Sealing the Deal

Sealing the Deal
⚠ Trigger Warning

This chapter contains depictions of sexual assault and non-consensual acts. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

(Anton’s POV) 

She was here—willingly. She had come of her own accord and walked straight into the trap. With every ticking second, satisfaction edged closer.

She leaned over the table, eyes focused on the contract I had laid out before her. As if she actually had a choice.

Once she signed it, she would be mine.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her delicate ear, and my attention snapped to the graceful line of her neck. No collar today.

Shame. I had imagined tugging at it more times than I could count—ripping it off just to watch her shiver.

Not today. But soon.

I had three months that she would belong to me.

Silently, I stepped back until I reached the office door. I turned the lock with slow, deliberate precision—making sure she didn’t notice.

No interruptions. Not now.

Not in this moment—

The moment she would become mine.

Finally, she picked up the pen and began to sign the contract. One stroke at a time, each signature pulling her deeper into the choice she thought she was making.
And with every stroke, I stepped closer—silently, slowly, like a shadow tightening around her.

By the time her pen touched the final line, I was already behind her.

The moment she set the pen down, I pinned her against the table, one hand splayed at the back of her neck, the other moving to loosen my belt with a steady, deliberate motion.

“What are you doing?!” She tried to wiggle and get out of my grip but it was making me even more aroused.

“I’m sealing our deal,” I said, my voice low and steady. “From this moment on, you’re mine—terms and all.”
I leaned in, letting my breath graze her ear.

“You signed it, remember?”

Then I leaned in more, dragging my lips slowly from her nape to the curve just behind her ear.
God, I had missed the taste of her—warm, tense, and maddening.

My self-control strained to its limits, a slow, pulsing ache building beneath the surface.

I gripped the edge of the table with my free hand for a second, steadying myself as the restraint I had clung to began to splinter.

I released my member from my pants. She was still struggling to break free, But I didn’t let her. I pushed her harder onto the table. Then I stripped up her skirt. There it was, her little tight pussy under delicate panties. My mouth watered with anticipation, I wanted to lick it, taste her juices and drink them all. My jaw clenched as the hunger twisted inside me—raw, aching, primal.
I wanted to claim her, to taste the surrender on her skin.

But now wasn’t the time for indulgence.

Right now, I need simplicity.

Control.

A reminder—not just to her, but to myself—of who she belonged to.

Even if it meant crossing lines that couldn’t be uncrossed. Even if that means I had to hurt her.

Her eyes got teary, she was begging “Please, not now Anton, please… I am not ready” But that was what I wanted more. Make her beg, make her suffer. And without containing myself anymore, I pulled her panties aside and tore into her pussy with one hard stroke. She draw a sharp breath then cried with agony, “Ahh”

Damn, it was like music for my ears. Something I have been meaning to hear for so long. Her pussy was tighter than I thought. Her inner walls were gripping my member like a tight fist. Without letting her adjust my size, I pulled back and plunged in again. She gave another cry. I fisted her hair, pulled her head back and looked at her teary face. Fuck! She was the ruin of me. Her teary eyes, her begging face. Her open mouth with an uncompleted cry. She was the bane of my existence.

I went in and out, with every stroke, she kept wining and tears spilled down from her eyes. I didn’t let her head go the entire time. I watched her face not even blinking for one second. Every time I hit in, she was squeezing her eyes, and whimpering like an injured puppy under me. At that moment, I felt untouchable. Like I had claimed something no one else could. She was mine—undeniably, completely. The way her breath hitched, the way her body trembled beneath me… it felt like victory. Not the kind you celebrate—but the kind that leaves you drunk with power and hollow with need.
She didn’t even know it yet, but I had already marked her. Branded her. And someday, when I finally let go… she would never forget who held her like this.

This thought made me even more excited. I raised my pace. She was now hardly keeping herself by gripping the table underneath her. I was feeling like I was about to break her thin waist with my hard and fast strokes. But I didn’t care. I was too close—too far gone to think straight. Every part of me was ready to claim her. But then it hit me—sharp and sudden.
I hadn’t put on a condom.

The realization cut through the haze like a blade. I cursed under my breath and pulled back, just for a second, reaching into my pocket where I kept a couple for today.

It took everything in me to pause, even briefly. But still gripping her hair and not letting her go, I reached to my member to put the condom. Then I realized. Something slick, something red, on my member.

I pushed her down and looked at her. Blood was oozing from her pussy to her thighs. And time stopped for me for a second. 

Was she a virgin?

But she was with Matt. Didn’t they…?

“Are you a virgin?” I asked, stunned—my voice barely more than a whisper.

She whimpered, and then gave the smallest nod.

God. Oh God.

I froze. The realization hit me like a freight train.

I had taken something from her—something I had no right to. And I had done it in the most brutal, thoughtless way imaginable.

I stepped back, releasing her like I’d just committed the worst kind of sin. My eyes fell on what I’d done. She was still lying there, face pressed against the table, her body trembling, her cries silent but soul-shaking.

There was blood.

Bright, cruel drops marking her skin, trailing down her thighs to the white carpet below.

It wasn’t arousing anymore. It was horrifying.

This wasn’t domination. This wasn’t control. This was something else—something monstrous.

I had been blind with rage, with jealousy, and I’d let it all spill over onto her. She wasn’t the one I was furious with, but she took the full impact of my fury.

I’d let Matt crawl into my head and twist my reason. I had turned Alice—Alice—into a target for everything I hated about him.

And now, there was no taking it back.

I staggered a few steps away, the weight of what I had done pressing down on me like a curse. I had broken something—maybe everything—between us. And maybe it couldn’t be fixed.

I hastily pulled up my pants, unlocked the office door and stepped outside, closing it softly behind me.

Not to protect myself.

But to give her privacy. And to give myself time to face the wreckage.

I didn’t stop walking until I reached the lobby. I didn’t stop there either.

I left the building like a ghost fleeing its own grave.

And for the first time in years, I felt the sickening urge to leave the country. Not to run from consequences. But from her eyes—eyes that, if I ever saw again, would reflect the worst parts of me back at myself.

Maybe leaving the country wouldn’t even be far enough to outrun this shame.