Sweet revenge
Pairing: Valentin x reader (female)
Authors note: this is me processing the S3E5 of The White Lotus.
Warnings: SMUT 18+. I keep thinking of Valentin as a dom, I don't by his polite smile. Even if I usually enjoy dom reader more, with him it just doesn't work. 😅 So sub/dom vibes, slight degradation, oral m receiving, fingering, p in v
Word Count: 5,4 K
Summary: your marriage is a farce, your husband ignores you, and you are fed up with this mundane existance of being simply unseen until a certain sexy health mentor notices you
“Ready for some yoga, today?” The smile the handsome health mentor beams at you could probably melt an iceberg but it is helpless against your brooding mood. The familiar aroma of fresh coffee hits your nose as you raise the cup to your lips and take a slow, savouring sip, while your eyes wander to the other side of the table.
He’s always busy. Your husband. Even now, sitting within arm’s reach, he’s hidden behind a massive morning newspaper, his only response to your question about visiting the famous Buddhist temple around the corner – a barely audible "Khm."
You wouldn’t be surprised if his choice of hotel for your second anniversary had been dictated by its strict ban on electronic devices, so that he could perfectly hide himself and keep avoiding you even during breakfast – the only time you actually spend together – buried behind that stupid newspaper.
The thought of enduring another day of yoga, meditation, and stress management sessions makes you want to scream, and you are quite sure even the threat of execution wouldn’t make you sit through it again. No wonder the smile you force onto your face barely holds, drawing a slight furrow of concern from your ever-charming instructor.
“Lady is not feeling well today?” he asks suddenly, and you nearly choke on your coffee. Is it that obvious?
No, you are not feeling well. You fucking hate this stupid hotel. You hate the so-called healthy breakfast, the endless polite smiles and shallow bows.
And most of all, you hate the man sitting across from you, pretending you don’t exist.
“I think I want to do something fun today,” you look up from your coffee cup, watching as the fine steam curls in the bright sunlight, casting a shimmering silver veil over your health mentor and making him look somewhat mysterious. “I think I might skip the yoga.”
You wait. Will there be a reaction from the other side of the newspaper? A word? A glance? Anything?
Nothing. Sometimes, you wonder if he even exists, or if he’s just a phantom conjured by some cruel, unending nightmare.
It had never been about love, that much was clear from the start. This was a deal, a calculated merger between the two wealthiest steel companies, sealed in marriage.
And yet, you had hoped. Even if there was no passion, no fairytale romance, you had hoped the two of you could at least be partners, friends and allies in business and in life.
But it became very quickly painfully obvious that was never on your husband’s agenda.
The silence from behind the newspaper stretches unbearably long, you exhale slowly, pressing the edge of your cup against your lips. The coffee burns, searing hot—but you barely notice. You’ve learned to love the pain. At least it reminds you that you’re still alive. Sometimes.
“Maybe I’ll visit the temple,” you add, more to yourself than anyone else.
Still nothing.
Valentin, it’s the name of the health mentor, assigned to you by the over caring manager of the hotel, clears his throat, shifting his weight slightly, his mismatched eyes flicking toward you with the kind of polite curiosity he reserves for hesitant guests. “Would you like me to arrange transport?” he asks, his voice smooth, professional.
You shake your head. “No need.”
You don’t want another carefully curated experience, another guide leading you through the motions of enlightenment, you just want something real.
Isn’t that ironic? You had once thought marriage – this marriage – would be the real part of your life. That despite its transactional nature, despite its calculated foundation, you could build something meaningful within its walls.
But walls don’t build themselves and your husband never even picked up a brick.
The rustling of paper draws your attention and for a fleeting second, you think he might actually lower it, might actually speak. Your breath catches.
But no. He merely folds the page, shifts slightly, and continues reading.
—------------------------------------------
The simple sand road to the monastery isn’t particularly long, but with no shelter from the relentless sun, it feels endless. Sweat clings to your skin, your breath turning shallow as the heat presses down on you, and the journey takes longer than you expected, the afternoon already slipping into its golden haze by the time you reach the base of the massive stone stairs leading to the temple.
A small cloud of dust swirls beneath your foot as you step onto the first stair. You pause, staring at the ancient, timeworn stone beneath you.
Then, you start counting. One. Two. Three.
You need something to anchor yourself, something to focus on, because the last thing you want to do right now is think.
Four. Five. Six.
