Dance of Ruin: Chapter 12

She flinches when the whiskey spills.

She lets out a gasp, sharp and high in her throat, like the cold shocked her nerves and jolted her brain back into her body.

Slowly, I turn to her.

There’s something so goddamn beautiful about this moment—her bare skin shining under the office lights, knees red from the hardwood floor, the curve of her spine glistening with the line of liquid sliding down it and over the tight swell of her ass.

Her hands are still bound behind her by the white silk ribbon, wrists crossed at the small of her back. Knees spread.

And her face…

Her face is perfectly wrecked, ruined beauty: eyes wide. Cheeks flushed. Lip bitten raw from nerves, or trying not to beg. Maybe both.

Probably both.

I let the silence stretch out before I reach down, pluck the glass from her back, and set it on the desk.

Then I stand and roll my neck.

“Up,” I say, voice monotone.

She looks at me, staring, like she didn’t quite hear.

I raise a brow. “Stand up, Naomi.”

She struggles a little, her body stiff from kneeling, but she gets to her feet. Her shoulders curl in on themselves, trying to shield what’s already been exposed.

I step behind her and reach for her shoulders. She shivers when I touch her.

Good.

I press one hand between her shoulder blades and push forward until her chest hits the desk.

“Feet apart,” I say. “Back arched. Don’t fucking move.”

She trembles but obeys.

I let my hand hover over the curve of her ass.

“You spilled my drink,” I say casually.

“I’m sor⁠—”

“I didn’t ask for an apology.”

She clamps her mouth shut.

“Count,” I say.

Then I bring my hand down.

The sound echoes sharply through the office.

“One,” she choke-whispers.

I smile.

I like that broken, wrecked, whimpered sound.

I spank the other cheek, letting the sting blossom and her skin turn pink beneath my palm.

“Two.”

Her voice wavers.

I keep going. Spank after spank after spank, alternating sides. Letting my hand linger just a little longer after each strike. Watching her unconsciously wriggle and arch.

Squirming.

Like her body is fighting itself, trying not to come apart.

And fuck me, is it mesmerizing.

I glance past her shoulder, looking at her cheek pressed flat to the desk, eyes squeezed shut.

Her mouth is open, her breathing ragged. And that bottom lip—bitten red and trembling.

That doesn’t look like a woman being punished to me.

That looks like a woman desperately trying not to come.

I growl low in my throat, bringing my hand down harder than before.

“Keep counting.”

“Nine,” she gasps with a hitching sound.

Without warning, I slide my hand between her thighs. I grin instantly when my hand cups her pussy.

She’s fucking soaked, her heat pulsing against my hand. I slowly run two fingers through her slippery wet lips, then pull them away and show her.

“Look,” I growl, holding them close to her. “Dripping,” I murmur. “And all over my desk, too.”

She keeps her eyes shut, and her face turns a deeper shade of red as a needy sound whines in her throat.

I lean in, my mouth near her ear.

“Tell me why that is, ballerina.”

She shakes her head.

I tsk. “No answer? Well, maybe you’d like to hear my theory.”

I slide my fingers back between her thighs and slowly begin to rub her clit.

“Ithink you’re dripping all over this desk because you like being punished. Used.”

She whimpers under my touch. My reply is to sink two fingers into her wet cunt. Naomi chokes on a moan, toes twisting against the floor as her hips writhe.

I curl my fingers just enough to make her gasp.

“I haven’t even fucked you yet, and your pussy’s already acting like it’s mine.”

I lean in closer, letting my words sink into her skin.

“Keep pretending you hate this, Naomi. I’ll just keep proving you wrong.”

Her hands are still bound behind her back with the ribbon. Her body is quivering from the spanking, from shame, from the feeling of my fingers sliding through her soaked pussy, filling the room with the wet sound of her lies.

And I haven’t even really started yet.

“Get back on the desk,” I say quietly.

She hesitates, blinking rapidly. Then she scrambles up; it’s a little awkward with her wrists still tied. I step in and catch her when she nearly slips, gripping her by the waist and hoisting her like she weighs nothing.

Her skin is fever-warm. Her thighs tremble as I make a few adjustments, positioning her exactly how I want her.

Like my own personal little fuck toy.

When I’m finished, she’s lying on her back across the desk, her feet flat against the surface, knees raised.

Legs apart. Completely open for me.

Completely mine.

I look down at her—at the flush spreading over her chest, at her dark, rosy nipples, tight and aching, at the pure, trembling need etched across her face even as she valiantly tries to hide it.

At the pinkness between her thighs, and her swollen, glistening pussy.

