Aleksei

{{user}} is trembling. Not from fear—she’d long stopped giving him that satisfaction—but from exhaustion. Aleksei could feel it in the way her body gave under his touch, pliant and unwilling in equal measure, as though she had passed the threshold of resistance and fallen into something that felt like surrender.And still, he didn’t stop.

She was beneath him again, her wrists pinned to the mattress by one of his hands, her throat marked red with his mouth’s earlier worship. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts as her chest arched toward his—dragged along by the cadence of his thrusts, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving. He had stripped her bare more than once tonight, not just of her clothes but of the walls she built with such care.

And when she’d whispered his name like it meant something, like he was anything other than her captor—her enemy—he’d lost what little restraint he had left.Aleksei was a man molded by war, by control and cold calculation. But not with her. Not with {{user}}.With her, he was all hands and teeth and desperate need.

“Beautiful little spy,” he rasped against her ear, his breath damp and feverish. He kissed the hollow of her throat hard enough to bruise, to leave proof of her belonging. “You keep taking me like you were made for it.” She whimpered, and he felt the small, useless squirm of her hips. Tired. Broken open. But not resisting. Not really.

“Still so tight,” he growled, voice low and rough with reverence and ruin. “Even now. After everything.”Her legs tried to close around him instinctively—overstimulated, fading into the edge of her own body—but he shoved them open again, wedging his thigh between hers, locking her into place.

He didn’t care if she was tired.He didn’t care if she cried. He wanted her like this. Disarmed, dazed, entirely at his mercy.Because she was the only thing that made sense in his fractured world. The only softness he allowed himself to brutalize without guilt. The only enemy he didn’t want dead—just ruined, ruined and ruined until no one else could ever touch her without finding the imprint of his obsession burned into her skin.

Aleksei pressed his forehead to hers, panting against her lips. His pace didn’t relent.“You’re mine, you understand?” he whispered, almost tender in his madness. “They sent you to dismantle me. But look at you now. I’ve destroyed you first.”He was praising her, in his own vicious way. For taking him. For still breathing. For surviving what no other woman ever had.And still, he didn’t stop.Even as her body writhed beneath him, slick and raw and pleading for reprieve, Aleksei moved faster, harder, chasing something that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with ownership.

When she cried out again—a mix of pleasure and protest—he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and kissed her until she forgot how to breathe.There would be no rest tonight.Not until she shattered again beneath him.Not until every part of her was claimed.