Chapter 229: Before the Gala (R-18)

The pressure in the room kept rising, but this time it was a completely different kind of tension.

Rakshasa was still smiling, but Victor’s gaze changed. What had been playful provocation and relaxed dominance now fixed on her with a predatory intensity she knew well—and deeply craved.

"I promised I’d behave at the party," he repeated, his voice lower, rougher. "I didn’t promise anything about now."

Before she could answer, his hands moved.

Not with the violence of an attack, but with the absolute certainty of someone who knew his territory. One hand wrapped around the back of her neck, fingers sinking into her night-black hair. The other slid down her back, over the curve of her hip, then beneath the back of her thigh.

He lifted her from the floor in one smooth motion, his strong body enclosing hers with an ease that always left her breathless.

Rakshasa let out a small sound of surprise that turned into a gasp when her back met the soft surface of the bed, sinking into a pile of discarded silk dresses.

The scent of expensive fabrics and her perfume filled the air.

Victor gave her no time to adjust.

His body covered hers, knees braced on either side of her hips, hands beside her head, trapping her inside a cage of muscle and intent.

"Since we’ve already decided on the dress," he murmured, his lips hovering only centimeters from hers, "I think we can afford to... delay our departure a little."

She raised an eyebrow, a dangerous and inviting gleam in her red eyes.

"Delay? Victor, we’re the guests of honor."

"They’ll wait," he replied simply, before capturing her lips in a kiss that was neither sweet nor gentle.

It was a claim.

The sound that escaped Rakshasa’s throat was somewhere between a moan and a growl, muffled against his mouth.

Her lips parted under his insistence, his tongue entering with a familiarity that still made her stomach tighten with desire.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, matching his ferocity.

He tasted familiar—old blood, power, and a trace of something wild he had cultivated during months of training.

She savored it, her own tongue meeting his in a lewd, familiar dance.

Victor broke the kiss, leaving her breathless, and moved lower.

His lips traced a burning path along her jaw to the curve of her neck.

He stopped there, where the pulse of her life—or unlife—beat strongly beneath pale skin.

He did not bite.

Not this time.

Instead, he dragged his tongue slowly and wetly down to the base of her throat, where the jewel he had made rested.

He kissed it, feeling the faint warmth of his own essence inside the gem, before continuing downward.

"Victor..." she breathed, her hands sliding over his broad shoulders, nails lightly scraping the thin fabric of his shirt.

He did not answer.

His hands found the fastening of the dress she was still wearing—the black-and-wine one she had rejected.

With practiced movements, he opened it, and the fabric gave way, revealing pale, flawless skin beneath.

He pushed the dress aside until she wore only her thin lingerie—a set of black lace that contrasted sharply with her pallor.

His eyes drank her in.

"Goddesses," he murmured, his voice heavy with lustful admiration. "Every time... it feels like the first."

His fingers traced the edge of the lace bra, following the curve of her breasts.

Rakshasa arched her back, a low moan escaping her lips when his thumb found her hardened nipple through the fabric.

He pinched it lightly, making her shiver.

"Don’t tease," she growled, but her voice broke when he finally undid the bra and tossed it aside.

The cool air of the room touched her heated skin, making her nipples tighten even further, hard and begging for attention.

Victor did not make her wait.

He lowered his head and took one into his mouth.

"Ah!"

Rakshasa’s cry was sharp, rough with pleasure.

Her hips lifted involuntarily from the bed, rubbing against him.

The sensation was electric—his hot, wet tongue licking and sucking, teeth grazing the sensitive tip.

The sounds were wet and obscene, blending with her breathless moans.

He alternated between both breasts, devoting the same hungry attention to each, leaving them glistening with saliva and lightly marked with love bites.

Her moans became a continuous mantra.

"Yes... there... Victor, please..."

Her hands clutched his head, holding him in place.

But he had other plans.

His lips left her breasts, tracing a trail of wet kisses and light bites across the flat of her stomach.

He watched her as he descended, his eyes meeting hers, full of dark promises.

She was completely exposed to him, lying among the dresses like an offering.

Her hips twisted, anticipating what would come next.

When his mouth finally reached the top of her lace panties, Rakshasa held her breath.

He did not remove them immediately.

Instead, he pressed his face against her and inhaled deeply, taking in her unique scent—expensive flowers, ancient power, and the unmistakable smell of her desire.

"You’re soaked," he murmured against the wet fabric, his voice vibrating through the thin material and directly against her clitoris.

She moaned, fingers digging into the dresses around her.

"Victor... don’t make me wait."

He obeyed.

His hands caught the lace and pulled, tearing it apart without ceremony.

The sound of fabric giving way was brutally erotic.

And then she was completely open to him.

He did not start slowly.

He knew her far too well for that.

Instead, his tongue found her swollen, throbbing clitoris in one broad, flat stroke.

The scream that came from Rakshasa was almost a howl.

Her body arched violently, heels digging into the bed.

"Fuck!" she cried, her voice echoing through the silent room.

Victor held her firmly by the hips, pinning her in place as he began working her with his mouth.

It was not gentle licking.

It was pure debauchery.

His tongue was relentless, stroke after stroke focused directly on her most sensitive point.

The sounds coming from him were visceral—wet, sucking sounds from a man shamelessly enjoying her taste and the feel of her.

He drank her wetness, his own satisfied groans vibrating against her flesh.

"Yes... like that... don’t stop... never stop..."

