Beautiful Terror (Burn It All Down Duet #2)

153. The Thrill Of Surrender

CHAPTER 153

THE THRILL OF SURRENDER

MARGAUX

M y knees hit the soft earth, and I feel the chill of the night air against my bare skin. My wrists, bound behind me, leave me exposed and vulnerable, and my heart pounds as I look up at Dex.

His cock stands tall and proud, glistening with precum, his piercings reflecting in the moonlight. I lick my lips, my mouth watering at the sight.

“Good girl,” he says, his voice rough, as if he can read my mind. “Take me.”

I lean forward, letting my tongue swirl around his tip, savoring the salty taste of him as I lick a strip up his length. He groans, tangling his gloved fingers in my hair, and I take him deeper, letting him fill my mouth, my lips stretching around his girth.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. “Look at you, taking me so well.”

His words send a jolt of heat through me, and I moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder. His praise fuels me, and I take him deeper, my throat relaxing to accommodate him. His hips thrust gently as he guides me with his hands, his cock and its piercings sliding against my tongue, and I savor every inch.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls, his grip tightening in my hair. “My perfect little slut.”

His praise sends a thrill through me, and I take him deeper, relaxing my throat to let him in. My knees press into the damp earth, and I feel the heat pooling between my legs, my arousal building with every sound he makes.

He pulls back suddenly, his cock glistening with my saliva, and smirks down at me.

“Enough. Turn around,” he commands.

I rise on shaky legs and press my breasts against the rough bark of the tree. It scrapes against my sensitive skin, but I welcome the sensation as he positions himself behind me. His hands grip my hips tightly, hard enough to bruise, and then he’s inside me, stretching me, filling me completely.

I cry out, my chest digging into the rough bark, as he begins to move, thrusting into me. His cock drags against my walls, the metal bars of his piercings adding a delicious friction that makes me see stars.

“Good girl,” he growls, his voice rough. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Please, Dex,” I gasp, my voice trembling. “Don’t stop.”

He slams into me harder, his rhythm relentless. My body tightens, the wave of pleasure building again. When I come, it’s explosive, my cries echoing through the forest as my pussy clenches around him. He follows moments later, spilling into me with a guttural moan.

We stay like that for a moment, our breaths mingling in the cool night air. Then he presses a kiss to my shoulder, his lips soft against my skin.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice tender now.

“Thank you, daddy,” I murmur, my heart still racing.

He uses a knife to free my wrists and pulls me into his arms, his touch gentle and comforting. He lends me his jacket, and I put it on to cover my bareness. Together, we walk back to the house, hand in hand, the night air cool against our heated skin.

In this moment, everything feels right. Wild, raw, and unforgettable.

I stare out the window one morning while Dex sleeps, his hand resting possessively on my hip even in his dreams.

I watch the sunlight creep across the room, and wonder if I’ll ever stop looking over my shoulder, half-expecting Timmy to appear out of nowhere. The rational part of me knows it’s impossible.

He’s gone.

Dead.

He can’t hurt me anymore.

But the trauma doesn’t care about logic. It whispers to me in the quiet moments, when I’m alone with my thoughts.

What if?

What if he somehow survived?

What if he finds a way to come back?

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop worrying that Timmy will track me down somewhere, sometime, when I least expect it. Maybe that fear will always live in the back of my mind, a scar I carry forever.

But then there’s Dex.

Dex, who pulls me back into bed when he feels me stirring too much, his strong arms wrapping around me like a shield.

Dex, who presses kisses into my hair and whispers, “I’ve got you, baby,” in that low, gravelly voice that makes me believe him.

He’s my protector now. My constant.

With him, I feel safe in a way I never thought I could again.

It’s not just about his strength, though I won’t pretend I don’t love the way he towers over me, solid and unshakable.

It’s about the way he sees me.

Not as someone who needs saving. Someone worth protecting.

And for the first time—ever—I’m starting to believe that about myself, too.

So, I let myself sink into him, into us. I let him love me, and I love him back with everything I have left.

Because maybe that’s what healing looks like.