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My sounds of affirmation make him fuck me harder, pushing my legs up against my shoulders, spreading me open, his cock spearing deep inside me as he puts me in this terribly lewd position. We are like two animals, he and I. We are beasts and we are fucking like it. I can hear the sounds of him fucking my pussy, the wetness that gives way every time his thick cock fills me deep and hard.

I feel my animal self howling along with my human mouth as I let out the most feral sounds of satisfaction. There’s nocontrolling it, or myself. I am an animal being bred roughly, and with an abundance of pleasure.

This isn’t romantic anymore. This is primal. He is ferocious and so fucking hot. His hands grasp mine, pulling them up over my head and pinning them down. He pins me in place and he fucks me as if I belong to him—because I do. My toes curl and my breath comes in rasping gasps as I get close to a fourth orgasm that I know will be accompanied by a very deep dose of his seed.

“Fuck, Anya,” he curses. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Those are the last words he can get out before he loses the ability to speak and devolves into animal grunts and growls. He presses me down, my ankles over his shoulders, and he pumps his cum into me, grinding his pubic bone against my clit and giving me that intense fourth fucking orgasm that makes my pussy draw his seed all the way in. I feel myself gripping him as we both tremble and grind in the heat of passion, and as his cock swells and that knot forms inside me, I know that I am well and truly bred.

CHAPTER 6

We are in Prague.

Alexei travels a lot, alot. I have never disobeyed his orders before, but on this afternoon, I very much want to go out to a bar. It all starts because as I sit at lunch with him, I watch small groups of students pass by on the streets. I used to be a student. I used to have a free life of experiments and no responsibility, and nobody looked up to me, and I got drunk whenever I wanted.

I know it’s petty to be drawn back to that time, to miss being poor and unimportant now. It’s ungrateful, really. I don’t dare express it out loud. I know if I were to say that I wanted to put on some normal clothes, dress down, and just be a normal person again, I’d sound like I was throwing all these opportunities in the pack’s face.

Instead, I am wearing a Chanel blazer and blouse with a skirt. It’s a cute outfit, but it separates me from one set of people and makes me very much a part of a different class. At first, wearing things like this made me feel special. I was overwhelmed with all the goodies associated with this lifestyle. I play with a Cartiercharm bracelet on my wrist, knowing that each of the charms costs more than a whole set of classes in college. I could pay off the mortgage of my mom’s old place with the contents of my jewelry box.

I’m rich, but it’s a strange kind of hollow experience. I know if I asked Alexei, he would buy me basically anything. I could ask for a car, a pony, probably a boat. This man has more money at his disposal than anybody I have ever met, and he is generous with it.

“Of course there’s the entire Balkans region to consider…”

Alexei and the people we’re with are talking about some topic or other. Aside from the initial introductions, I haven’t been paying attention. It’s all very complex local politics, and I can’t follow it. Well, I don’t want to follow it. I also don’t care that much about it. My opinion wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m a trophy, basically. I’m the one who smiles and laughs when she’s supposed to smile and laugh.

I watch as the students grab a table outside at a nearby, much cheaper and more relaxed café, and chat with each other. I don’t understand a word they’re saying, but I can see the way they’re interacting. There’s so much lightness in their demeanors. They’re teasing one another, laughing at in-jokes, probably. They’re free of the weight of the world.

I remember when I was like that, about four months ago. Before my mom died. Before my friends were slaughtered. Before I became the first wife to the Russian wolf president.

Before I know it, I’m excusing myself to go to the bathroom. There are always guards on us, but they don’t follow me to the bathroom. They just watch the way in and out.

I know what I’m doing is wrong, but the bathrooms in this place have good size windows to the outside. Before I know what I’ve done, I’m standing in the alley next to the restaurant. Next, I am walking—actually kind of running—across the road, down the block, around the corner until I find another bar where there’s a bunch of students all drinking.

I go in, trying to get my brain to stop thinking. I don’t want to process my actions. I don’t want to think about how much trouble I will inevitably be in when or if Alexei works out what I’m doing. I just want to follow my impulses.

The bartender asks me what I’d like to drink. At least, I assume that’s what he asks me.

“Absinthe,” I say.

I heard it is what Van Gough was drinking when he cut his ear off, so it feels like it is historic that way. I also know that it’s the sort of thing that will get you off your face quick as hell, and that’s what I want. I want to stop thinking.

He gives me the shot, and I give him some money. How much, I don’t really know. I reach for it, but before I can pick it up, he sets the shot on fire. Blue flame plays across the top of the little glass before extinguishing itself.

“What the…”

“It’s part of it,” he says in better English than I deserve. “Makes it less toxic.”

I like his accent, and though I don’t know that it’s good to drink something that the tender just described aslesstoxic, I drink it anyway.

It’s terrible. Truly fucking awful. I don’t know why anybody would drink this. I don’t know why anybody would make it. It seems like an abomination, a crime against alcohol.

“Another one, please.”

I hear myself ask for a second, and then I watch the flame burn for a second time, and then I feel the inferno running down my throat and into my belly. I’ve never been instantly drunk before, but I’m pretty sure I just achieved that milestone.

I hear laughter. The students are chatting loudly. It feels as though there’s an almost endless supply of happy young people in this city. I want to be one of them. I wobble over to the table, wave hi, and introduce myself. At least that’s what I thought I’d do. In practice, what I actually do is stumble over to a group of strangers and fall into the table, straight into it, sending glasses and drinks and I think a sandwich and fries flying.

There’s a general cry of outrage, and some laughter. Some of the boys help drag me up out of the wreckage, setting me on my feet. Unfortunately, the rest of my body doesn’t seem to be able to align itself with them. I flop and I sort of slump. I can’t hold myself up.

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