Epilogue #3
He gives one final, deep, bone-shaking thrust, burying himself as far as he can possibly go, and I feel the hot, thick jet of his cum erupting deep inside my bowels.
He holds me there, pinned to the bed, his weight crushing me, his cock still pulsing inside my tight arse as we both collapse into a heap of sweat, breath, and absolute, psychotic devotion.
He’s claimed me. Fully. Completely. And as I lay there, feeling him slowly soften inside me, I’ve never felt more fucking alive.
We’re lying there in a tangled, sweaty heap, the air thick with the smell of sex and the heavy, lingering scent of his cum inside my arse.
I’m completely spent, my muscles twitching, my breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches.
I feel hollowed out and filled up all at once, utterly conquered by him.
Rhys is still heavy on top of me, his heart hammering against my chest like a trapped animal, his skin slick against mine.
He doesn't move for a long time, just holds me there, pinning me to the mattress as if he’s afraid I’ll evaporate if he lets go. Then, he shifts, rolling slightly to the side but keeping me locked in his grip. He reaches over to the bedside table, his movements slow and deliberate.
When he pulls his hand back, he’s holding a small, velvet box.
My heart skips a fucking beat. I blink, staring at it, my brain still foggy from the orgasm.
He flips the lid open, and there it is—a ring that looks like it was forged in the depths of some gothic nightmare.
It’s a massive, dark stone, surrounded by intricate silver thorns that wrap around the band like a chokehold.
It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying. It’s exactly him.
He doesn't get on one knee; he doesn't need to. He’s already my god, my captor, my everything. He leans in, his eyes dark and swirling with that familiar, psychotic intensity that always makes my blood sing.
"Look at me, Ophelia," he commands, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
I look up, mesmerized.
"I don't want a normal life with you. I don't want some boring, picket-fence bullshit," he snarls, his grip tightening on my waist. "I want to own you. I want every breath you take to be because I allow it. I want to be the only thing you see when you close your eyes and the only thing you fear when you wake up. I want to carve my name into your soul until there’s nothing left of you that isn't mine.
I want to keep you locked in my heart, in my bed, in my madness, until the day we both rot in the ground together. "
It’s absolutely mental. It’s possessive, obsessive, and completely unhinged.
And as I listen to him, I feel a surge of heat bloom in my gut.
Any other girl would be screaming for the police, but I’m just fucking vibrating with need.
This is the only kind of love I understand—the kind that consumes everything in its path.
"You're a fucking lunatic," I whisper, a tear leaking from the corner of my eye, a smile tugging at my lips.
"I'm your lunatic," he counters, his gaze boring into mine. "Marry me, Ophelia. Give me the right to haunt you forever."
"Yes," I gasp, my voice cracking. "Yes, fuck, yes! I’ll marry you, Rhys. I’m yours. Always."
He doesn't waste a second. He slides the ring onto my finger, the silver thorns digging slightly into my skin, marking me. It’s a perfect fit. He pulls me up, crashing his lips against mine in a kiss that tastes of salt and obsession, a desperate, bruising collision that leaves me breathless.
I pull back just an inch, looking into those dark eyes. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Thank you for finding me... for dragging me out of that fucking darkness and the pain. I was dead before you touched me."
Rhys smiles, but it isn't a soft smile. It’s the smile of a predator who has finally caught his prize. He kisses my forehead, his voice dropping to a possessive purr.
"I didn't take you out of the darkness, love," he whispers. "I just showed you that you are the darkness. And I'm the only one who knows how to fuck it."
I sink back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the ring on my finger. I think about the girl I was—the broken, shivering thing hiding from mirrors—and the woman I am now.
He is the storm that leveled my world, but he is also the only ground I have left to stand on. I am no longer a victim of my history; I am a devotee of his madness. I am finally home.
Rhys shifts, a wicked glint appearing in his eyes as he looks around the room, then back at me. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
"I'm not done with you tonight," he murmurs. "I've got something planned in this house. Something special."
I frown, a flicker of genuine curiosity—and a hint of fear—hitting me. "What is it?"
He chuckles, a dark, melodic sound that makes my clit throb. He doesn't tell me. Instead, he nips at my earlobe, his voice dripping with sadistic promise.
"Something that's going to absolutely terrify you, darling... and make you come so hard you'll forget your own fucking name."
He kisses me one last time, his eyes locking onto mine with a terrifying devotion.
"I want to your fear, my little cracked doll.”