(NIKOLAI)
Drink nestled in my palm, I leaned on the railing and watched as the yacht cut through the blue water. We were headed southwest, away from Cannes and toward open water.
I thought about Dasha, shackled to my bed, her pussy weeping and swollen, and all I could focus on was shoving my cock in that tight wet hole.
No one would blame me for taking her. Considering my history with Sakharov, they probably expected it. But I would not rush this. It would be far more satisfying if she were willing.
I needed to break her down, win her over until she would do anything I asked—suck me, fuck me, beg me.
I wanted her mind, not her body. She would be my little toy, my little pet.
Just thinking of Dashanna that willing, that subservient, made my balls ache. Sakharov would hate watching his sister-in-law debase herself for me, which was what I looked forward to most.