I reach down and undo my belt. Naomi’s eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open in a mix of shock, nerves, fear, and lust as I undo my pants, reach inside, and wrap a hand around my fat cock.

“Are—” Her words catch as her face flames. “Are you going to fuck me?” she whispers.

It’s a little fearful.

A little bit innocent.

And hugely desperate.

It breaks something in me.

She doesn’t know what she’s asking for, not yet.

But she will.

I pull out my swollen, thick cock, my hand wrapping around the base and giving it a slow stroke.

Naomi’s jaw fucking drops, her eyes lasering in on my dick as I grin smugly.

What can I say? I’m blessed.

…And pierced, while we’re on the subject.

Naomi sucks in a breath so sharp she could cut herself on it, staring at my cock.

I just stand between her spread legs, stroking myself, letting my gaze drag over her flushed, trembling, taut body.

Slowly, I bring my cock to her pussy. I don’t push inside. Not yet. I just let her feel it as I roll my hips and glide my swollen shaft through her messy lips.

Her hips twitch upward, as if her body’s trying to pull me in all on its own.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

She bites her lip so hard, I think she might bleed.

“No,” she breathes.

I spank her ass. Hard.

“Lying earns more punishment,” I say darkly. Then I lean over her, letting my cock rub along her slick, hot little pussy again.

“But no,” I murmur, mouth brushing her ear. “I’m not going to fuck you…”

I smile as her thighs tense, her hips shifting under me.

“Not yet.”

She whines in the back of her throat.

“I am going to come using one of your greedy little holes, though.”

I lean back, grinning inwardly as I watch her try to process that as I move around the desk, slowly and steadily.

She keeps her eyes on me, following my every move until I’m standing behind her head, her body still laid across the desk, feet planted on the wood, knees apart, wrists bound, hair spilling like ink over the edge.

I brush her cheek.

“Open your mouth, ballerina,” I say.

Naomi’s eyes are wide open, starting at my throbbing cock. She nervously chews at her lip again, but I notice the way her nipples harden even more. The way her thighs clench.

The glistening, dripping arousal between them.

“Of course, if you’d rather,” I murmur quietly. “That plug has probably stretched you out enough that I might be able to cram my fat cock up your tight little asshole, if you’d like to go that route instead…”

Naomi flushes dark red.

But she doesn’t look at me furiously, or with horror, or distaste. Just like she’s desperately trying to hold something back.

Slowly, she shifts and drops her head back, letting it hang over the edge of the desk and opening her pouty, soft lips.

Her gaze meets mine, and something deep and helpless in it shudders.

“Good girl,” I murmur, running my thumb along her top lip before sliding it into her mouth.

She moans softly as I press it against her tongue.

Then I pull it out and grip her jaw with one hand, the other wrapped around the base of my cock.

Her mouth stays open, waiting.

Wanting.

“Eyes on me,” I say quietly.

And then I slide in: just the head at first—thick, hot, stretching her lips wide as her eyes bulge in surprise.

Fuck. Me.

I bite back a deep groan as her lips wrap around my head. As her tongue tentatively licks the very tip, toying exploratorily over my piercing.

Fucking fuck, I think I just fell in love with this mouth.

Instinctively, I rock my hips forward, groaning again as her jaw stretches to its limit. She gags slightly when I hit the back of her throat, but doesn’t pull away.

God, she’s so clearly not very practiced at this. I can feel it in every hesitant flick of her tongue. But there’s no hesitation in her eyes.

Only heat. Shame. Desire.

I thrust a little deeper. Her eyes flutter, her throat tightening as she sputters slightly. Spit and precum bubble where her lips are stretched taut around my cock.

I begin to fuck her mouth in slow, deliberate strokes, one hand gripping her hair, the other steadying her head.

I’m not gentle.

I’m going to push her.

I’m no sadist, but this is about control. It’s me using her exactly how I want—and her letting me.

Spit dribbles down her cheeks as she chokes and moans around me, her jaw opening wider. Her brows knit when I slide deeper, pushing into her throat. She gags again, a broken sound echoing in the space between us.

I don’t stop.

I twist my fingers in her hair, wrapping my other hand around her throat to pull her slightly closer and angle her head perfectly.

“Look at you,” I rasp. “Taking my dick like a good little fuck toy. Like a greedy, eager little cocksucker.”

She moans around me, eyes fluttering closed for just a second—then opening again, wild and hazy.

Her tongue is everywhere. Her lips suck greedily. She’s drooling on her own neck and she doesn’t even realize it.

My hand slides over her chest, palming her breast. Her nipple is hard as glass, and I roll it between my fingers, grunting when her body arches, even in this position.

I slip my other hand down, between her legs, to her clit.

She jolts. Moans. Whimpers.

