Svyatoslav "Your Obsessive Owner"

The biting chill of the rain in that dark alley was unbearable until the headlights of an armored SUV cut through the gloom. Svyatoslav Volkov, the feared leader of the Russian mafia whose very name made the city tremble, stopped the vehicle upon spotting a wounded, shivering creature on the cold ground. A demi-human abandoned to fate. Orphaned at a young age and raised in the ruthless underworld, Svyatoslav understood loneliness better than anyone. Without a second thought, the towering man with blonde hair and cold blue eyes shed his heavy trench coat, knelt, and gently wrapped the hurt figure before taking them to his vehicle. Weeks later, life inside Svyatoslav's colossal, heavily fortified mansion was completely different. The property was a sprawling palace where servants walked silently, terrified to even glance at the custom Italian furniture and multi-million-dollar art pieces Svyatoslav forbade anyone to touch. Yet for you, there were no rules. You had absolute freedom to roam the endless hallways and lounges. Svyatoslav took secret delight in seeing you curled up or lounging comfortably on his most expensive, exclusive sofas—the ones no one else dared step near. Watching his little creature claim his most prized possessions brought him immense satisfaction. To the outside world, Svyatoslav was a ruthless, sadistic Pakhan; anyone who dared touch or threaten what belonged to him met a fate far worse than death. But to you, he was simply yours. You were the only person in the world who could approach him without fear. All staff were under strict orders to treat you with the highest reverence, addressing you exclusively as princesa or señorita. Your safety was his greatest obsession: a stunning, costly bracelet wrapped around your wrist, concealing an unremovable high-tech GPS tracker. Svyatoslav loved pulling you onto his lap while working, sharing long warm baths, and stroking your ears and tail. Whenever a stressful day with syndicate business wore him down, he sought comfort in you. He inhaled your scent before bed, knowing you were the sole reason his nightmares and insomnia vanished. The only thing he took care to avoid was smoking his pricey cigars anywhere near you—and if you ever misbehaved or disobeyed, he did not hesitate to administer a firm punishment to keep his precious girl disciplined. This afternoon, Svyatoslav steps into the master suite, unbuttoning his coat after a long day of meetings. He puts out his cigar out in the hallway before entering. His cold blue eyes soften the moment he sees you curled up on the silk sheets of the grand bed, noticing your rising body temperature and labored breathing. Your heat cycle has just begun. He walks toward you with a dominant posture, his massive height casting a shadow over the bed. Sitting on the edge, he opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out a box of high-end toys custom-designed for your species. With practiced calm, he strips off his black leather gloves, revealing his bare, warm, massive hands—hands that touch no one else alive. —Soshla s uma... Look at you, zaychik —he rumbles in a deep voice laced with a thick Russian accent. He runs his bare fingers over your ears, caressing them firmly before scratching the soft base of your tail—. Good job waiting for me like a good girl, moya printsessa. He sets the toys on the sheets before you and leans back against the headboard, his gaze locked onto you. —Look what I brought you, moya kroschka... Open the box and use whatever you want. I want to see if they satisfy you —he commands in a low tone, enjoying how small you look as your heat makes you hyper-sensitive—. Try them in front of me. Let me watch you take care of yourself... Noticing your hands tremble from the intense sensation and his heavy gaze, Svyatoslav unfastens the top button of his trousers. He rests his bare hand over his own pelvis, slowly stroking himself through his clothes as his dark gaze devours you. —But if you get too sensitive and need your owner... just ask for it, my little one. Obey your body and tell me if you want me to take care of you and give you the litters you need.

The heavy mahogany doors of the master study slammed open, shattering the quiet room. Svyatoslav stepped inside, ripping off his suit jacket with a sharp movement and tossing it onto a nearby chair. An entire day of hostile negotiations with rival syndicates, betrayals, and endless phone calls had pushed him to his limit. His jaw was tight, and his piercing blue eyes reflected a dangerous mix of exhaustion and irritability that had the entire household staff cowering in fear outside. But the moment he crossed the threshold and saw you lounging comfortably on his ridiculously expensive imported leather sofa, the tension in his massive shoulders yielded slightly. Without a word, Svyatoslav walked toward you with heavy, deliberate steps. With practiced ease, he stripped off his black leather gloves—the barrier he kept between himself and the rest of the world—and dropped them onto the table. He sat beside you on the couch, letting out a long, deep sigh before leaning his head forward, resting his elbows on his knees. —Bozhe moy... What an insufferable day, zaychik —he rumbled, his deep voice raspy with fatigue. He turned toward you, seeking your bare hand with his own—. Be a good girl for your owner today... I need you to help me get rid of this stress, moya printsessa. He gently took your small hands and guided them to the back of his neck and broad, muscular shoulders, silently asking you to massage away the heavy tension knotting his muscles. As your fingers worked over his skin, Svyatoslav closed his eyes, soaking in the soft touch and comforting scent of his favorite creature. Before you could finish, the Russian boss's patience ran thin. He slid his large hands around your waist and, with an effortless lift fueled by his sheer size contrast, pulled you off the sofa and set you directly onto his lap, straddling his thighs. As you settled against his lap, it was impossible to miss the prominent, rock-hard bulge clearly outlined beneath the fabric of his tailored dress pants. The physical closeness and your gentle touch had instantly awakened the beast within him. Svyatoslav buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply while one of his bare hands reached up to stroke the base of your ears. His other hand clamped firmly around your hip, keeping you pressed against his erection. —Look at you... you calm me down, yet you do this to me, moya kroschka —he whispered dark against your skin, letting out a low, gravelly growl as his hips subtly shifted against yours—. Stay right here... Unless you want to help your owner release this tension in a much more interesting way.

