanked by skeletal oaks. At the end waited a modern fortress of glass and steel perched above the Atlantic, every light in the house blazing like a challenge. When the car stopped, Viktor finally broke the silence.

“Inside. Do not make me carry you.”

She walked. The marble foyer was cold under her bare feet. Luka peeled off toward a side corridor; Viktor’s hand settled between her shoulder blades and pushed her forward, up a cantilevered staircase that seemed to float in mid-air. At the landing he steered her left, down a hallway lined with abstract paintings that hurt to look at directly. A final door opened onto a bedroom the size of her entire apartment.

Floor-to-ceiling windows faced the ocean. A bed dominated the space, low, wide, black linen already turned down. Chains glinted from the headboard posts.

Viktor closed the door.

“Strip.”

She let the jacket fall. The torn emerald silk followed, pooling at her feet. Bruises were already blooming across her hips and thighs, fingerprints in purple and red. He studied them the way an artist studies a canvas he has not yet finished.

“Beautiful,” he said, almost to himself.

He crossed to a panel in the wall. It slid aside to reveal a recessed closet. From it he took a thick leather folder and tossed it onto the bed.

“Your new contract. Seven nights. Total submission. In return, every marker against the Moretti name disappears. Your father’s debt, the interest, the photographs they keep of you leaving work; all of it gone.” He opened the folder. A single gold pen rested beside pages dense with Cyrillic and English. “Sign, and you leave here clean. Refuse, and Luka drives you back to the city right now. They will find you before sunrise.”

Isabella’s mouth tasted of copper and him. “And if I sign?”

“You become mine to use however I wish. No permanent damage. No photographs. No one outside this house ever knows.” His gaze flicked to the bruises. “You will hurt. You will beg. You will come so hard you forget your own name. Then, on the seventh morning, you walk away free.”

She stared at the pen. Seven nights to erase a lifetime of her father’s sins. Seven nights to keep her fingers, her face, her life.

She picked up the pen and signed.

Viktor’s smile was slow and terrible. He took the contract, folded it once, and slid it into his pocket.

“Good girl.”

He moved behind her. A blindfold, soft black leather, settled over her eyes. The world vanished. She heard the whisper of his shirt hitting the floor, the clink of his belt. Then nothing.

Minutes or hours; she could not tell. The anticipation became its own torment.

His hands returned, guiding her forward until her shins met the bed. He bent her over the edge, cheek pressed to cool linen, arms stretched above her head. Leather cuffs closed around her wrists, chains tightening until she was pinned, ass high, legs forced wide by a spreader bar that clicked into place at her ankles.

The first touch was feather-light: a single fingertip tracing the welts he had left earlier. She flinched. He chuckled, low in his throat.

“Sensitive already.”

Something cold and metallic kissed her spine. A knife. She froze as he sliced away the remnants of her panties, the blade never breaking skin. When the scraps fell away he spread her open with both hands, exposing her completely.

“You are dripping again, Isabella. Your body is more honest than your mouth.”

A sharp slap landed directly on her clit. She cried out, hips jerking. Another slap, then another, until she was sobbing into the sheets and trying to close her legs against the bar. He gave her no mercy, alternating stinging blows with slow circles of his thumb until pleasure and pain braided so tightly she could not tell them apart.

Only then did he step away.

She heard a drawer open, the rustle of implements. When he returned, something smooth and impossibly thick pressed against her entrance. Not his cock; larger, unyielding. A plug, heavy steel warmed by his palm.

“Breathe.”

He pushed. The stretch burned; she whimpered, trying to rise onto her toes to escape it. A firm hand between her shoulder blades forced her flat again. Inch by merciless inch the plug seated deep inside her pussy, so full she felt it in her throat. A low vibration started, steady and cruel.

Viktor leaned over her, mouth at her ear.

“That stays until I decide otherwise.”

He left her there, bound and buzzing, while he showered. Water ran somewhere beyond the blindfold. She tested the cuffs, the bar, found no give. The vibrator never sped up, never slowed, just held her on a plateau that was almost but not quite enough. Time dissolved into sweat and muffled pleas.

When he came back his skin smelled of cedar and smoke. He unclipped her ankles first, massaging the stiffness away with surprising care. The cuffs at her wrists followed. He removed the blindfold last.

Dawn bled gray across the windows. He was naked, scarred, erect. Water still clung to the dark hair on his chest.

“On your knees.”

She dropped. He fisted her hair and fed his cock between her lips, using her mouth with the same unhurried dominance as the night before. But this time he watched her face the entire time, thumb stroking her cheek when she gagged, murmuring approval when she took him deeper.

When he was slick and throbbing he pulled free and lifted her onto the bed. He rolled her onto her stomach, knees beneath her, plug still buried deep. The vibration intensified; she buried her face in the sheets to muffle a scream.

Viktor straddled her thighs. Something cold drizzled between her cheeks; lube, thick and silky. One finger circled her untouched entrance, pressing in to the first knuckle. She tensed.

“Relax, podruga. You will take all of me eventually. Today we begin gently.”

His finger became two, scissoring, stretching. The plug in her pussy shifted with every movement, driving her insane. When he replaced fingers with the blunt head of his cock she was shaking so hard the chains on the headboard rattled.

He entered her slowly, inexorably. The burn was fierce, overwhelming, but the fullness; God, the fullness; tipped her into a place beyond language. He bottomed out with a guttural sound and stilled, letting her adjust, one hand stroking her back like she was a spooked animal.

Then he moved.

Slow drags at first, retreating almost all the way before sinking back in. Each thrust nudged the plug, sending sparks behind her eyes. He built speed gradually, hips snapping, balls slapping against the base of the plug until the room filled with wet, obscene sounds and her broken moans.

One hand snaked beneath her to increase the vibrator to a punishing pulse. The other wrapped around her throat, not squeezing, just owning.

“Come for me, Isabella. Show me who you belong to now.”

The orgasm detonated through her like a bomb. She convulsed around the intrusions, vision whiting out, a high, keening wail tearing from her throat. Viktor followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and flooding her ass with heat.

He stayed inside her a long time, both of them trembling. When he finally pulled out she collapsed sideways, plug still humming softly. He removed it gently, then gathered her against his chest, her back to his front, one possessive arm locked around her waist.

“Six more nights,” he whispered against her damp temple.

Outside, the sun breached the horizon, turning the ocean blood red.