The sound was low, almost affectionate, vibrating through his chest into hers.

Then he leaned down and pressed a small, soft kiss to her forehead.

Mira's entire body went still.

Her mind blanked.

'What...?'

"I'm sorry," Viktor murmured, his lips still close to her skin, "for what Helena told you."

Her breath hitched behind his palm.

"It's the first time she's ever acted like that."

Mira blinked, confusion flooding her along with everything else.

Helena's harsh words from earlier—'know your boundaries, you're not suited to stand beside a nobleman'—suddenly made sense. She'd been 'jealous'. And now Viktor was... apologizing?

Slowly, carefully, Viktor removed his hand from her mouth.

Mira gasped, sucking in air, her lips trembling. She turned her face away, unable to meet his eyes, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"It's... it's fine, Young Lord," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She gave a small, shaky nod. "I understand."

Her lips were wet—from his palm, from her own saliva, from the tears still streaking her face. They glistened in the moonlight, full and soft.

Viktor's gaze dropped to them.

And lingered.

Mira felt his eyes on her mouth, and without thinking, she bit her lower lip, a nervous, involuntary gesture.

"You look beautiful, you know?"

The words were quiet. Matter-of-fact.

Her heart fluttered, a foolish, traitorous thing in her chest.

"Please don't joke with me, Young Lord," she whispered, shaking her head slightly. Her voice wavered. "I... I know I'm not... I'm ugly. I'm not good enough. I'm just—"

"How do you know you're ugly?"

Viktor's voice cut through her spiral, firm but not unkind.

Mira blinked, her mouth opening and closing, the words dying on her tongue.

Before she could speak again, he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"I'll wait for you tomorrow."

Her entire body went rigid.

"Young Lord, I... I'm sorry, I can't—"

"I'll wait for you tomorrow," he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "If you come to me. Alone."

Mira's breath caught, her heart pounding so hard she thought he must be able to hear it.

"I promise you," Viktor murmured, his lips still so close to her ear she could feel each word, "I'll create a family with you. The way you like."

Her eyes widened, fresh tears spilling over.

'A family... with me?'

And then his lips pressed against her cheek—a soft, lingering peck that sent a shiver down her spine.

Before she could process it, his mouth moved to her ear again, his voice dropping into something dark, raw, possessive.

"I'll fuck you harder than Helena."

The words slammed into her like a fist.

Her pupils were blown wide, nearly swallowing the color. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp, lips trembling.

Viktor's hand moved with sudden purpose.

His fingers found her nipple through the dress—that thick nub pressing against fabric. He pinched it between thumb and forefinger, squeezing hard.

The nipple was massive. Easily as thick as his thumb, maybe thicker. It hardened instantly under his grip, the tissue going rigid.

Viktor twisted.

"Ahh—!" Mira's cry cut off as she bit down on her own lip hard enough to draw blood.

He pulled the nipple, stretching it away from her body. The fabric pulled taut, outlining the obscene length—an inch, maybe more—before he twisted again.

Mira's whole body convulsed.

Her thighs clamped together desperately, hips bucking once, twice—

Then she went rigid.

A dark wet stain spread rapidly across her dress between her thighs. It grew and grew, soaking through the fabric, dripping onto the sofa cushion below.

Squirt.

The sound was barely audible—just a soft, wet rush of fluid escaping.

But Viktor heard it. Felt it. Saw the evidence spreading.

Mira had just cum from a single nipple pinch.

Her eyes rolled back, lids fluttering. Her mouth hung open, drool sliding from the corner to soak into the cushion. Her entire body shook with violent tremors, pussy still pulsing and gushing inside her dress.

Viktor released her nipple.

The wet fabric clung to the abused nub, outlining its swollen, stretched shape. The dress was transparent now where it soaked through—he could see the dark areola, the reddened tissue, the way it throbbed.

He straightened, looking down at her wrecked form.

Mira lay there gasping, thighs still clenched together, body quaking. Her face was a mess—flushed deep red, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, lips bleeding where she'd bitten through.

But her pussy kept leaking.

The wet spot grew larger, fresh fluid seeping out in rhythmic pulses. Her cunt was still cumming, still clenching around nothing, desperate and empty.

He can't help but smirk at how hot she is, sensually alluring as she gushes like this.

But his voice drifted back to her, quiet and certain.

"I hope you just hand over your body to me, Mira. Let me judge if it's ugly or not."

A pause.

Then, softer, almost a promise:

"My new wife."

Mira lay there on the cold floor, trembling, her mind spinning, her body still twitching with aftershocks.

'Wife...?'

Viktor turned and walked back to his chair—the large armchair positioned between both sofas. His cock swung heavily, fully hard again from the display.

He sank into the cushions with a satisfied grunt, letting his head fall back.

His hand wrapped lazily around his shaft, giving it a few slow strokes—just enough to keep the edge, not enough to finish.

Tomorrow whatever be the choice, it will be of Mira.

Tonight, he'd let her choose as he was feeling a strange pulse after doing rough with helena.

He wanted to try doing it rough but of course, rather than to pleasure himself, its better to ask if his wish will be left unfulfilled or not.

Behind him, Mira lay frozen in place.

Her body was on fire. Every nerve ending screamed, pussy throbbing with need so intense it hurt. The wet fabric clung to her swollen lips, creating friction that only made it worse.

She'd never cum that hard in her life. Not even with the wooden dildo. Not even when her late husband had fucked her.

Just from a pinch.

Just from his words.

Tears streamed down her face as fresh arousal flooded her already-soaked cunt. Her hand trembled, hovering over her thigh—wanting so desperately to reach between her legs and finish what he'd started.

But she couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe properly.

Could only lie there in frustrated, burning agony while her body leaked and clenched and begged for something she couldn't have.

Not yet.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, fresh shame mixing with the arousal.

'What's wrong with me?'

"I-I..." she muttered in that silent hallway to tell how she couldn't do such thing, her voice barely audible but protest,"...need to reject—"

"Helena."

Mira heard it loud and clear amidst her drumming heartbeat, turnibg towards the door way.

Viktor's eyes opened as he thought about doing it rough. It made him feel trashy, but he also realized that he wanted to try it.

If Mira rejected him, then it would be fine; he still had his wife.

He had no plans of using Mira against her will by showing his status—he would rather have a wife than having one nught stand—but as a young man full of vigour, he needed an outlet.

His cock swung hard again.

It throbbed against his belly, demanding more.

His gaze shifted to Helena's sofa.

'Haah... Fuck, you women are currupting me...'

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