Chapter 17 Axl
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AXL
Leaning against the wall outside Sorcha’s room, I listen to the sounds of her weak orgasm.
She would scream so much louder if she’d let me bring her the pleasure she seeks.
It makes my cock rage in my pants, and it takes a Herculean effort not to rip the door off its hinges and fuck her into submission.
Pushing off from the wall, I make it to the stairs before I turn back, striding over to the door and shoving it open.
Sorcha is lying there as I left her, naked, glorious, battered, bruised and cut, and it breaks something inside me. Something that I didn’t even know was there until this very moment.
Without a word, I kick the door closed and approach her. She breathes in deeply, defiantly, but she doesn’t shy away from me. I sit in the spot I recently vacated and place my hand over her pussy before I slide two fingers inside.
Her breath hitches.
She’s damp, but she is about to flood my fingers as I fuck her into a screaming orgasm.
Her slick heat coats my fingers as I push deeper, a slow, deliberate invasion.
A broken sound, half gasp, half moan, escapes her lips, and her eyes flutter shut.
So much for defiance. I add a third finger, stretching her, filling her.
My thumb finds her clit again, rubbing a steady, merciless circle.
“Open your eyes, Sorcha,” I command, my voice a low rasp.
They snap open, twin pools of blue fire and raw, unwilling need. I want her to watch me take her apart. I want her to see the moment she breaks.
“Tell me you want it,” I murmur, increasing the pressure on her clit.
“Go to hell,” she rasps, but she grinds against my hand.
I laugh softly, a sound devoid of humour.
I pump my fingers, a slow, deliberate rhythm, while my thumb circles, torturing that sensitive little nub.
A broken sound escapes her lips, a whimper she tries to swallow.
Her body is a bowstring, pulled taut and ready to snap.
She’s losing control, piece by piece, and I’m collecting every shattered shard.
A visible tremor that starts in her thighs and ripples through her, makes me groan softly.
“Beg,” I whisper. “Beg me to make you come, Sorcha. Let me hear you say it.”
Her eyes blaze with defiance, but her body is a fucking traitor, arching up, begging for the release I’m withholding. This is the moment. The breaking point.
“Never,” she grits out, her jaw tight, her body a live wire of tension under my hand. Her cunt clenches around my fingers in a desperate, involuntary plea.
It’s fucking exquisite. Her defiance is the most potent aphrodisiac I’ve ever known.
I twist my fingers while adding a fourth. “You’d rather me rip it from you than ask for it.” It peels back another layer to this complex character that has bewitched me.
My thumb grinds down, my fingers pump faster, and the delicate control she’s clinging to shatters.
A choked scream rips from her throat, deep and raw, as her orgasm slams into her.
Her back arches off the mattress, her nails scoring the sheets, her entire body convulsing around my hand.
I don’t stop. I fuck her through it, driving her deeper, milking every last tremor from her until she’s a boneless, panting mess, sobbing for breath.
I pull my fingers out slowly, the sound obscene in the sudden quiet of the room. Her eyes are glazed over, unfocused, the fight momentarily extinguished. I lean down and lick her slick from my fingers, my gaze locked on hers. Her breath hitches, a tiny, broken sound.
“You see, Sorcha,” I whisper, my voice a silken caress against her ruined senses. “You can fight me all you want. But in the end, you’ll always come when I tell you to.”
She is broken, beautiful, and utterly mine. I watch the last shudders rack her body, the fight finally draining out of her, leaving behind a beautiful, fragile ruin. This is what I wanted. Not just her body, but this moment of absolute surrender, a glimpse of the girl behind the Reaper’s mask.
But I’m not done. Rising, I undo my pants.
She watches me with a hawk-like gaze as I pull my cock out.
It’s stiffer than it’s been in a while, and I inhale sharply when I fist it.
Placing one knee on the bed, I loom over her, tugging my cock, watching her eyes.
She licks her lips, but she doesn’t try to touch me.
I don’t want her to. If she lays one finger on me, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I just want her to watch me fucking myself, using her body as my porn so I can come all over her and make a mess over her tits, her stomach, her bare pussy.
Her eyes follow the movement of my hand, a flicker of something dark and primal in their depths. It’s not submission. It’s a challenge. She’s daring me to finish, daring me to claim her in this crude, definitive way. My pace quickens, the friction a hot, slick promise.
My climax builds, a tight coil in my gut.
I want to mark her as mine in a way that will wash off but will never be forgotten.
With a low groan, my orgasm hits. My hot cum splashes across the pale pink of her nipples, the exquisite skin of her stomach and her shaven pussy.
I watch the white patterns I’ve made on her, a messy, abstract declaration of ownership.
I don’t move, my cock still hard in my hand, my breath coming in ragged gasps. She just lies there, a canvas I’ve defiled, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She hasn’t broken. Not really. She’s just bent, and I will enjoy every moment of snapping her back into the shape I desire.
Putting my dick away, which gives a painful throb, I lean over her again. My fingers swirl through the mess I left on her cunt, sliding them over her clit before I shove the cum inside her. She is completely mine now, and I haven’t even fucked her.
“Do you submit to me?” I whisper.
“No,” she whispers back.
I withdraw my fingers and step back with a smile. It’s not amusement. It’s not annoyance. It’s something akin to delight in her defiance.
“Of course not,” I murmur, my voice a low caress. “I would be disappointed if you did.” I wrap her back up in the towel, covering her slowly, before tucking the duvet around her.
“Get some rest, Sorcha,” I say, my voice returning to its casual, indifferent tone. I move towards the door and open it. Pausing, I look back and add, “Don’t bother locking it. Nothing will keep them away when they want something.”
She hisses but doesn’t reply. I close the door behind me and walk slowly down the hallway to the main bedroom.
As soon as I’m through the door, I cross quickly over to the desk in the corner and flip the lid open on my laptop.
Clicking a few times, I bring up the screen with the CCTV cams in her room.
I placed her in there deliberately because of the cams, set up years ago by my older cousin, who is a bit of a degenerate, and liked to lock up and watch his playthings.
I may not be as perverted as dear old Stanley, but this non-consensual voyeurism is a thrill.
Watching her every move without her knowledge is the ultimate form of possession.
On the screen, she lies perfectly still, a marble statue I’ve just defaced.
Her chest rises and falls, the only sign of the storm I know is raging inside her.
She doesn’t move to wipe away my cum. She just lets it dry on her skin as she curls up and closes her eyes.
It’s a victory that surges through my veins.
She will accept that being my queen means I will give her everything her heart desires, give her the power she craves, but it also means she will submit her body to me, even when her mind is screaming at her not to.