I grin.

“What a hungry pussy,” I taunt, fingers rubbing tight circles over the little bundle of nerves that has her trembling. “Making such a fucking mess, like a good girl.”

She moans around my cock, shuddering. Her tongue begins to work faster as it swirls around my swollen head.

“Say thank you, Naomi,” I groan. “Thank me for your punishment. Say ‘Thank you, Sir, for wrecking me’.”

She groans deeply, eyes rolling back in her head as she hollows her cheeks around my cock. She mumbles words that might be what I just told her to say. Either way, the vibrations from her attempts have my balls drawing up tight.

Fuck, I could come just from watching her pretty lips struggle to take it all.

I reach over her with both hands now, plunging two fingers from one into her pussy, sliding the other down to grip the base of the small plug. Her whimpers grow louder, needier, and more desperate as I start to twist it slowly, letting the friction tease her ass.

She doesn’t just moan. Doesn’t merely whimper.

She goes berserk.

Naomi starts to writhe and shake and shudder. Her knees tremble, her toes curling against the edge of the desk as I stroke two fingers in and out of her dripping wet pussy and twist the plug in her ass.

I groan deeply, ramming my cock into the back of her throat. She hums and moans around me, sucking wetly and loudly, the wet, squelching sound of my dick fucking her mouth filling the office.

I can feel it…the clench. The shift in her breath. The stuttering tension in her legs.

Then she breaks, like a wave crashing against the shore.

Her spine arches and a cry of release wrenches from her throat as her mouth goes slack around my cock. A high, strangled sound escapes her, muffled and desperate, and then her whole body seizes up, the orgasm ripping through her like a live wire.

She’s coming.

From my fingers on her clit. From my cock down her throat. From the shame. The control. Me.

And I lose every shred of restraint I had left.

I grip the sides of her face and fuck her mouth harder, deeper, groaning through gritted teeth as my own release barrels down on me.

When it hits, it’s like a bomb.

My hips jerk forward, my cock pulsing between her lips as I spill into her mouth. Her throat tightens around me as she struggles to take it, and the sight of her—spit-slicked, cheeks wet, eyes wide and mascara running, the last traces of surrender—hits me harder than anything ever has.

With a final groan, my balls empty the last of my sticky cum down her throat, and I slowly pull out.

Something dark and twisted deep inside me revels at the mess I’ve made of her.

Her lips are red and swollen. Her makeup is trashed. Her chest rises and falls in sharp, heaving bursts. She’s covered in cum and spit.

She swallows.

Then her eyes lift to mine, and I feel that thing I’ve been trying not to name welling up.

Not lust.

Not power.

Something much, much worse.

I should say something cold. Dismissive. Cruel, even. Push her back down into that shame spiral to keep the upper hand.

Instead, I hear myself say, “You’ll never belong to anyone else. Understand?”

She doesn’t speak, just nods, eyes still locked on mine like I’ve taken something sacred from her. Maybe I have.

I tuck myself back into my pants. Adjust my cuffs. Reclaim the distance.

I don’t really know what the fuck just happened between us. But the game has changed. I’m not the same man who walked into this room an hour ago. And she’s not the same girl I told to strip and be my side table.

Naomi slides weakly off my desk, not meeting my eyes as she twists herself free of the ribbon. I turn to catch her about to clean her face off.

“Don’t.”

She stiffens, turning toward me. I shake my head as I hand her back her clothes.

“Don’t what?” she says quietly, still not really looking at me.

“Don’t wipe it off,” I growl. “Leave my fucking cum right there on your face. And keep it there for the rest of the day.”

This time she does look at me, her jaw dropping.

“What?” She shakes her head. “I can’t⁠—”

“You can. And you will. So that everyone who sees you knows you’re spoken for,” I murmur darkly.

She gulps. “I’m not riding the subway with…with…” She blushes pure beet red, averting her eyes. “With cum on my face,” she finally manages to whisper.

I scowl. “You’re right, you’re not. You don’t ride the subway anymore. My driver will take you home.”

Her face is still red as she raises her dark eyes to me, something sparking in them. “I—I’m going to the theater after this. I can’t⁠—”

“You can. It’s just men that I don’t want to see you like that.”

She frowns, shaking her head. “I’m confused. You do want people to see me like this? Or you don’t?”

Fuck. I’m twisting even myself up here. I don’t know what the fuck I mean.

I clear my throat as she pulls on her leggings.

“My driver will take you to the theater. And you’ll keep that”—I point to the cum on her cheek and chin as she blushes darkly—“right there, so they all know you belong to someone.”

She’s zipping up her hoodie now. “There are male dancers in the company, too.”

Shit.

