Chapter 190 Shared by the Alphas 4
Chapter 190 Shared by the Alphas 4
Isabella woke alone on the fifth morning to the sound of gulls and the low thrum of her own pulse between her legs. The bed beside her was cold. Viktor had left before dawn, summoned to the city by a single encrypted text. He had kissed her once (hard, possessive, almost tender) then locked the bedroom door from the outside.
She found the key exactly where he always hid it: taped beneath the lip of the nightstand. Arrogance or trust, she no longer cared.
The house was quiet. Luka’s boots no longer echoed in the hall; even the guards on the perimeter had been pulled for whatever emergency required the Wolf. For the first time in five days she walked the corridors unchallenged. She showered, dressed in one of Viktor’s black shirts and nothing else, and went looking for answers.
His office door was ajar.
The room smelled of leather and gun oil. A single lamp burned on the desk. Spread across the blotter lay a thin dossier stamped with the crimson seal of the Kozlov family (Viktor’s rivals). Inside: photographs of her asleep in his bed, wrists marked by cuffs, thighs spread wide. A price list in euros. Delivery date: the morning after the seventh night.
He was selling her.
The betrayal hit like ice water and gasoline at once. All the whispered Russian endearments, the way he stroked her hair after wrecking her body, the quiet mornings where he fed her strawberries from his fingers; theater. She was livestock being fattened for auction.
Isabella stood very still until the shaking stopped. Then she moved with purpose.
She found what she needed in the playroom: soft leather restraints, a polished cock ring with a remote, a bottle of warming lube, the heavy steel cuffs Viktor sometimes used on her. She laid them out on the bedroom dresser like surgical instruments. She showered again, shaved every inch smooth, oiled her skin until it gleamed. She left her hair loose and wild, the way he liked it when he lost control.
When the front door opened at dusk she was waiting on her knees in the center of the master bedroom, wrists already crossed behind her back, eyes down. Candlelight flickered across the walls. She had turned the music low (something slow and dangerous with a bass line that felt like a second heartbeat).
Viktor stepped inside and stopped. His gaze swept over her, lingered on the cuffs, the toys, the way his shirt barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.
“Malyshka,” he said cautiously. “What is this?”
She lifted her head. Smiled.
“A gift, sir. For everything you have taught me.”
He shut the door. Locked it. The sound of his belt unbuckling was thunder in the silence.
Isabella rose gracefully and walked to him. She took the belt from his hands, folded it once, set it aside. Then she kissed him (slow, filthy, promising ruin). He groaned into her mouth, hands already sliding under the shirt to grip her ass.
She broke the kiss and whispered against his lips, “Let me take care of you tonight.”
He let her undress him. She peeled away the holster, the shirt, the trousers, kissing every new scar revealed. When he was naked she pushed him gently onto the bed and straddled his thighs. His cock lay heavy against his stomach, already leaking.
She reached for the cuffs.
Viktor’s eyes narrowed, but the hunger in them won. He extended his wrists. Steel closed around them with a decisive snap. She threaded the chain through the headboard and locked it tight. He tested once (muscles flexing, veins standing out along his arms) and realized he was not going anywhere.
Isabella leaned down and bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
“You sold me,” she said softly.
His body went rigid beneath her.
“You fucking sold me.”
She sat back on her heels and picked up the cock ring. Cold metal circled the base of his shaft, snug behind his balls. She clicked it shut and watched his cock jerk, trapped and aching.
“Isabella—”
She turned the remote to its lowest setting. The ring began to vibrate. His hips bucked involuntarily.
“Shut up.”
She slid down his body and took him into her mouth in one slow descent. He cursed in Russian, thighs trembling. She worked him mercilessly (tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing) until his breaths came ragged and his wrists strained against the cuffs. Then she pulled off and left him throbbing in open air.
The warming lube came next. She poured it over her fingers, reached behind herself, and pushed two inside her ass without ceremony. His eyes went black watching her prepare herself on his lap.
When she was slick and open she rose up, positioned him at her entrance, and sank down in one brutal drop.
They both shouted.
He filled her impossibly deep, the cock ring pressing against her from the inside, the vibration traveling through every nerve. She planted her hands on his chest and began to ride (slow rolls of her hips at first, savoring the way his head thrashed on the pillow). Then faster. Harder. She ground her clit against the base of his cock on every downstroke until her thighs shook.
Viktor snarled, trying to thrust up, but she controlled the angle, the depth, the speed. She edged him again and again (riding the brink of his orgasm and stopping dead when his balls drew tight). Sweat poured down his chest; the scars stood out white against flushed skin.
The bedroom door opened quietly.
Luka froze in the threshold, eyes widening at the sight of his boss cuffed and helpless, Isabella impaled and glowing with rage and triumph.
She did not stop moving.
“Come in,” she said breathlessly. “Close the door.”
Luka obeyed, because no one in that house had ever heard that tone from her before.
She crooked a finger. He approached like a man walking into fire.
Isabella leaned forward, offering her mouth. Luka’s hands shook as he freed himself (thick, uncut, already hard from the scene). She licked him from root to tip, then took him deep while still riding Viktor in long, punishing strokes.
Two men, one in each hole, both completely at her mercy.
She set the rhythm. Luka in her mouth, Viktor in her ass, the cock ring buzzing relentlessly. When Luka’s hips started jerking she pulled off and turned her head.
“On the bed. On your back.”
He scrambled to obey. She lifted off Viktor (both men groaning at the loss) and straddled Luka reverse, sinking down onto his cock with a moan that sounded like victory. Then she bent forward, ass in the air, and looked over her shoulder at Viktor.
“Your turn to watch.”
She rode Luka hard and fast, breasts swaying, taking every inch until his hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Viktor’s eyes were wild, cock purple and leaking, wrists bleeding where the cuffs had cut.
When Luka was seconds from coming she stopped, climbed off, and returned to Viktor. She unlocked one cuff (just one) then immediately sank down on him again, guiding his newly freed hand to her clit.
“Make me come,” she ordered. “Or I leave you both like this all night.”
His fingers were ruthless. He rubbed her exactly how she needed (circles, flicks, the perfect pressure) while she slammed down onto him again and again. The orgasm tore through her like a blade; she screamed, back arching, walls clamping so tight Viktor roared and followed her over, pumping pulse after pulse deep inside her ass despite the ring.
She reached back blindly and turned the vibration off. He shuddered, oversensitive and wrecked.
Luka was stroking himself frantically, eyes pleading. Isabella crawled to him, pushed him flat, and took him into her mouth just in time to swallow every spurt as he came with a broken sound.
Silence fell, broken only by harsh breathing.
She unlocked Viktor’s other cuff. He rubbed his wrists but did not move to touch her. Luka zipped up and fled without a word.
Isabella sat back on her heels between Viktor’s spread thighs, cum trickling from her body onto his sheets.
“The contract is void,” she said quietly. “I walk away tonight. Or I take those photographs to every family from here to Moscow. Your choice.”
Viktor looked at her for a long time. Something raw and dangerous flickered behind his eyes (not anger, not anymore).
He inclined his head, once.
“Tonight,” he said, voice hoarse. “You walk.”
She stood, legs trembling, and pulled his shirt back on. At the door she paused.
“Thank you,” she said, “for the education.”
Then she left him chained to his own bed, dripping with her, and went to pack.