You don’t want to think about the suffocating silence of your marriage. About the man who sits across from you every morning yet feels a million miles away. About how, somewhere along the way, you’ve started measuring your own existence by the small, sharp edges of pain – hot coffee against your lips, the sting of too-bright sunlight, the ache in your calves as you climb. Or about how you have to force yourself to look away from the perfectly sculpted abdomen of your personal yoga instructor, health mentor, confidence booster, and walking temptation all in one.
You’re sure he says the same flattering lines to all his clients, yet you still can’t stop the slight curl of your lips when he praises your form, marvels at your fitness levels, or sounds genuinely impressed by how well you hold a downward dog.
It’s ridiculous, and yet, for the briefest moment, you almost feel seen.
Twenty. Twenty-one. The numbers pulse in your mind like a prayer and by the time you reach the top, your breath is uneven, your heart hammering against your ribs. You press a palm against your chest, as if to steady something deep inside yourself, then lift your gaze.
The temple stands before you, ancient and unmoving, the air is thick with the scent of incense, a soft curl of smoke drifting from the entrance and monks move silently through the courtyard, their robes whispering against the stone.
The sight is so starkly different from the artificial luxury of the hotel that for a moment, you hesitate. You don’t belong here. And yet, you’ve never felt more drawn to a place in your life.
Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find something here, something real. Something that doesn’t hurt. You take a slow breath, preparing to step forward, when a voice, soft and familiar, halts you in your tracks.
“Skipping yoga and running off to find enlightenment instead?”
Turning slowly, you find Valentin leaning casually against one of the temple’s carved wooden pillars, arms crossed over his chest, an amused glint in his mismatched eyes.
He looks different. With the stylish light silk shirt, showing off his extremely well built frame, and black sporty trousers he looks infuriatingly out of place here – too vibrant, too much a reminder of the life you were trying to escape, even if only for a few hours.
You exhale, masking your surprise with a sigh. “Valentin, what are you doing here?”
He tilts his head, as if the answer should be obvious. “Guiding lost souls toward balance and inner peace.” Then, with a small smirk, he adds, “Or at least keeping an eye on the ones who suddenly decide to abandon their wellness retreat without warning.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. “I needed a break.”
“From what? The relaxation?” His voice is teasing, but something in his gaze lingers too long, as if he sees more than you want him to.
You shift uncomfortably, the last thing you need is for Valentin, your overly attentive, far-too-charming health mentor, to start analyzing you.
“I just wanted to be alone,” you say, more firmly this time.
To your annoyance, he doesn’t look deterred, instead, he takes a step closer. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
The question hangs between you, heavier than it should be, because no, you’re not sure. Not anymore.
You glance toward the temple entrance, where the scent of incense drifts in the warm afternoon air, your imagined refuge, a place of stillness, but now, with Valentin standing here, watching you like he’s waiting for an answer you don’t have, the ground beneath your feet feels anything but steady.
He sighs, tilting his head toward the temple steps. “Come on, then.”
You blink. “What?”
“If you’re going to search for something real, at least let me make sure you don’t pass out on these stairs first.” His smirk softens just slightly. “Consider it part of my job description.”
A reluctant laugh escapes you before you can stop it. Damn him. Still, you hesitate.
Following him means acknowledging the pull between you, the quiet, unspoken thing that has lingered in the spaces between conversations, between his casual touches as he adjusted your posture, between the way he always seemed to notice when you weren’t okay.
But walking away means going back to the emptiness you came from, and you’re not sure you can do that, either.
—--------------------------------------------------------
The rhythmic thump of bass vibrates through the wooden floorboards, mingling with the crash of waves in the distance, and the air seems thick with the scent of salt and citrus, the heat of the day fading into the electric pulse of the evening.
You sit at the bar, ice clinking in your glass as you swirl the liquid inside. A mojito, Valentin’s choice for you. “Something refreshing,” he had said with that ever-present smirk.
Beside you, he leans back against the bar, one elbow resting on the counter, watching the dance floor with lazy amusement, the half unbuttoned stylish silk shirt reveals his sun-kissed skin and toned forearms. He looks completely at ease here, as if this place, with its neon lights and reckless energy, belongs to him. And maybe it does.
You take a slow sip of your drink, the coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth buzzing beneath your skin. “I thought you were all about health and balance,” you muse, raising a brow at him. “This doesn’t seem very… meditative.”
Valentin laughs, low and easy. “Balance means knowing when to let go.” He gestures toward the dance floor, where people move with uninhibited joy, bodies pressed close, arms lifted to the sky. “Besides, what’s the point of a healthy body if you don’t use it to feel something?”
