Chapter 26 #2
“I don’t kiss,” she whispered in his ear. “Especially lowborn animals like you.” She dug her fingernails deep into his shoulders, and rocked her hips. “Now fuck me like you despise me.”
Izyák grabbed her by the waist and yanked her up. “You’re a dirty fucking whore, éllia.” He slammed her down onto his cock with such force he once again drove her breath from her body, ripped it out as he impaled her. “Now you’re my dirty whore.”
“Yes,” she moaned against him, her face buried in his chest as she rose to meet his violent, eager thrusts. “Use me, take me. Ruin me. Make me scream.”
Make me forget.
Effortlessly, she was lifted and then slammed down onto a table.
Parchment fluttered and scattered to the floor around them.
èllia felt every ridge and scar as she dragged her nails across his back as he drove her into the wood.
She glimpsed her reflection in a mirror across the room—dress undone, hair wild, skin flushed—and smiled at the brutal rhythm of his thrusts.
This was what she needed, to be broken and used.
It was exactly what she deserved. Something she could control.
Izyák caught her smile. With a growl, he wrapped a hand around her throat and pulled her attention back to him. His fingers dug in so deeply that her vision tunnelled and she could barely keep her eyes open to meet the fire in his.
“Whores don’t get to smile while I fuck them,” he grunted as he rammed her again.
A delicious scream cracked in èllia's throat as he flipped her around and bent her over the desk, pinning her down by the back of the neck. His powerful weight crushed her until she couldn’t think or breathe—only feel. Just what she wanted.
“Whores get fucked like dogs because that’s all you are. The king’s bitch.” He grabbed her between the legs and made her jolt with a delicious smack. She jerked and shuddered with a groan. Izyák sneered down at her. “I doubt I’m the first to use this cunt today.”
The truth made èllia want to pull away. He was right, which was why she needed to be treated like this. Punished for the awful things she let happen to her.
She twisted so that she was half-facing him again, clawing at him until his shirt fell away and blood trickled down his chest in thin rivulets. The captain was battle-forged, his skin covered in burns and scars beyond count. She clenched around him at the sight.
Not even his Bloodstone markings, which curled around his chest and biceps, all the way up to his neck and the side of his face, could hide the extent of his wounds. Whatever injured him had nearly taken his life.
And it turned her on terribly.
As she traced one of the scars with her fingers, the captain tightened his grip on her throat in warning. She froze, but inside—gods—inside, she throbbed.
“Don’t you dare stop fucking me,” she hissed at him, breathless. “Keep going… show me how much you hate me!”
With a grunt, the captain spun her back around. Her cheek slammed against the table and scraped the wood as he forced her face-down. The sharp, stabbing pain of his vicious thrusts made her flush and writhe and moan with dizzying desire.
The punishing rhythm made her shake. It made her feel again.
The captain took her on that table, rutting into her like a wild beast.
When his pace began to slow, he grabbed èllia's throat and turned her—and for one terrifying moment, she thought he was about to kiss her again. Then his mouth fell to her left breast, and he bit down on her. That alone sent èllia spiraling.
“This is what I… what I wanted… Oh, sweet mercy!”
She convulsed around him, her entire body shaking and twitching under his weight. He shuddered and followed, his teeth pressing into her neck to quiet his own sound. The deep, guttural moan he gave nearly sent her over the edge again.
The captain shuddered and then collapsed over her, his weight balanced on his elbows.
For a long moment, they lay entwined, nothing but their harsh breathing to fill the silence. This was what èllia had not only wanted, but needed. Used so thoroughly she could not think of anything else.
Izyák straightened over her, his cock still half-hard inside her.
“You really do have a bewitching cunt, éllia.”
When they locked eyes, there was an unexpected softness to his hard gaze that took èllia by surprise. Then that familiar crease formed between his brows again, and he scowled down at her. He lifted a hand towards her face as if to strike her.
èllia instinctively jerked her head away from him. His scowl deepened. He grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him. But he didn’t hit her. Instead he did something much worse. He brushed a tear from her cheek she hadn’t known had fallen.
His touch was soft, too soft, too gentle. Too… wrong.
“I weep for your pitiful performance,” she gritted out. “Now get off me.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.
She could feel the heat of him, the aftermath, the mess of what they’d done, but still he didn’t move. He just glared at her—and there was a hint of something else, something that made èllia recoil.
How dare he pity her!
èllia didn’t need his damn pity. She only needed his hate.
His hate and the ruin he could bring her.
Her hand slapped him before her mind could register what she was doing.
èllia's palm burned and throbbed as a vicious, red welt swelled across the captain’s expressionless face.
He didn’t so much as blink. Still looking at her, still questioning. Still—pitying her?
Damn him! Damn his pity!
She raised her feet and kicked Izyák as hard as she could in the stomach, dislodging him from between her thighs.
“What did I say about being gentle?!”
He moved back a step, finally releasing her, but didn’t seem in the least affected by her blow. èllia wasted no time jumping off the table, and quickly righted her skirts. The captain watched her in that silent, judging way of his that made her skin burn.
Without even looking at him, èllia marched out of his quarters, slamming the door hard behind her. Izyák could keep his damned pity! She had gotten what she wanted from him. To be punished, and to forget.
But èllia knew, no matter what she did, she could never erase what her father had done to her. What he’d turned her into. She could only carve space around the scars he left on her and call it survival.