Rakshasa sobbed, her head tossing from side to side, her hair spreading like black ink over the colorful dresses.

One hand buried itself in her own hair, pulling at the strands in tight handfuls of pure ecstasy.

The other grabbed the sheets, twisting them in her fists.

He slid two fingers inside her, curling them against the perfect spot that made her see stars.

She screamed, her body twisting violently.

"There! Oh, god, THERE!"

He increased the pace, tongue and fingers working together in a symphony of pleasure.

The room filled with sound—her rough, uncontrollable moans, the wet obscene noises of her sex being devoured, the rustling of dresses beneath her frantic movements, and his harsh, heavy breathing.

"I’m going to... Victor, I’m going to come..." she moaned, her voice high and broken, muscles trembling around his fingers.

He answered by increasing the pressure of his tongue, sucking hard on her clitoris while his fingers mercilessly hammered that internal point.

The wave hit her with enough force to rip her away from reality.

Her orgasm was a silent cataclysm for one second before exploding into a long, hoarse scream that seemed to tear at her own throat.

Her body curved into an impossible arch, every muscle stretched to its limit before she began trembling violently, continuous spasms shaking her.

Her essence flowed freely, and Victor drank it all, not wasting a drop, his own groans of satisfaction muffled against her.

He let her fall back onto the bed, panting and trembling, her eyes glazed with ecstasy.

He rose onto his knees and looked down at her—wrecked, marked, completely his.

His jeans were tight and uncomfortable, his erection throbbing against the zipper.

With quick movements, he opened his pants and freed himself.

He was huge and pulsing, the dark, wet head already leaking in anticipation.

He did not bother removing the rest of his clothes.

He simply positioned himself between her still-trembling legs, one hand guiding himself, the other holding her hip.

Rakshasa stared at him, her eyes still hazy, but a new fire ignited inside them.

"Inside," she ordered, her voice rough and broken. "Come inside me."

He did not need to be invited twice.

With one deep thrust, he filled her completely.

They both cried out together—his a sound of triumph, hers a hoarse moan of absolute satisfaction.

She was incredibly tight, still pulsing from the spasms of her orgasm, hot and wet as hell itself.

He stopped for a moment, buried to the base, feeling every internal contraction around him.

Then he began to move.

It was not a loving rhythm.

It was fierce, possessive, a physical declaration of everything he felt for her.

Every thrust went deep, striking her cervix and making her cry out.

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her against him with every motion, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room—a wet, repetitive rhythm of carnal impact.

"Mine..." he growled through clenched teeth, muscles tense with effort. "Every... fucking... inch... is mine."

"Yes!" she screamed back, nails scratching his back through the shirt. "Yours! All yours! Harder!"

He obeyed.

His pace became even more brutal.

Faster.

The bed creaked and struck the wall in an obscene rhythm.

Dresses were thrown aside, crushed beneath their frantic movements.

The air grew heavy with the smell of sex, sweat, and her perfume.

Rakshasa was lost in a frenzy of sensation.

Every thrust struck something deep inside her, reigniting flames that had only just been calmed.

Her moans were continuous now, an endless stream of filthy sounds and curses she barely knew she knew.

"Fuck me! Don’t stop! Go, go, go! Come in me! Fill me!"

Victor felt the tension building at the base of his spine, an uncontrollable pressure.

The sight of her beneath him—completely debauched, begging for him, marked by him—was his undoing.

With a final growl that sounded more animal than human, he drove into her one last time, deep, and exploded.

His hot release flooded her, pulsing in powerful waves that seemed endless.

The feeling of her contracting around him, drawing out every last drop, tore one final hoarse groan from him.

He collapsed over her, breathless, his body heavy and satisfied.

Rakshasa wrapped her arms and legs around him, keeping him inside her, feeling the last soft contractions of her own body while his warmth filled her.

The silence that followed was broken only by their heavy breathing.

The room was ruined—dresses everywhere, the bed a mess, the air thick and carnal.

After a long moment, Victor turned his head, his face buried against her neck.

"I think..." he panted, "we’re going to be late for the gala."

Rakshasa laughed, a rough and satisfied sound.

She ran her fingers through his sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck.

"Fuck them," she murmured, sleepy and full of pleasure. "They can start without us."

He kissed her shoulder softly.

"The dress is going to be ruined."

"Buy another."

"And the jewelry?"

She touched the gem at her neck, still warm from their bodies.

"That stays."

He smiled against her skin.

"Good choice."

They stayed silent for a while longer, wrapped around each other, surrounded by the scent of sex and complicity.

Finally, Rakshasa nudged him.

"You’re still inside me."

"It’s a very good place to be."

She giggled.

"Let’s take a bath. A long one. And then..."

She looked toward the black dress on the armchair.

"Then I put that on and we go cause a scandal."

Victor raised his head, his eyes meeting hers.

"We already caused one."

She pulled him into a slow, lewd, wet kiss.

"That one was just for us. The next one..."

She smiled, eyes full of mischief.

"The next one will be for everyone to see."

He laughed, a genuine, happy sound.

"My greedy woman."

"Your woman," she confirmed.

And in the way she said it, it was more than a statement.

It was mutual possession, sealed in sweat, moans, and the still-pulsing heat of their intertwined bodies amid the lush chaos of silk and lace surrounding them.

The gala could wait.

Tonight, like every other night that truly mattered, belonged only to them.