You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, and to your surprise, he suddenly turns toward you. “Come on.”
You blink. “Come on what?”
His grin is pure mischief. “Dance with me.”
You snort. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
Valentin doesn’t argue, he simply takes your hand, your small palm disappearing into his large one and suddenly, you’re not sitting at the bar anymore, you’re being pulled onto the dance floor, the press of bodies and the thrum of music wrapping around you like a second heartbeat.
You open your mouth to protest, but then his hands settle lightly at your waist.
“Relax,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “Just move.”
So you do. At first, it’s awkward, you’re stiff, hesitant, too aware of him, of the heat between you, of the way his fingers press just lightly enough to steer you but firmly enough to keep you close.
But then the music shifts, and something inside you does too, the beat takes over, drowning out everything else – the noise in your head, the weight in your chest, the echo of a marriage that feels like a ghost haunting your every step, and for the first time in longer than you can remember, you don’t think. You just move.
Valentin’s gaze never leaves you, his expression switching between approval, awe and something else, something deeper, dark and intensive, something you’re afraid to name but it makes your skin tingle.
The song changes, but you don’t stop and neither does he.
—-----------------------------------------------------
His lips are scorching against your skin, taking, demanding, yet somehow just as giving, as every kiss, every flick of his tongue, every sharp inhale between parted lips feels like breathing in life itself, like drawing a fresh breath after eternity of drowning.
You moan as your back meets the wall, it’s so cool against your overheated skin, while Valentin presses his body against yours, his thigh between your legs, spreading them open.
His name is barely more than a whispered breath against his lips, but he hears it, and the way you say it, so desperate, so wanting, so surrendering, makes him groan into the kiss, as his hands grow restless, tracing the curves of your body.
His fingers roughly dig into the soft flesh of your hips, and you can’t bite back the moan that claws through you, the raw and unfiltered sound slipping from your lips before you can stop it.
“You like playing games, don’t you?” It’s not really a question, it’s more like a realization, and there is something in Valentin’s voice that makes you shudder.
You know what this is, what it could be, what it will be if you don’t stop now, but you don’t want to stop.
“I do,” you breathe, and the moment the words leave your mouth, Valentin’s hand moves, wrapping around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse stutter.
You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, not from pain, not from fear but from the way your body reacts, heat suddenly coiling low in your belly.
“Then let’s play,” Valentin murmurs and his voice feels like a rustle of silk over steel, sending a shiver down your spine.
Stepping back, Valentin grabs your wrist, and a soft whine escapes you as he withdraws his other hand from your throat, leaving your skin tingling.
Your weary eyes follow his every move as he leads you out of the dimly lit comfort of your villa bedroom, across the courtyard. It isn’t until you reach the villa on the other side that realization dawns, and you suddenly know where he’s taking you.
The massive terrace doors slide open soundlessly, as Valentin releases your hand, stepping inside without the slightest hesitation and heading toward the large, imposing oak desk – the very heart of your husband's domain.
Leaning casually against the sturdy edge, he turns to you, watching and waiting while you hesitate at the threshold. This is his realm, his villa, his study. He always insists on having one, no matter where you travel, it’s his excuse to remain occupied, to bury himself in work, to keep pretending you don’t exist.
Your pulse hammers in your throat, while Valentin keeps watching you in silence.
Slowly you step inside, sliding the heavy glass doors shut behind you, the quiet thud reminding you of a trap snapping closed.
“Onto your knees,” Valentin’s voice reaches you the moment you turn toward him again.
You lift your gaze to meet his, and before your mind can even process what he’s asked, your body obeys and you slide down. Your knees hit the floor, but you almost don’t notice the impact through the haze of anticipation, curling around you like thick smoke.
Valentin’s lips quirk in the faintest hint of satisfaction as he shifts slightly.
“Crawl to me,” he commands and you do, smile tugging on your lips, the smooth wood cool beneath your palms as you move, each shift of your body slow, teasing, testing.
Valentin doesn’t move, doesn’t rush you, he simply watches, leaning against the massive oak desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface, he lets you play, lets you draw it out, watching with that quiet, knowing patience that only makes the air between you heavier.
Your gaze drops, landing on the noticeable strain against his trousers, the hard outline pressing insistently, demanding release, and a fresh wave of anticipation rushes through you, mingling with the slow burn already curling in your veins, your knees ache, a beautiful reminder of presence, of being alive and wanted, of the serenity of submission.
