Chapter Eight
Anya
The door to his a hundred-million-dollar house crashes shut behind us, sealing me into this nightmare. The foyer is the most luxurious place I have ever seen; it looks like something straight out of a French museum, but it’s so cold that it sucks the warmth from my bones. It's opulent, yeah, but it pulses with wrongness—a gilded cage for his madness.
"Let me go, Cassian!" I wrench against him. Those glacier-blue eyes burn into me, his beard scraping my skin as he hauls me up the staircase that probably costs more than my whole apartment complex.
"You're not leaving, Anya. You promised me a week."
I thrash, but it's futile. He's a force of nature gone rotten, dragging me like a ragdoll toward the abyss.
A huge bed squats in the center of his bedroom, and there’s a towering mirror that warps our reflections into something monstrous. His lamps are crimson, making this whole thing feel even more devilish. He hurls me onto the bed, the springs groaning under me, and I scramble backward.
"Cassian, please, this is deranged. Just let—"
He rips his shirt away, baring the sculpted ridges of his torso, and I forget how to continue my sentence. His irises seem splintered with insanity. “Seven days, Anya. You owe me seven days.”
On the surface, I'm all defiance. But inside? The abyss stares back, and it terrifies me how the fear coils a filthy ache between my thighs.
He seizes my ankles, forcing my legs apart, his beard rasping over the stretch marks on my inner thighs. His tongue follows one mark's path with agonizing slowness, as if devouring them. I don’t think I can take what he’s giving me. It isn’t just sex; he’s fucking worshiping me.
"Stop," I plead, but the disgusting truth is that I’d go crazy if he does. He shreds my panties in a frenzy, diving into my pussy, nose grinding against my clit as he inhales, a junkie chasing his fix. "You’re my ruin, Anya. My poison, my salvation."
I clamp my thighs, but he wrenches them open wider. His tongue spears my folds, coiling around my clit. My juices paint his beard, dripping down his chin, and he laps greedily, teeth nipping my lips until they throb. My filthy hips betray me, chasing his tongue like a horny little slut.
He rears up, slick-chinned, seizing my jaw in a vise. “Tongue out. Now.”
I balk, lips sealed. “Obey, or I'll make you.”
What in the fuck is wrong with me? I want him to make me. And simply because I’m scared of how much I’ll enjoy it if he does, I part my mouth, tongue lolling out. I don’t want to find out how much more depraved I can get.
He licks my tongue, tasting my saliva like it's elixir from the gods. Drool spills, mingling in a filthy stream down my throat, and he draws my tongue into his mouth. “Part of me now,” he murmurs, then clamps my hand to his throat. “Lick. Imprint yourself on my pulse.”
My tongue grazes his neck, the salt of his sweat delicious. I need fucking help, because I want more. I feel like if he won’t give me more, I’ll die.
"This is insane," I mutter, but he only laughs, flipping me prone, ass up. His palms bruise my cheeks, prying them apart until the air hits my exposed hole.
"Insane? No. It’s us. It’s right. We’re feral over each other, my little doll."
His tongue assaults my ass, circling the pucker with obscene hunger. I keen into the pillow. He moans while his nose is ass-deep in me, and my pussy spasms, leaking shame onto the sheets. He feasts from ass to slit. "My altar," he rasps.
He rolls me over, tearing my top to bare my breasts. He then kisses me like no one has ever kissed me before—he scours my teeth, the enamel ridges, and the insides of my cheeks. Spit floods my mouth, and he watches it pool, mesmerized, before slurping it back.
His mouth moves southward, to my belly's soft swell—my biggest insecurity—and he fucking worships it too. How can something so filthy be so sweet at the same time? How can something so wrong feel so fucking right? “You’re the most beautiful woman I ever seen.”
Despite myself, I blush. I need to get my head checked.
He takes his pants off, his cock unleashing—girthy, ridged with veins. It looks like it will rip me open. He notches at my entrance. “Admit it. You crave me.”
"I... no," I lie, but then he impales me, slamming balls-deep. I wail, nails shredding his back, drawing blood that slicks our skin. He ruts into me with demonic fury. "Lies," he snarls, pounding harder. I loathe—fear—the way my cunt milks him, body surrendering to the madness.
Remnants of his spit and my arousal smear across my belly as he hammers, grunting like a beast in heat. “My curse. My eternity.”
My orgasm rips through me, and it drags him under. He erupts into me. He doesn’t let me go for the longest time after that, and it feels like he’s chipping away at my common sense.
He then carries me to the bathroom, turning on the faucet, making sure the water is warm enough for me. His hands are rough, calloused, as he begins to clean me. He starts at my face, his touch so fucking gentle that it almost makes me cry. "My little doll," he murmurs. "So fucking perfect."
Then he washes my neck, my collarbone, and my tits. His fingers settle between my thighs, spreading me open, probing into me. He washes my pussy, his fingers moving in and out. "You loved what we did, didn’t you?"
I hate that the truth is yes—I enjoyed it so much that I already can’t wait for us to do it again. People will judge me, I know they will, and they have the right to. But anyone who has experienced the worship he performed on my body, like I’m his religion and he’s in prayer, would understand.
His thumb brushes against my asshole, washing me there too. "You're my perfect little doll, aren’t you?" he asks.
I nod. It’s as if I’m in a trance; he can ask me to marry him right now, and I’d agree. I’m drunk on pleasure.
He dries me off and dresses me in his shirt. I feel completely consumed by him, and it hasn’t even been a week. I’m in trouble.
"Sleep now, my little doll," he whispers. "Dream of me."
I close my eyes. Nothing sounds better than sleep at that moment. I can feel the tendrils of addiction wrapping around me, pulling me deeper into his web. And a part of me, a dark, hungry part, revels in it. I know that this is just the beginning. There’s no turning back now.