Chapter 14 #3
I try to shrink away, but he slams a second finger inside me. I let out a sharp, piercing scream as I feel myself stretch, the pressure expanding me in ways I’ve never been before. He’s fucking me with his fingers now, deep and hard, while his thumb grinds into my clit with sadistic precision.
"Look at me, Ophelia," he commands.
I can't. I'm too far gone, my eyes squeezed shut, my mind floating in a sea of white noise. The moment I refuse, he shifts. He leans up and sinks his teeth into my nipple—still trapped in the steel clamp.
I shriek, the sharp sting of his teeth combined with the pinch of the metal forcing my eyes wide open. I look at him.
His eyes are terrifying. They are dark, bottomless pits of obsession, burning with a hunger that isn't just sexual—it's possessive.
There is a manic edge to his gaze, a look of absolute ownership that tells me I am no longer my own person; I am his property.
He looks like a god of ruin, his face twisted into a smirk of pure, unadulterated power.
And the most fucked up part? Seeing that darkness, that absolute lack of mercy, makes my pussy throb. It makes me want him even more.
He goes back to it, fucking me with his fingers and masturbating me with a brutal intensity. I am a raw nerve, a shaking mess, until the dam finally breaks.
I come so hard my entire body seizes. It’s not just an orgasm; it’s an explosion.
I feel a rush of heat flood my core, my muscles contracting in violent, prolonged spasms that make me sob.
I feel like I’m being ripped apart and put back together all at once, my breath hitching in a series of broken whimpers as I finally, utterly collapse.
I lay limp on the bed, completely spent, my limbs feeling like lead. He reaches down and gently removes my mask, exposing my face. For the first time, I don't look away. I look straight into his eyes.
They are softer now, but the obsession is still there, simmering beneath the surface. He looks at me with a terrifying kind of tenderness, as if I am the most precious, broken thing he has ever owned.
"My beautiful, cracked doll," he whispers as he wipes the tears away.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing the damp hair away from my forehead, his touch surprisingly light.
Then, he leans in and kisses me. It’s a deep, consuming kiss, tasting of salt and sex.
I stay still for a heartbeat, the horror of my situation warring with the pleasure he just gave me, before I finally melt, kissing him back with a desperate, needy hunger.
He shifts, pulling me against him and laying on top of me, his heavy weight pinning me into the mattress.
I look up at the mirror on the ceiling and see us—the ruined, naked girl and the monster who broke her, entwined in the dark.
I can feel his hardness pressing against my soaking clit, a promise of what's to come.
My eyelids grow heavy, the exhaustion finally winning. As the darkness of sleep pulls me under, thing I feel is the possessive beat of his heart against mine.
The darkness of sleep is pulling at me, but my body is still humming, a live wire of raw nerves and lingering heat. I am drifting, floating in that hazy space between consciousness and oblivion, but I can still feel him.
Rhys doesn't just let me slip away. He begins to worship me, his lips tracing a slow, possessive path across my skin.
He kisses the hollow of my throat, the slope of my shoulder, and the sensitive curve of my breast, his breath hot against my chilled skin.
Every press of his lips is like a brand, marking me as his, claiming every inch of my ruined, shaking form.
He kisses the soft skin of my stomach, the dip of my waist, and the inner curve of my thighs, his movements languid and predatory.
I moan softly, the sound muffled by the pillows, my mind a fog of pleasure and exhaustion. Even as I fight to stay awake, my body betrays me. It doesn't want the sleep; it wants him.
The friction of his hardness against my soaking clit is a torture I don't want to end.
I can feel the dampness between my legs, the slick, needy heat that refuses to cool down.
In a subconscious, desperate plea for more, my legs shift.
I don't even realize I'm doing it at first, but my thighs slide wider, parting instinctively, opening me up and exposing my dripping pussy to the cool air and his hungry gaze.
It is a silent invitation, a surrender. I am offering myself to the monster, begging him to fill the void he created.
I want to feel him stretch me, to feel the weight of him driving deep inside me, erasing the rest of the world until there is nothing left but the rhythm of his cock and the sound of my own screams.
I feel him stiffen above me, his breath hitching as he realizes I'm inviting him back in. I can almost feel the predatory smirk on his face, the triumph of knowing he has completely broken me.
As my eyes finally flutter shut and the void of sleep claims me, the last thing I feel is the searing heat of his body pressing closer, and the promise that when I wake up, the real torment—the beautiful, agonizing kind—will only just be beginning.