You reach him, and his fingers slip into your hair, claiming control, tilting your head up until your eyes find his, and the amusement in his expression is unmistakable.
“Lady enjoys testing limits,” he muses.
Your lips part, a response forming, but he runs his thumb over your lower lip, silencing you before a single word escapes, and a thrill shivers through you, the slow, intoxicating game settling into place.
“You’re not the only one,” Valentin murmurs, his thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you of exactly what you both are in this delicious exchange of power.
His free hand moves achingly slow, tracing the curve of your jaw before gliding down your throat, as his fingers linger precisely where they had claimed you before. You swallow hard, and he watches the flutter of your pulse beneath his touch, his lips curving in satisfaction.
“You know what to do, don’t you?” He doesn’t really need to ask, the answer is already written in the way your fingers move, deft and eager, working to free him, in the way your lips part, a greedy moan slipping past them before you even realize you’ve made a sound.
But just as your lips part fully, just as your tongue flicks out, his grip in your hair tightens, not painful, but firm, controlling, and he tilts your head back, forcing you to look up at him again.
“Look at you, so eager, so needy,” Valentin muses. “Patience,” he hums. “You wanted to play. So let’s play.”
A flush burns through you, the heat in your belly growing with each passing moment, you close your eyes, your nails dig lightly into the fabric of his trousers, a silent plea. He chuckles, low and indulgent, thumb swiping over your lip again, smearing the moisture left behind by your tongue.
Valentin finally releases the tension in his grip, just enough to let you move, to let you take what you’ve been craving and you don’t hesitate, your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock while your fingers wrap around him, and the sharp breath he draws is like music to your ears.
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice huskier now, and you glance up at him, drinking in the sight – his tousled dark hair, the sharp angles of his face, the way his mismatched eyes flicker with something dangerously close to ruin, but he’s still composed, still in control.
That won’t do, with a teasing slowness, you drag your lips over his length, just barely touching, just enough to make his fingers tighten in your hair again, his other hand gripping the edge of the desk behind him.
A flicker of frustration crosses his face. Good. You like it. Your tongue flicks over him again, featherlight, and his grip jerks, his hips shifting forward just slightly.
A breathy chuckle escapes you. “I thought you said patience?”
His eyes darken.
“I did.” Valentin agrees, his voice impossibly smooth. Then, before you can react, his hand tightens. “But patience,” he whispers, “is something I teach, not something I practice.”
He pulls you closer, and the next moment his cock fills your mouth, stretching you, pushing past your lips until the burn at the corners of your mouth becomes a delicious ache. He’s big, thick and heavy on your tongue, and you can do nothing but take it – let him guide you, move you, use you because there is nothing more intoxicating than surrendering to someone who knows exactly how to wield power.
His first thrust is slow, measured, testing your limits, then another, deeper this time, until he finds the perfect rhythm, until your body learns to follow his lead.
Your only response is a low hum around his length, the vibrations making him curse under his breath. You don’t dare to stop him, you don’t want to stop him. The ache in your knees, the burning stretch of your lips, it all blends into the dizzying pleasure wrapping around you like a thick fog, pulling you under, making you pliant, making you his.
Saliva spills from your lips, dripping down your chin as you take him deeper, bobbing your head along his length, the slick, obscene sounds filling the room, and your fingers dig harder into his thighs, nails pressing into firm muscle as you hold on, as you let him use you.
Then it happens – the first raw, unrestrained moan slips from his lips, rough and unexpected, and in the same moment a rush of satisfaction surges through you, making your limbs tremble as pleasure pulses through you.
You’ve undone him, even if only for a moment, and God, it’s the sweetest kind of victory.
_____________________________________
Valentin watches you, completely absorbed in the way you give yourself over to him, the way you need him.
He has seen loneliness in many forms – restless indulgence, desperate validation, quiet self-destruction – but yours is something else entirely. It’s not the loneliness of someone abandoned, not the aching void of someone craving affection, it’s the loneliness of a woman unseen, of someone who exists in the periphery of her own life, a shadow in the grand, empty spaces your husband refuses to fill.
And now, here you are, on your knees before him, surrendering, not for him, not even for pleasure itself, but for the feeling of being claimed, of belonging to something.
You don’t even realize how much he understands, how much he wants to give you this, not just the rawness, not just the sharp edges of control and surrender, but the pleasure – the real escape.
Every unrestrained sound that escapes your lips, every shudder that runs through your body, every moan that vibrates against his cock – it’s all a silent plea for oblivion, for something that makes you forget, and he’ll give it to you.
