54. Debauchery
Debauchery
Helena
The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery;
Saliva pools in my mouth, the leather pressing against my tongue, muffling my shallow breaths. My pulse pounds in my ears, my body tight with anticipation.
A light layer of shame covers me as I feel my arousal dampen my thighs. This side of Silas, raw, dripping in dark possessiveness, sets something inside me ablaze. The way he wants to claim me, the way I need to be claimed, in any and every way he chooses. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming.
I’ve always loved the tenderness we once had, the slow and sweet love we used to make. But what if this, this reckless, desperate intensity, is what I crave now? What if I need to be used, to be taken, to be his in the most primal way possible?
Behind me, he shifts, the sound of his zipper lowering sending a fresh wave of heat between my thighs. Rough hands fist the hem of my dress, yanking it up .
“Fucking bare .” His palm lands hard on my ass, the sting sharp, jolting me forward.
I gasp, body jerking against the wood as my arousal deepens.
His voice is a growl, dripping with possession. “You danced with another man with this cunt bare to the world?” He delivers another slap, the heat radiating through my skin. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
A deep throb pulses inside me, spreading like fire. Without warning, he kicks my feet apart, forcing me open.
“That cunt is mine , isn’t it, Caroline?”
I nod frantically, desperate for more, my breath shaky around the leather between my teeth.
“Say it,” he demands. “But know this: once you give me that answer, I own you. Your body belongs to me. I will take my wife anytime and any place of my choosing. You surrender yourself to me.”
My chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, spit dripping from my lips as I struggle to form the words. The intensity of his demand presses down on me, thrilling and terrifying all at once. But I know my answer. I need this.
“Yes,” I rasp, my voice hoarse around the gag. “It’s yours.”
“Goddamn right it is.”
And with that, he slams into me, stretching me, filling me in one punishing thrust. My eyes squeeze shut, a whimper escaping as my fingers dig into the wood of the barn.
There’s no softness now. No hesitation. Just him . Pounding into me, staking his claim with every brutal stroke. His pace is relentless, rough, fueled by anger and need.
And God help me, I’ve never wanted anything more.