Kit’s breath hitched, his fingers curling so hard into the silk duvet that the fabric groaned. This time, the agonizing sting was met with a flood of slickness and the sheer, rhythmic heat of Maksim’s body. He was buried to the hilt, his massive frame looming over Kit’s trembling form.

 Maksim reached around, his large, burning hands splaying across Kit’s flat abdomen. He could feel the shape of himself stretching Kit from the inside, the skin of the Omega’s stomach taut and pulsing.

 "Does it hurt, Persicheck?" Maksim rasped, his voice a jagged snarl of restraint. "Tell me."

 Kit couldn't even form a curse word. He was on all fours, his head hanging low, his vision dancing with white spots. The feeling of being completely, utterly filled was overwhelming. "Haaa... n-no... just... don't stop.. fuckkk... continue..."

 Maksim’s smirk was visible in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He began to move—slow, deep, agonizing thrusts that bottomed out against Kit’s core. Each slide out was a tease; each drive back in was a revelation.

 "Does it feel good now?" Maksim prompted, his pace picking up.

 Before Kit could answer, Maksim shifted. He stayed on his knees but reached down, grabbing Kit by the waist and hoisting him up. He pulled Kit backward until the boy was kneeling between his thick thighs, his sweaty back pressed firmly against Maksim’s rock-hard, vibrating chest.

 It was a position of total surrender.

 Maksim’s left hand shot up, his fingers hooking under Kit’s chin to tilt his head back, forcing him to look at the ceiling as the Alpha’s red eyes burned into the side of his neck. His right hand reached down, wrapping around Kit’s small, leaking dick and beginning a frantic, slippery stroke that matched the rhythm of his hips.

 Kit was a complete disaster. His mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, his chest heaving as he took hit after hit. The "Null" void inside him was being filled with lightning and Ozone.

 "MMMMNNNN!" Kit sobbed, his head lolling back against Maksim’s shoulder. "More... give me... more..."

 Maksim leaned in, his teeth grazing the sensitive shell of Kit’s ear before he sank them into the soft lobe. He let out a low, vibrating growl, his voice dropping into that terrifying Russian register that made Kit's skin crawl with fire.

 "Tvoy prokhod takoy tesnyy dlya menya, chto ya mogu stat' zavisimym, Persicheck," Maksim whispered, his hot breath ghosting over the bruise he was forming. (Your hole is so tight and sweet that I might just become addicted, persicheck.).

 To emphasize the point, Maksim tightened his grip on Kit's chin and drove home with a sudden, violent force that lifted Kit slightly off the bed.

 The sensation was electric. A massive wave of white-hot pleasure crashed through Kit’s core, radiating out to his fingertips and making his entire body go rigid. His internal walls spasmed, clenching around Maksim’s length with a desperate, hungry rhythm that nearly sent the Alpha over the edge.

 "AHHHHH!" Kit shrieked, his eyes rolling back as the sheer intensity of the "Sokolov Rut" finally began to break him hard and fast.

 Maksim reached the peak of his Rut. His thrusts turned into a blurring, violent rhythm, his massive hands bruising Kit’s hips as he held him in place for the final impact.

 "Ya konchayu..." Maksim roared, his voice cracking with the strain. (I'm cumming...)

 With one final, bone-deep lunge, Maksim’s body went rigid. A massive, hot flood of the Alpha's cum surged into Kit’s core, filling him to the absolute brink. Kit’s back arched so hard it looked ready to snap; his entire body flinched, his muscles spasming in a rhythmic, uncontrollable tremor as he felt the sheer volume of the Alpha’s release.

 "No... no! Stop! Don't... it's too much!" Kit choked out, his voice weak and wet. He felt stretched, heavy, and completely branded from the inside out. "Don't cum inside... stop it... ahhh!"

 Maksim didn't pull away. He slumped against Kit’s back, his heavy chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat as he stayed buried deep within the Omega's twitching walls. He let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated right through Kit’s spine..

 "What is the matter, Persicheck?" Maksim rasped, his red eyes glowing with a satisfied, predatory sheen. "Afraid I’ll get you pregnant? I don’t mind being a father. A pretty little ghost like you would definitely give me a good heir.

 Kit’s head lolled back, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "Pregnant? I'm... I'm a a infertile you big white dog, That's not how this works! And besides, we're done, right? You got what you wanted, now give me my money and let me go find a wheelchair..."

