The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 227

Vivian

After handing the briefcase to my bodyguard waiting by the door, I followed Dmitri through the maze of the bar's upper level. My heart hammered against my ribs with each step, a cocktail of nerves and anticipation coursing through my veins.

The private room was dimly lit, a lair befitting a predator. I closed the door behind us with deliberate calm, the soft click echoing in the charged silence.

"Tonight's stakes," I announced, my voice steadier than I felt, "are Dwayne Blackwell. I want him to be the first to fall into your hands. As for what happens to him after..." I let the implication hang in the air like smoke.

Dmitri raised an eyebrow. "Really? Just that pretty boy? You'd be smarter to trade tonight for his father." He shrugged. "Remember, after tonight, I get bored easily."

"That man humiliated me," I said, ice crystallizing in my voice. "He used me. He's nothing but garbage."

Something flickered in Dmitri's eyes before his expression returned to that familiar mask of indifference. "Well," he said, "your choice, your trade."

The space between us crackled. Without another word, he moved closer, his hands finding the zipper of my red silk dress. The sound of it sliding down was unnaturally loud. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a pair of black lace panties. He didn't caress me; he pushed me back against the cold wood of the wall, his hands gripping my hips as he ground the thick ridge of his cock against me through his trousers.

He took my mouth in a bruising, possessive kiss, a clear declaration of ownership. But I refused to be owned. I bit his lip, tasting the salt of his blood, and clawed my nails down his back, my own act of defiance. This wasn't seduction; it was a battle.

He ripped my panties down, his fingers finding my wet heat with a rough, impatient touch before he unbuckled his belt. He entered me in one powerful, slamming thrust, my head hitting the wall behind me. He fucked me right there, standing up, his rhythm a punishing, dominant beat. I met every thrust, my body screaming with a mixture of pain and a desperate, defiant pleasure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a passive victim.

But then everything changed.

He pulled out, turning me around and shoving me face-down onto the bed. Before I could react, he was behind me, his hands pinning my wrists to the mattress above my head. The familiar, helpless pose triggered something devastating. Suddenly, the expensive leather smelled like damp concrete. I wasn't in his room; I was back in that warehouse, exposed and terrified, with Dwayne's men leering at me.

My body began to shake uncontrollably. Broken whimpers tore from my throat. This wasn't a power play anymore—this was pure, animal terror.

Dmitri stopped immediately. The weight lifted, and I felt him pull out of me.

With surprising gentleness, he turned me to face him. My eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming down my cheeks. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to cry out loud. I wouldn't break.

When I finally opened my eyes, expecting to see impatience or disgust, I found something completely unexpected in his gaze. Without a word, he reached up with one scarred hand and carefully wiped the tears from my face. The same hands that had undoubtedly killed without hesitation were impossibly tender.

Then he kissed me.

It was gentle, almost questioning—an offer of comfort.

*Dwayne never kissed me like this,* the thought blazed through my mind. *He took what he wanted, used my body. This tenderness... he was completely incapable of it.*

The realization ignited something wild and desperate inside me.

I crashed my lips against Dmitri's with savage hunger, my teeth grazing his bottom lip hard enough to draw more blood. This kiss was violent, retaliatory. I was using him to burn away every trace of Dwayne's touch. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him back inside me with a desperate gasp. This time, I was in control.

I began to move, riding him with a frantic, consuming rhythm, my hands fisted in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. I was fucking him now, claiming him, using his body as a weapon against my own memories. The friction, the fullness, the raw power of it—I wanted to drown in it until nothing else existed.

Dmitri responded with matching intensity, his control finally snapping. His hands gripped my waist hard enough to bruise as he hauled me tighter against him, our bodies colliding with desperate force as he began to thrust back, meeting my fury with his own.

"Fuck," he growled against my mouth, his accent thick with arousal. "What the hell are you doing to me?"

Instead of answering, I bit his neck, tasting salt and danger on his skin. He hissed, his hands tangling in my hair as he pulled my head back, forcing me to look at him.

"Do you know what Dwayne did to me before this?" I whispered, my voice raw and wild with a fury that had been simmering for years. "Do you know how that fucking scum used me, again and again, making me believe he cared?" My nails dug into his shoulders. "Do you know what they did to me in that warehouse after he had me kidnapped?"

My eyes blazed into his, a torrent of pain and rage. "I've changed my mind," I said, my voice dropping, becoming cold and lethal. "I don't want you to just catch him. I want you to fucking kill him."

The heat in his eyes turned molten.

I didn't wait for a response. I shoved him onto his back with all my strength, the bed groaning under his weight, and straddled his hips with predatory grace. This time, I was in control. I grabbed his thick, hard cock and guided it to my wet entrance, then slammed my hips down, taking all of him in a single, brutal motion that made him groan. This was not about pleasure; this was about consumption. I began to ride him with a punishing, desperate rhythm, my eyes locked on his, forcing him to witness every ounce of my rage being channeled into this act.

When he tried to take back control, his hands gripping my hips to steady my frantic movements, I slapped them away. His surprise was fleeting, replaced by a dark, dangerous hunger. He let me have my war.

He let me fuck him until my demons were screaming.

When he finally flipped us over, his body covering mine, pinning me beneath him with calculated strength, I didn't panic. This wasn't the warehouse. This wasn't helplessness. I arched my back, meeting his powerful thrusts with my own, my nails raking down his back, drawing blood.

"More," I demanded breathlessly, my voice a ragged cry. "I need more."

He gave me everything, his cock slamming into me with a primal force that vibrated through my entire body. We were no longer two people; we were a storm of sweat, and friction, and shared violence. The headboard hammered against the wall with every deep, gut-wrenching thrust. This wasn't making love; we were tearing pieces out of each other, fighting a war against the past.

When I felt the orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation and fury, I pulled him down to me, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered my final command with savage intensity: "Kill him, Dmitri. Make Dwayne pay for what he did. Make him suffer until he begs you to die."