Chapter Forty-Eight #3
“Yes, I fucking love it when you say my name.” He groans. The rhythm of his thrust falters and then speeds up.
He’s close.
He plunges deep inside of me, and then I feel it.
The heat. The pressure. His seed shooting deep inside of me.
He roars. It’s the most delicious sound and my body shakes in response, like a creature submitting to it’s mate.
I let him use me, pound my body to get himself off.
It spurts in waves, and it’s seamlessly never-ending.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My fingers curl into fists, legs shaking wildly as my own pleasure washes through me. He continues thrusting.
And that’s when I feel it—the hardening again.
“No!” I whimper. My head falls against the metal table and it’s hot from my frantic, panicked breath.
“Yes,” he whispers, nails dragging down my back. He leaves a biting trail of pain, and I’m certain blood prickles to the surface.
He pushes forward, right to the hilt, and I flinch in anticipation.
Then he leers over me, the heat from his body mixing with mine.
Something hot and wet meets my back. His tongue.
He laps up the small beads of sweat, and groans.
His restraint slips. His fingers curl angrier into my hips, his cock throbbing violently.
He turns me. I blink, and suddenly, I’m staring up at him.
For a moment, he doesn’t move.
Just looks at me.
His hands are braced either side of my body, caging me against the steel, but all the violence that lived in them a second ago has gone strangely still. His dark eyes search mine like he’s trying to memorise something, drinking in every inch with a focus so intense it makes me feel dizzy.
Something in his expression changes, but not in the way I expect. It isn’t hunger. It isn’t loss of control. If anything, it settles. Like he’s just realised something quietly amusing.
His thumb drags once across my hip, slow, absent.
“You said yes faster this time,” he murmurs.
The words don’t land properly. They don’t fit.
My brow pulls together before I can stop it. “This time?”
For a moment, he just looks at me, like he’s just realised something quietly pleasing. Then his mouth tilts slightly at the corner.
“Careful,” he says softly, voice edged with something that feels almost like amusement. “You’re starting to notice things you’re not supposed to.”
My palms turn damp. “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. He watches me instead, like he’s deciding how much I can handle before it stops being entertaining.
Then, almost lazily—“You learn quicker each time.”
The words slide under my skin.
Each time.
My pulse stumbles. “Each—what are you talking about?”
“Mm.” A quiet sound leaves him, thoughtful, almost pleased. “No. That’s enough of that.”
My heartbeat moves to my throat.
“No—don’t—what do you mean enough?” I push forward slightly without meaning to, needing it now in a way that feels almost desperate. “Deogal, what does that mean?”
He tilts his head, studying me like I’ve become more interesting than I was a second ago. Then he smiles properly. Slow. Cruel.
“And you ask better questions than you did before.”
My head starts to pound, a dull pressure building behind my eyes as my thoughts try to organise themselves into something coherent and fail. “Before what?”
The room feels wrong like something has shifted beneath it that I can’t see.
“Before what, Deogal?” I try again.
He steps back slightly, just enough to create space, but not enough to give me relief.
“I liked this version of you,” he says, almost idly.
A sharp pulse of dread cuts through me. “What—”
“Shh.” He lifts his hand slightly, not touching me, just indicating, like he’s about to reset a piece on a board. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
My breath catches. “What are you going to do?”
That smirk again. “You’ll see.”
The air thickens. The hum of the lights above us deepens, warping slightly, the pitch bending in a way that makes my teeth ache.
“No—wait!”
The word barely forms before everything tilts. Not just the room but something deeper than that.
He closes his eyes. And the second he does, the world inhales. When he opens them again, Something hits me. My lungs seize like I’ve been forced to exhale everything at once, air ripping out of me in a sharp, involuntary gasp.
My thoughts scatter instantly, slipping out of reach just as I try to grab them, like trying to hold onto something dissolving in water.
No—no, I just—
He said...
What did he say?
The question forms and vanishes in the same second.
The pressure spikes. The room fractures—and I drop. Not down.
Out.
Like I’ve been pulled sideways through something I don’t understand, my body loses all sense of position as the world tears and rewrites itself around me.
Light slams into my vision. Too bright and too sharp. The sterile sting of disinfectant floods my senses, clean and clinical and wrong in a completely different way.
The hum of electricity stabilises, familiar now, structured, controlled.
My footing disappears.
I stumble, and then...
Silence.