 Maksim pulled back just an inch, only to grind himself back in, reminding Kit that he was still rock-hard despite the release. The Rut was a relentless monster; one round was never going to be enough.

 "Done?" Maksim smirked, his teeth grazing Kit’s jawline. "We aren't even through the first hour, little peach. Your hole is definitely addictive... I think we have at least ten more rounds to go before I even consider letting you up."

 Kit’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

  "Wait... what?! Ten rounds? Are you insane? I'm a human being, not a marathon track! My ass is going to—"

Kit didn't get to finish the complaint.

 Maksim’s hand slid from his abdomen to his chin, hooking his fingers and forcing Kit’s face upward. Before Kit could spit out another curse, Maksim silenced him with a deep, bruising kiss.

 It wasn't a gentle kiss; it tasted of salt, hunger, and the iron-scent of a Sokolov’s dominance.

 Kit tried to fight it for a split second, but his body was a traitor. As Maksim’s tongue swept into his mouth, Kit let out a long, broken moan, his fingers clutching at Maksim’s thick forearms as he melted back into the Alpha’s heat.

 Ten rounds. Kit was going to be the richest man in Moscow—if he survived the night.

 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

 The room was a battlefield of silk, sweat, and the heavy, metallic scent of a Rut that refused to break, used condoms and lube. Kit was past the point of exhaustion; he was in a trance. 

 He had stopped counting at round twenty, somewhere between the third time Maksim had roared his name and the moment the sun had begun to threaten the Moscow skyline.

 If Kit’s biology weren't "defective," his womb would have been screaming right now. As it was, he felt heavy—weighted down by the sheer amount of the Alpha’s cum left inside him.

 His legs were completely numb, trembling uselessly against the mattress like broken wings.

 Maksim was still over him, his movements relentless, his white hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He leaned down, his large, calloused hand gently brushing the sweat-soaked hair away from Kit's face.

 "Wow, Persicheck..." Maksim rasped, his voice a ruined, deep vibration. "I never thought I’d say this, but I’m definitely addicted. This hole... it’s so fucking good. I don’t want any other. Fuck."

 He looked down and saw Kit’s arm thrown over his eyes, his small frame shaking with quiet, hiccuping sobs. The fire in Maksim’s gut flickered, replaced by a strange, protective twinge. He slowed his pace, his thrusts becoming long, shallow grinds as he gently pulled Kit’s arm away from his face.

 "Hey... why are you crying now?" Maksim murmured, his red eyes searching Kit’s blurry ones. "I’m not hurting you, right? A few hours ago, you were screaming for more. You were telling me to go harder. Isn’t that what I’m doing? Why the tears?"

 Kit sniffled, a stray tear sliding into his ear. "You... you liar," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "You said ten rounds. You said ten and that's it. It's been more than twenty-five... I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my arms. I think I’m actually dying."

 Maksim’s expression softened into something dangerously close to affection—or at least, the closest a Sokolov could get to it. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Kit’s swollen lips, tasting the salt and the peach.

 "Okay. Okay," Maksim hushed him.

 With a surge of strength that made Kit gasp, Maksim sat up, keeping their bodies fused together. He leaned back against the obsidian headboard, settling Kit firmly on his lap. Kit’s legs dangled over Maksim’s thick thighs, his sensitive entrance still completely buried by the Alpha's length.

 "I'll be gentle this time. I promise," Maksim whispered, his hands sliding up to cup Kit’s face.

 "Wrap your arms around my neck, Persicheck.”

 Kit obeyed slowly, his muscles feeling like lead. He draped his arms over Maksim’s massive shoulders and buried his face in the crook of the Alpha’s neck, breathing in the scent of rain and dominance. He felt small—so impossibly small—against the mountain of muscle that was currently keeping him upright.

 Before Maksim started to move again, he leaned into Kit’s ear, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl.

 "You can bite me, you know," Maksim hissed, his hand sliding down to grip Kit’s waist. "Bite my neck. Bite my shoulders. Just like you scratched my back."

 He remembered the eleventh round, when Kit had been so overwhelmed he’d left long, red furrows down Maksim’s spine—a mark Maksim had never allowed another soul to leave on him..

 "Go on," Maksim urged, his hips giving a slow, agonizingly deep upward tilt. "Kusay menya. (Bite me.) Come on Persicheck you can definitely bite me. I'll go slower this time"

 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