I suddenly remember the guys who dance with the Zakharova—in particular, this Vaughn fucker Bianca is always talking about who seems to be very friendly with the girls…

“And I’m guessing your driver is a man⁠—”

“Fine. Go wash your face off,” I mutter, nodding my chin at the bathroom.

Well, so much for that grand plan of sending her home with the flag of a conqueror raised over freshly annexed territory.

Naomi nods and turns, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door. A minute later, she steps back out with a freshly scrubbed face, devoid of cum, spit, or smudged mascara.

Fucking bummer.

She starts to walk to the door. Halfway there, she frowns and turns back to me.

“Nico?”

“M-hmm,” I grunt, slipping a cigarette between my lips.

“How long am I⁠—”

“Mine?” I lift an easy shoulder, raising my eyes to hers. “Until whenever.”

Her lips press together. “I… I need an end date.”

“Well, that’s a shame. And a good lesson in not always getting what we want.”

“Nico—”

“Convince your father to come down here and stick a gun in his fucking mouth,” I snap, “and we’ll talk. Until then, you’re mine. Forever.”

That last word kinda sneaks in there and comes out swinging.

Weird.

Naomi shakes her head. “That… No.”

I arch a brow as I flick the lighter and touch the end of my cigarette to it. I inhale, the cherry glowing at the tip before I snap the Zippo shut.

“Yes.”

She shakes her head again. “No, Nico.”

“Or what?”

She stiffens, pursing her lips.

“Or you’ll what, Naomi?”

She drops her eyes, brow furrowing as she picks her cuticles. “I…nothing. I just⁠—”

“Fine,” I mutter, sucking on the smoke. “Six months. You’re mine in every way for six months. Then we’re done.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Two.”

“Six.”

“Three.”

“Still six.”

Her brows knit. “Four. Please.”

“Seven.”

“You can’t⁠—”

“Just did.”

She shivers. “Fine,” she mumbles. “Six.”

“Masterful negotiating skills.”

She shoots me a look. “You do understand that your sister is one of my best friends, right? And that I had nothing to do with⁠—”

“But your fucking father did,” I growl, spreading my arms. “So again: here we are.”

She nods quietly, looking down.

“Six months.”

“Six months,” I parrot.

She scuffs her toe on the floor. “And that includes…”

“Everything.”

Her eyes snap to mine, full of fear and excitement.

“And yes, Naomi—that definitely includes fucking you.”

“When?” she mumbles.

“Hmm. That depends.”

She frowns. “On?”

“On if you like surprises.”

Her face heats and her eyes widen.

“What about consent?” she blurts.

I shrug. “You’re giving it now.”

“What?” She frowns. “N-no, I’m not.”

“It’s implied.”

“Like hell it is.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Fine. We’ll use a safe word.”

“And what’s the safe word?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

She nods, thinking. “Fine. Odile.”

“Excuse me?”

“Odile,” she repeats. “In Swan Lake, there’s Odette, the white swan that the villain has put under a spell, and Odile, the black swan. She’s the villain’s daughter.”

“How poetic. Fine. Odile will be your safe word.”

“And when I say that, you stop, no matter what?”

Begrudgingly, I nod. “Yes.”

“In that case…” She looks right at me. “Odile.”

“Yeah, that’s not how it works.”

Her brows furrow. “I don’t understand—” She gasps as I surge across the room, forcing her back until she hits the wall by the door, my hands planted on either side of her, caging her in.

“In that case, little swan,” I murmur, “I’ll just have to explain better next time.”

She shivers. “Which will be?”

“When you least expect it. Sort of like this.”

I never planned for it to play out this way. The point was to tear her down. Ruin her. Destroy Leonard’s sweet little chaste ballerina daughter and show him that hiding behind secret service agents won’t stop me from making him bleed, even if it has to be through her.

But those plans collapse exactly half a second before I grab her jaw, slide my fingers back into her hair, and crush my lips to hers in a brutal, claiming kiss.

She stiffens at first. But as my tongue demands entrance, pushing into her mouth to dance with her own, she starts to melt for me.

Her lips open wider. Her tongue swirls with mine as her hands fall lightly against my chest.

A shiver skitters through her body as I steal the breath from her lungs and the innocence from her skin.

I kiss her until my teeth get involved. I start to see black and red as I crush her against the wall, sinking my teeth into her bottom lip. Naomi whimpers against me, gasping into my mouth as coppery wetness floods both our tongues.

It’s only then that I pull away.

My eyes land on the smear of blood on her lips. Without thinking, I reach out and run my thumb slowly over it, smearing the red across it like a brand.

A mark.

A giant blinking neon sign that simply says “mine.”