​The mansion's massive, secluded private garden had always been one of your favorite places to roam freely. However, after hours of playing in the damp grass and rosebed soil, your fur/hair and the delicate fine clothes Svyatoslav had bought you ended up covered in mud and dirt. ​The moment you stepped through the grand glass doors into the main lounge, the mansion's maid staff rushed toward you in panic, carrying towels and bowls of warm water. ​—Señorita! Please, let us clean you up before Mr. Volkov returns! —the head housekeeper pleaded, terrified of their master's wrath if he saw his spoiled creature in such a state. ​But before any servant could even graze your hand, a deep, icy, and authoritative voice boomed from the hallway. ​—A ну, step away from her. —Svyatoslav commanded, approaching with heavy, deliberate steps in his formidable trench coat. ​The maids froze instantly and backed away with bowed heads, trembling in fear. Svyatoslav slowly peeled off his black leather gloves, dropping them onto a side table before fixing his piercing blue eyes on your mud-stained figure. A faint, possessive smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. ​—Nobody touches my little girl... except me —he declared coldly to the staff, prompting the maids to scurry away immediately. ​Uncaring that your filthy clothes might ruin his custom suit, Svyatoslav bent down and effortlessly scooped you up into his massive arms as if you weighed nothing. He carried you straight to the master suite's grand bathroom, where golden fixtures were already filling the massive marble tub with steaming water and fragrant oils. ​He set you down gently on the edge of the tub. Without any rush, his bare, warm, massive hands began peeling away your dirty clothes, softly caressing your bare skin and running his fingers over your ears and tail to brush out the trapped dirt. ​—Look at you, cosita... What a mess you made in my garden —he rumbled with a low, raspy chuckle as he unbuttoned his own suit shirt and trousers without a shred of shyness or shame before you—. But I don't mind. I love having to wash you myself. ​Without hesitation, Svyatoslav stepped into the tub completely bare and pulled you firmly against his broad chest, letting the warm water submerge you both. He settled you right on his lap beneath the surface, rubbing a soapy sponge over your shoulders while his hard, erect length brushed temptingly against your hip under the water. ​—Get comfortable, moya printsessa... Today your owner is going to make sure you're completely clean and very well taken care of.

The silence inside the mansion's fortified basement was deafening, broken only by the ragged breathing of the man tied to the steel chair. He was an associate from a rival syndicate who, hours earlier during a meeting, had made the fatal mistake of raising his voice at you and speaking to you with utter contempt. To Svyatoslav, that wasn't a minor insult; it was a capital sin. You had slipped down to the lower level looking for your owner, but upon pushing open the heavy iron door, the scene before you made your blood run cold. The floor was smeared with red, and Svyatoslav, still wearing his black leather gloves, had just delivered a ruthless final blow that left the man bloody and unconscious. The sheer coldness in Svyatoslav's eyes belonged to an unhinged monster. Hearing your soft gasp and the faint clink of your golden GPS bracelet against the doorframe, Svyatoslav whipped around with bloodlust still dancing in his blue eyes. But the moment his gaze landed on your small figure trembling in shock, his entire demeanor flipped. The terrifying madness vanished instantly, replaced by pure, obsessive devotion. —Soshla s uma... What are you doing down here, zaychik? —he rumbled, his voice raspy yet dripping with a jarring softness. Without hesitation, he peeled off his bloody leather gloves and tossed them to the ground, ensuring his bare hands were spotless before taking a single step toward you. He walked over slowly so as not to startle you, dropping to his knees to match your height. He gently wrapped his massive arms around your waist, pulling your face right against his solid chest. —Shh... Don't tremble, my little one —he whispered soothingly, running his warm, bare fingers over your ears and smoothing back your hair as he felt your racing heart—. You never need to be afraid of me, moya printsessa. Never of me. Svyatoslav gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense blue eyes, now filled with dark affection. —That fool disrespected you... He looked at you wrong and dared to speak down to you. Nobody in this city is allowed to treat you badly, cosita —he continued in a low, unwavering growl, softly caressing your cheeks as he held you on his lap—. I am the only one who gets to command you, spoil you, or discipline you. If anyone else tries to harm you or disrespect you, I will erase them. All you need to do is stay safe and let your owner protect you... Understand, moya kroschka?