Kairus' POV :
She collapsed.
Just like that—body trembling, lips parted, eyes rolling back as she crumpled onto the mattress. Boneless. Dripping. Ravaged in the way I wanted her to be.
Fuck.
The sight of her lying there, ruined and mine, pulled something primal out of me. I just sat back for a moment, breathing her in. Her scent, the sound of her soft whimpers, the flushed skin that still bore the fresh marks of my discipline.
My Raven. My s*utty, reckless girl.
I reached over to the nightstand, grabbed my cigar, and lit it with a flick of gold. The smoke coiled into the air, sharp and smooth. I took a drag and exhaled slow, the taste mixing with the afterglow still pounding through my veins.
She didn't move.
Her chest rose in faint, erratic breaths. Skin flushed, thighs trembling. Her ass still bore the red imprint of my palm. And the mess between her legs? It was mine too.
I smirked around the cigar.
"Stripper club, huh?" I muttered, letting the words roll lazily off my tongue. "Would you still go, now?"
No answer. She was out cold.
Wrecked. Beautiful.
My gaze dropped to my chest, and I let out a low laugh when I saw it— scratches from her nails, still burning, still raw. She'd clawed me while I fucked her into obedience. While I made her forget everything but me.
"Good fucking girl," I said under my breath, voice rough.
I meant it. She gave it back. She fought. She didn't break easy, and fuck if that didn't make me want her even more. Even now, unconscious, she looked like a work of art. Bruised. Bitten. Breathless.
Perfect.
I took one last drag, then stubbed the cigar out and leaned over her. My hand slid behind her neck, pulling her gently against my chest, and I whispered the words into her hair like a vow. "You're mine, babochka. "
She didn't stir.
I moved slowly, cleaning her up with warm water and a cloth. Careful. Focused, even, if I was capable of something so holy. But this wasn't tenderness. This was ownership. I cleaned what I'd claimed.
When I was done, I slid under the covers and dragged her into my arms, tight, locked in.
I wanted her body flush against mine. Wanted to feel the heartbeat I'd stolen, the breath I'd chased.
My arm wrapped around her waist, the other sliding beneath her head. My fingers brushed the spot on her lower belly where I'd kissed her with my teeth, leaving a reminder.
I lowered my lips to her ear, voice thick with satisfaction and something darker. Something I didn't care to name.
"There's no going back now, baby. "
Not for her. Not for me.
I let my eyes close, but I didn't loosen my grip. Not even in sleep.
I wasn't done. I'd never be done.
Raven's POV :
A pounding in my skull woke me before the sunlight did.
I groaned softly, pressing a hand to my forehead as if that could stop the way the room spun. Vodka. Right. I'd drunk way too much last night, thinking it would give me courage.
Instead, it gave me the audacity to let him—
I blinked.
My body ached.
My thighs burned. My wrists felt faintly bruised.
Oh my god!
I shifted, just slightly, and my entire body screamed in protest. Muscles sore. Skin tender. I didn't even want to look at myself in the mirror—I already knew I'd be wearing his fingerprints all over me.
And then the memories started to come in pieces.
His hand wrapped in my hair. The way he bent me over the edge of the bed and—fuck. I covered my mouth before a sound could escape.
I'd begged.
I'd whimpered.
I'd called him—
"Daddy."
My face ignited in heat. What the hell is wrong with me?
I sat up, heart pounding against my ribcage, suddenly all too aware of the arm draped lazily over my waist. I looked down.
Kairus.
Still asleep.
White hair a mess across the pillow, jaw sharp, lips parted just enough to make my already fucked-up brain spiral. He looked devastatingly good even now, and I hated how my eyes drank him in. The scratch marks I'd left on his chest were still there. My nails. My voice. My scent.
You liked it, something whispered inside me.
I swallowed hard and slid from the bed as slowly as I could, lifting his heavy arm with shaking fingers and easing myself out of his possessive hold. My bare feet hit the cold marble, and I didn't dare breathe until I reached the door.
Then I ran.
Straight into the safety of my bedroom, slamming the door behind me with a soft click.
I leaned against it, trying to catch my breath, cheeks burning like fire.
"What the hell did I do?" I whispered to the silence.
Images flashed behind my eyes—his voice, low and commanding. His palm cracking against my skin. The hunger in his eyes.
No. This was just a contract. Just a game. A way to survive, to protect what I cared about.
This wasn't love. This wasn't anything close.
I was not falling for Kairus Vasiliev.
I gripped the sink, breathing hard.
One night. That's all it was. A slip.
A moment of weakness and too much alcohol and a man too dangerous for his own good.
But it didn't mean anything.
It couldn't.
It was like… like one of those one-night stands people have to get someone out of their system. No strings attached. A mistake with a hot body and hotter hands that I'd never repeat.
That was all.
And he'd think the same, right?
Kairus Vasiliev, mafia heir, criminal king-in-the-making, wouldn't be caught dead caring about anything that happened in a contract marriage. Let alone me.
He'd wake up, stretch, smoke one of those pretentious cigars, and move on like he always did.
I was fine.
I was—
The door slammed open with a sharp crack, nearly coming off its hinges.
I spun around, heart leaping up my throat.
Kairus stood in the doorway. Bare-chested. Messy-haired. Blue eyes glinting. The scent of his cologne still clung to the air.
"Babochka," he drawled, like the word alone was foreplay. "Is this how you treat your husband after a night like that? Sneaking off like a one-night stand?"
My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
He stepped inside, shamelessly taking in my oversized shirt—his shirt—that barely covered my thighs. The door clicked shut behind him.
He looked… pleased.
Too pleased.
"I mean," he said casually, running a hand through his hair, "I would've thought you'd stay for round two. Or at least a good morning kiss. Wife. "
I blinked. "You're joking."
His smile was slow, dangerous. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
"You're acting like some clingy lover boy—"
He raised a brow. "Didn't hear you complaining last night."
I narrowed my eyes. "That was just—alcohol. Lust. It meant nothing. Don't overthink it."
I didn't look back.
If I looked back, I'd remember how he sounded whispering goodgirl into my skin.
How he groaned my name like a man starved. How my entire body still ached for him.
This was a contract.
A façade.
And I needed to act like it.
I stepped past him toward the door, chin lifted. "Just forget it ever happened, Kairus. We both got what we wanted. That's all."
I reached for the handle.
I didn't make it.
In one breath, I was against the wall, my back hitting cold marble. Kairus moved like a damn shadow—silent, sharp, and deadly fast. His hand closed around my throat, not too tight, just enough to steal the air from my lungs and make my thighs clench traitorously.
His face was inches from mine, eyes dark with something primal.
"Didn't last night teach you what 'nothing' feels like, babochka?" he growled, his breath fanning over my lips, smoky and warm.
I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.
He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over my cheek, down to the shell of my ear.
"Should I discipline you again like a good girl," he whispered, voice a velvet threat, "to get that into your bones?"
My heart stuttered.
Every nerve ending lit like fire.
I was frozen.
And a little—God help me—turned on.
He smirked, feeling the way my body reacted under his grip.
And I hated that he knew.
And Kairus, my devil of a husband, still holding me like I belonged to him.