Chapter 84: 84● “Don’t test me again, Foxy,”

HARPER PETROVSKY

Viktor has me pinned against the wall, his body setting a rhythm that knocks the air out of my lungs. The pressure against my pussy intensifies, making me moan even louder as I brace my hands on the wall.

My breathing comes out ragged, shallow, and each of his movements sends my body into near-desperate reflexes, trying to keep up with something that’s already beyond control. Heat builds, climbs my spine, tightens my chest, and I feel the edge approaching—without knowing exactly where it is. The sensation is delicious, making me tremble from head to toe, a tingling spreading through my belly.

“Come for me, Foxy… but say my name when you do. Loud.”

His voice comes low, far too close to my ear.

It’s not a command or a plea. It’s a fact. And his name gets stuck in my throat like it carries its own weight, pressing from the inside, begging to come out. My breath falters, my chest rising and falling too fast, and I feel my body nearing a point I can’t hold back anymore.

Everything becomes motion.

I follow without thinking, my body moving on its own, finding rhythm in the middle of the constant shock—the sharp sound echoing through the room, blending with our moans. The heat grows, concentrates, taking up too much space inside me. His hands grip my waist tightly, pulling me closer, and the air leaves me completely.

My name doesn’t matter now. Only his does.

“Viktor…” slips out of me—broken, incomplete—because there’s no sentence left when the feeling crashes all at once, too intense to organize. My entire body shudders, from head to toe, like everything’s been pulled into this single moment. I close my eyes, my forehead resting against the wall, trying to catch my breath as the sensation still reverberates—slow, insistent—leaving every nerve exposed.

“Foxy… you’re too much for my sanity,” he whispers against my ear, his body leaning over mine, breath hot and unsteady.

The movement stops suddenly.

There’s a suspended second—strange—where the contact still lingers. Viktor pulls back in a quick, almost abrupt motion, his hands still firm on my waist for a moment longer before releasing me completely. The cold air between us contrasts with the heat still pulsing through me, and it makes me shiver.

He turns away, running a hand over his face, through his hair, as if trying to pull himself together. His posture is tense, shoulders rigid, breathing far too heavy to ignore. I stay there, resting against the wall, now facing him, my body still sensitive, heart pounding hard in my chest.

The sound he lets out is low, restrained—almost a muffled growl. I watch the moment he hits his limit, coming right there, looking at me with such intensity it leaves me hypnotized, biting my lower lip without even noticing.

His gaze is still dark, hungry—but now there’s something else too. A silent conflict.

He approaches again—slow, calculated steps. Stops too close. Tilts his head, eyes on my mouth caught between my teeth, watching the way I don’t look away.

“Did you like what you saw?” he murmurs, voice low, laced with mischief. A crooked smile curves one corner of his mouth. “Look at you… all tempting like that.”

His thumb brushes lightly under my chin, just enough to tilt my face up. The touch isn’t gentle—it’s a tease. Everything about him exudes provocation, impossible to resist.

“Dangerous,” he adds, close to my ear. “The kind who has no idea the damage she causes… or does—and enjoys it.”

His fingers slide to my throat—not squeezing, just resting there. Firm enough to remind me he feels my pulse under the skin. My body reacts instantly, breath faltering for a second—not from lack of air, but from too much focus on that single point.

Viktor watches, face tilted, eyes never leaving mine. His thumb moves slowly, subtly, tracking the rise and fall of my breathing. He leans in closer, his mouth almost brushing mine.

“Don’t test me again, Foxy,” he murmurs, voice low and warning. “Now that I have you, staying away is going to be a problem. So always be ready.”

Then he steps back.

The contact vanishes completely, and the space between us suddenly feels too wide. Viktor runs a hand through his hair, over his face, like he’s trying to piece things back together, then starts walking across the room toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. The way he walks isn’t the same anymore—still tense, still charged, but more guarded. Tightly controlled.

“I’m taking a shower,” he says without looking back. “You should do the same.”

He pauses at the door for a second, his body half-turned, and looks at me again.

“We have to go back to the mansion.” A short, heavy pause. “And face Alexander’s mood… and Dmitri’s.”

I rest my hands on the wall behind me, drawing in a slow breath, my body still warm, head spinning between desire and consequence.

I pull myself together, glancing toward the large glass windows reflecting the now-dimming firelight. Outside, the night looks far too calm for the chaos I carry inside. I know Dmitri well enough to be sure that if he’s back from whatever he went to handle, he’s probably searched the entire mansion for me—his mood worsening with every empty hallway. He hates not knowing where I am. Hates it even more when he senses something slipping past him—something that might happen if he’s not there to protect me.

Alexander, on the other hand, knows exactly where I’ve been. He’s the one who asked Viktor to get me out of there. What he probably didn’t expect was how. Or maybe he did. With Alexander, you can never really tell. He likes to push limits and watch the fallout afterward, like it’s all part of a bigger experiment for his own control. He knows there’s been a spark between Viktor since I got here—I ended up right in their club, after all. Still, when I return, his gaze is going to be heavy. Not with surprise. With expectation.

I bite my lower lip, the gesture too automatic to be just nerves. Viktor’s touch is still imprinted on my body in a way that lingers—too present to ignore. It’s not just a physical memory—it’s a feeling. The kind that doesn’t wash off with a hot shower or disappear under clean clothes. I close my eyes for a second and shake my head, trying to push away the images, the sound of his voice, the raw intensity that pulled me out of myself.

“Focus, Harper. Focus,” I murmur, as if saying it out loud could help me sort anything out. “You’ve already gotten yourself into enough trouble in so little time.”

A short pause. A half-smile I can’t help.

“And what trouble… delicious ones.”

I pick up my dress from the floor, along with my panties, fingers still slightly trembling—not from weakness, but from aftershocks. The fabric slips through my hands as it remembers, and that irritates me more than it should. I put the panties on first, adjusting slowly, breathing deep like it might help put everything back where it belongs. It doesn’t. But I pretend it does.

Then comes the dress. I pull up the zipper carefully, feeling my body protest silently, still too sensitive to ignore. I run my hands over the fabric, smoothing it out, trying to erase any visible trace of what just happened. The mirror in the corner reflects an image that looks whole, but I know it’s just a façade. Inside, nothing is exactly in place.

I walk to the bathroom sink and splash some cold water on my face. The shock helps. A little. I brace myself there for a moment, staring at my reflection more closely. My eyes are still too alive, too dark. I smirk slightly, almost without noticing.

“You like this,” I think, without judgment. The tension. The risk. The imbalance.

I straighten my posture and take another deep breath. I can’t go back to the mansion looking rattled. Dmitri will notice the second he sees me. Alexander, even more so—he always notices before anyone else. And I’m not showering here, not even if I wanted to. I’ve got clothes—I’d rather do it in my own space.