His grip tightens in your hair, just enough to remind you that you’re not lost, that you are here, you’re his in this moment, and you’re going to take everything he gives you.
He forces himself to breathe through the heat coiling in his gut, the heady mixture of control and restraint pushing him slowly to the edge, but he won’t let go first, not until you do, not until you have got what you crave for.
"I know you can take more. Don't hold back, sweetheart," Valentin’s voice is still smooth, but there’s something raw beneath it, something unraveling.
His head tips back as you take him deeper, swallowing around him, forcing yourself to relax, to ignore the way your throat tightens whenever his tip grazes too far. You feel his fingers tense in your hair, his breath turning uneven, his control fraying at the edges, you feel the slight twitch of his cock inside your mouth, the way his grip tightens just a fraction more. He’s close, so close you can almost taste the victory.
But just as the triumph starts to settle in your chest, just as you think you’ve won this game, Valentin moves, his grip suddenly becoming unyielding as he pulls you off him.
A gasp rips from your lips as your head tilts back, a thin trail of saliva still connecting you to his cock, your breath is ragged, your lips swollen, the loss of him sudden and jarring, as your eyes flick up, searching his.
His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths, his jaw tight, his fingers still buried in your hair, holding you in place.
“You thought I’d let you win that easily?” he murmurs, and your stomach tightens.
Of course, it would have been too easy, but it’s not over, and you feel the slight tinge of excitement back in your shaking limbs.
Valentin releases your hair slowly, tracing his fingers down your cheek, tilting your chin up so you’re looking only at him.
“Get up,” he orders, and your legs shake as you obey, rising to your feet, anticipation thrumming through every inch of you.
His eyes never leave yours as he steps aside the heavy oak desk, his palm smoothing over the polished surface before he gestures to it with a slow, knowing smile.
“Now,” he breathes, the words sinking into your skin, into your bones, “Bend over.”
Your breath is shallow, pulse hammering in your throat as Valentin watches you. You should hesitate, should second-guess this, but you don’t, there is something in his voice, in the quiet certainty of his presence, that makes you want to obey.
Your palms meet the smooth, polished surface of the desk as you lean forward, the cool wood welcoming your body, humming with anticipation, your heartbeat a steady drum in your ears.
Behind you, Valentin doesn’t move right away, he takes his time. You hear the subtle shift of his breath, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusts, as he watches, you can feel his gaze sweeping over you, mapping your curves, taking in every shallow breath you take, and it’s almost unbearable, this waiting, this cruel stretch of silence he’s using to unravel you even further.
His hands reach you first, slow, teasing, fingertips ghosting over the small of your back, trailing lower, skimming the curve of your hips before hooking beneath your silk underwear as he pushes the fabric up, peeling it away, baring your ass to him inch by inch.
A shiver ripples through you, and he notices, of course, he does.
“You’re trembling,” he muses.
You swallow hard. “You like that?”
A low chuckle: “Oh, I love that.”
His palm slides up your spine, fingers splaying, pressing you further into the desk, you inhale sharply, the sheer presence of him behind you, surrounding you, making you dizzy, and then – nothing, his touch disappears, the absence of it sharp, almost aching.
You shift slightly, seeking it back, but he tuts softly. “So impatient,” he murmurs, dragging a single finger down your back, and you can't help but whine in frustration or need, or something between the two.
Valentin leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I told you, sweetheart…,” his hand on your back gets heavy, a sharp contrast to the featherlight touch before, “this is my game.”
You cry out as his palm cracks against the soft flesh of your ass, the sharp sting blooming into heat, the sound echoes through the dimly lit study, swallowed by the thick walls.
His other hand presses you firmly against the rough surface of the desk, holding you exactly where he wants you, where you need to be.
"Beautiful," Valentin murmurs, his voice like molten honey, seeping into your dizzy consciousness, while his fingers trace over the mark he’s left, soothing, teasing, before his palm lifts again.
You barely have a second to brace yourself before he strikes once more, the jolt of sensation makes your body tense, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk, a whimper escaping your lips, not just from the sting, but from the sheer intensity of it all, from the way he makes you feel owned without ever needing to say the words.
"Good girl," he praises, his hand lingering, squeezing your buttocks. "I knew you'd take it so well."
A shiver rolls through you at his words, at the quiet, knowing amusement in his tone, as if he’s been waiting for this, as if he knew from the moment he first saw you that you’d come undone for him like this.
