Please, Set Me Free

Dear Reader, before you read this story I would like to warn you that it has content I do not recommend for people under 18. It has a few steamy scenes or scenes that could be disturbing.

Vera：POV

The clock showed it was past midnight, and I was fast asleep. After a long day, all I wanted was to rest. Suddenly, I felt a heavy weight pressing my petite form deeper into the mattress.

In panic, I opened my eyes and found those cold blue eyes staring back at me. I didn't need light to know it was my husband. I knew everything about him—his touch, his scent of expensive cologne mixed with whiskey.

"Why are you still wearing panties? Haven't I told you to always be ready for me?" he growled dangerously in my ear, his hot breath making me tremble.

I had been so exhausted that I fell asleep immediately, forgetting his warning. I hadn’t been feeling well lately, but such an excuse would hold no weight with Viktor Korsolov, the most formidable mafia lord in Western Russia. Though handsome and wealthy, he was incredibly dangerous—no one dared anger him.

Our marriage was a traditional arranged union. Viktor married me only because his grandfather insisted.

I was an orphan who once belonged to a complete family, but my parents met with an accident and perished. By chance, I saved his grandfather's life, and following our acquaintance, his grandfather had come to perceive me as a compassionate and benevolent individual, deeming me the idyllic consort for his esteemed grandson.

When Viktor refused, his grandfather threatened to disinherit him, including his mafia empire and enterprises. In the Russian underworld, his grandfather was a figure no one dared defy.

Viktor treated me with icy disdain, convinced that I married him solely for his wealth, never missing a chance to exhibit his contempt.

"What are you thinking about? Always so distracted. Perhaps thinking of another man?" His frigid tone severed my reverie, his words permeating the air with glacial intensity.

"No, Mr. Korsolov, I'm not..." I hurriedly denied, but he wasn't listening.

His blue eyes gleamed dangerously. He was naked, his muscular chest pressing against me, his hardness against my thigh. My body reacted involuntarily, making me feel ashamed at my uncontrollable response.

When he tore my panties and entered me without warning, I cried out in pain, unprepared and unwilling.

"Damn, too dry," Viktor grunted in disgust. "How many times have I told you to shower before bed? You smell terrible."

After three years of marriage, I had accepted he didn't love me, but the constant insults were killing me. Yet, I still hoped one day he would love me.

"Look at me," he commanded, "When I'm fucking you, you must look at me."

I averted his gaze, but in the subsequent moment, he gently drew near, burying his face in the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply. His lips delicately caressed my skin, evoking waves of warmth that cascaded through me.

Involuntarily, I bit my lower lip, endeavoring to suppress the palpitations within my heart. As his kisses intensified, an electric current-like sensation emanated from the depths of my being, enveloping me in an emotion so irresistible that I found myself utterly captivated.

I couldn’t help but call out, "Ah, Viktor!"

He stopped immediately. "What did you just say?" he whispered dangerously.

"I... I'm sorry, Mr. Korsolov," I stammered. I wasn't allowed to use his first name—only family and friends could.

"That's right. I'm only Mr. Korsolov to you," he asserted coldly. "Remember your place, Vera. You're just my nominal wife, nothing more."

His fingers found my sensitive spot again. "Fuck, you taste so bad," he taunted, licking his fingers, but his actions contradicted his words as he closed his eyes in satisfaction.

My eyes stung with tears. I wanted to push him away, to scream, but I knew better than to challenge him. I stared back, expecting disgust, but his eyes remained unreadable, as if I were the most beautiful thing in the world.

"See, your body is honest," he said hoarsely, "Even though you claim you don't want it, you're so tight, so eager."

He thrust fiercely, entering me again. His lips found mine, kissing hungrily. His tongue invaded my mouth, possessing it completely. His kiss was passionate and greedy, contrasting his usual coldness.

"Tell me you like this," he whispered, "Tell me you like the way I fuck you."

I remained silent, just biting my lip.

"So stubborn," he chuckled, "I like you this way."

I couldn't understand why he harbored such animosity, yet couldn't go a night without me. If I didn't know better, I might mistake his actions for love. But he was Viktor Korsolov—ruthless, cruel, heartless; he had no feelings for me.

As he increased his pace, I feared getting hurt.

"Wait, Mr. Korsolov!" I blurted out in panic.

"What's wrong?" he asked irritably, but slowed down.

"Please, be gentle tonight," I whispered.

"Why?" he asked, though his eyes flashed concern, "You never complain about my methods."

"I... I'm not feeling well," I murmured.

He forced me to look at him. For a moment, I thought I saw concern in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by disdain.

"What is this? A new trick?" he narrowed his eyes.

I remained silent. Growing impatient, he positioned my legs over his shoulders, entering deeper, hitting my most sensitive spot.

"I enjoy seeing you in pain beneath me," he smiled wickedly. "Your eyes wet, lips parted, as if begging for more."

I lay there passively, letting him have his way. Surprisingly, despite his words, Viktor became gentle. His movements became rhythmic, his hands caressing every part of me that could bring pleasure.

My body betrayed me, surrendering to pleasure. Wave after wave washed over me as I bit my lip, trying not to make a sound.

"No need to pretend," he whispered, "I know you like this."

His hands explored my body, one on my breast, the other finding my clitoris. The multiple stimulation was impossible to resist. I felt heat rising from my abdomen, spreading throughout my body.

"That's it," he encouraged, "Come for me."

I reached my peak uncontrollably, pleasure making me arch my back, a moan escaping my lips.

Viktor quickened his pace, pursuing his own release. After nearly two hours, having finished inside me three times, he collapsed exhausted. I gently rolled him to his side because he was too heavy for me.

A worry weighed on my mind. For days, I'd been feeling sick. When I missed my period, I already guessed the truth. This morning's test confirmed my fears: I was pregnant.

A mixture of emotions flooded me—joy, fear, uncertainty. But foremost was the daunting task of telling Viktor. He had made it clear from the beginning he didn't want children with me.

"I will never have children, especially not with you," he had once said, "I don't need an heir, nor want anything that would distract me."

His words had hurt then, and now made me more afraid. Yet deep down, beneath the fear, I harbored hope—perhaps Viktor would accept this child; this could be a new beginning for us.

But would it really be as I hoped?