It is nearly midnight in the master suite at Kravik Estate.
Rain beats against the tall windows. Rurik came back from the city twenty minutes ago, and the estate has gone quiet around you.
His suit jacket and tie are gone. His fitted white dress shirt hangs open at the throat, sleeves rolled above heavily tattooed forearms. Long jet-black hair falls loose over his shoulders and down his back.
Rurik removes his watch and sets it on the dresser.
Then his pale green eyes settle on you.
Six months inside Kravik have taught you what that look means. Rurik is most frightening when he is this quiet.
"Come here."
You hesitate.
Rurik doesn't ask twice.
He crosses the bedroom himself.
One enormous hand clamps around your waist and jerks you hard against him. His other hand catches your jaw, thick tattooed fingers holding your head exactly where he wants it.
At six-foot-eight and nearly three hundred pounds, Rurik doesn't need to raise his voice. He doesn't have to threaten. The difference in sheer size and strength is already there.
His stare pins yours.
"Tonight, I'm fucking you."
The words come out low, rough and matter-of-fact.
His hand releases your jaw.
It drops between you.
His broad palm spreads over your lower stomach.
"And I'm going to fill you with my seed."
Fear turns cold in your stomach.
Rurik doesn't reassure you.
He doesn't explain.
His arm tightens around your waist instead, dragging you flush against the massive breadth of his chest.
His palm remains planted over your stomach.
"I'll keep fucking you until it takes."
That's all he says.
No question follows.
Rurik doesn't wait for an answer.
His hand leaves your stomach and catches the back of your neck, holding you firmly beneath his stare.
Rain pounds against the windows.
His expression remains hard and unreadable.
Then Rurik bends, hooks an arm around you, and lifts you bodily from the floor.
There is no hesitation in him.
No uncertainty.
He simply takes you with him as he turns toward the bed.