Valentin hums in satisfaction, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, ghosting over your folds before dipping into your slick, aching core, and a sharp gasp escapes you, your body instinctively pressing into his touch, craving more.
“You’re drenched,” he muses, dragging his fingers through your arousal, spreading it, playing with it. “I think you like this more than you’re willing to admit.”
He leans forward, his body a solid wall of heat against your burning ass and back, his lips graze your ear. "Tell me how much you like it."
It’s not a request, your breath shudders as you turn your head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of him through hooded eyes. "I…" you swallow, your voice breaking on the admission. "I love it."
A moan slips past your lips, unbidden, as his fingers start moving in and out of you.
"Let’s see just how much more you can take," Valentin’s voice reaches you as if from a dream – distant, intoxicating, pulling you deeper as his hand comes down again, heavy, punishing, liberating, the sharp smack echoing through the room and this time, you don’t even try to stifle the moan that rips through you.
Valentin’s fingers start to work you open, drawing you under in that beautiful space where the world outside this moment fades, dissolving into nothing but the pure sensation of his touch, his voice, the way your body responds without hesitation, without thought.
His other hand slides up your body, wrapping around your throat, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he holds you down against the table, making your pulse race and your head swim, and soon there is nothing else left, just the heat coiling in your core, your walls clenching around his fingers, and his grip making your body melt. The edges of reality blur and your mind floats, you are weightless and you are his.
The pleasure is thick, dizzying, curling around you like a cool, silken cloud and you barely register the sounds falling from your lips – moans, pleas, shameless whimpers – but Valentin does.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone full of satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
You buck your hips against his hand incapable of speech, you don’t care anymore, there’s no holding back, no shame, just raw, consuming need.
And he loves it, he presses deeper, stretching you, teasing you until you're trembling, whining mess before him. Suddenly without a warning he pulls his fingers away, leaving you empty, desperate, and a frustrated whine escapes your lips, but before you can beg, before you can even catch your breath, you feel it.
The head of his cock, thick and hard, is pressing against your soaked entrance.
“Breathe,” he commands, voice smooth, firm, the last tether keeping you connected to this world. “Take me.”
And then he thrusts, a cry rips from your throat, pleasure blooming so violently it borders on pain, as he fills you completely, stretching you to the point of perfect ruin, and you can do nothing but take it.
He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t ease you into it, he fucks you relentlessly, unyielding, thrusting into you with a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder against the edge of the desk.
The wood bites into your soft skin, a dull ache mixing with the overwhelming pleasure, blurring the lines between pain and bliss, and the room is filled with the sound of the sharp slap of skin against skin, your desperate moans, the rough scrape of the desk beneath you as it all melts together into something filthy, something primal, something beyond anything you’ve ever felt before and you never want it to stop.
You don’t hold back, you can’t, your moans grow louder, shameless, broken, echoing through the study. You want him to hear, you want everyone to hear.
And then, something shifts, a flicker of movement catches your eye, a presence just beyond the edge of your bliss-drunk haze, and your gaze drags toward the doors where you see him – your husband, standing there, watching.
His expression is full of surprise and something else, something you had never seen before, your eyes drop lover to his hand wrapped around his rock hard cock, tugging violently at it while his gaze remains glued to the sight of Valentin ruining you.
The shock should snap you out of this haze, should send you spiraling into shame, into panic, but it doesn’t.
It’s the first time you see him like this – silent, desperate, weak and wanting, it’s the first time you feel you have the power, you are finally seen, you unravel him.
Valentin groans, his rhythm faltering as he feels you tighten around him, your body clenching down, dragging him closer to the edge, and he leans over you.
“Look at you,” he rasps. “My perfect lady. My queen. Falling apart so beautifully for me.”
Without warning Valentin yanks you upright, your back flush against his chest as he drives into you, his hand still around your throat, as his tongue flickers against the shell of your ear.
“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Let him watch what he’s missed… what he doesn’t deserve.”
That’s all it takes, pleasure surges through you, hot, electric, overwhelming, ripping through you before you can even brace yourself for it as you shatter with a cry, your core seizing around Valentin, every nerve igniting as bliss detonates in violent waves, white-hot and endless.
You sob through your climax, your hands scrambling against the edge of the desk for support, your mind utterly lost to it.
Valentin’s thrusts grow even rougher, deeper, pushing you through the aftershock, using you for his own pleasure now, but you don’t care, because as you come undone, as your body trembles and your cries fill the air, you keep your gaze locked on your husband, standing there, watching, completely powerless.
You never imagined revenge could be this sweet.