Chapter 44 BETH
BETH
That’s my fucking good girl.
“You’re just as fucked up as me, Elizabeth,” Zaghan’s breath was harsh, hot, and ragged as it fanned my ear, his fingers tightening around my throat, pressing just enough to make me gasp.
He stilled inside me, thick and pulsing, stretching my walls as though he owned my body, my pleasure.
“Look at you,” he whispered against the storm. “So pathetic and needy. Still squeezing me so fucking tight as you ride my cock on your mother’s grave.”
A violent tremor ripped through me, shame tangling with something darker.
My nails clawed at the wet earth, dirt grinding beneath my fingertips as my hips jerked, desperate to meet his next thrust. And when he pulled out, leaving me empty just for a second, I barely had time to blink before he slammed back into me, knocking breath from my lungs.
“I bet you want me to tell you all the details.” His words slithered down my spine like a sin, while my moans sliced through the clasp of thunder as his pace quickened. The wet sounds of our bodies rivalled the rain pelting on the headstone, soaking us both in a chill, illicit baptism.
“Should I tell you?” His nails dug into my hip, each thrust maddening and provoked.
“Answer me, Elizabeth, or forget about coming tonight,” he growled, yanking my head backward by a fistful of my hair until I was staring up at his hollow, dark eyes.
His cruel promise, however, caused my pussy to clench possessively around him, heat pooling low in my stomach.
“Do you want me to tell you how I erased that fucking bitch from your life?” His fingers flexed around my throat.
“Yes,” I found myself caving, whimpering as I quivered around him.
Like a deranged motherfucker, there was a weird excitement in his voice, a sick grin curving his luscious lips as he narrated how he murdered Mother in our living room. The way her scream had echoed through the night yet no one heard her.
As he told the horrific tale, his eyes gleamed, depraved, and alight with something wicked, yet I didn’t recoil. Instead, something shifted inside me. Something twisted, blackened and rotting, stirring awake.
When he reached the part where Mother took her last, shuddery breath, a sharp cry tore from my throat. My entire body locked, legs quaking, spine bowing as pleasure—hot, vicious, and all-consuming—crashed over me in a brutal wave, drowning his cock in the sickest, most intense orgasm I ever had.
The loud shrill of a bell snapped me back to reality, and like a thief caught stealing, I froze, eyes blinking rapidly, cheeks hot.
I felt the moistness between my legs, and I instantaneously pressed my thighs together, shame slicing through my chest, stirring a bitter feeling in my gut.
This was probably the hundredth time I was thinking about that night. That sick and twisted night.
I left without telling Kenzo goodbye even when Zaghan gave me the sweet chance to.
I simply couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face Kenzo.
I couldn’t tell him goodbye. Not when I just had sex with a man on my mother’s grave.
Not when I just found out my mother was dead, yet felt no remorse.
Got railed on her grave and came all over it, instead.
The woman who gave birth to me was murdered by the man whose ring I was wearing.
But I didn’t cry. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t sad.
I didn’t know what to feel. I was just…numb.
That made me a monster.
I wasn’t half as human as I had thought. I didn’t deserve Kenzo’s presence. I wasn’t worth his light. He was better far away from me.
It had been a week now, and I was still here, a prisoner in my supposed husband’s house, just as I had presumed. I had no access to my cellphone, because like all devils did, he lied to me. He didn’t have any plan on getting me a phone.
The night we arrived in Glenfallow was the last night I saw him. According to what I heard from Captain Razzo, Zaghan traveled for business, and he would be making stops in three countries, which meant he might be gone for a week or more.
The soldier was apparently my caretaker until Zaghan would return. He told me that if I needed to speak to Zaghan, I should let him know. I had nothing to say to Zaghan. I preferred it if he didn’t even come back so I could have time to plan my escape from this hell hole.
My days were monotonous. All I had been doing was waking up, showering, and standing at the balcony of our room, which I realised was at least 48 feet tall, and watching soldiers move robotically with weapons hanging around their bodies as if they were preparing for war.
Then at 8 a.m., the butler would knock on the door and echo breakfast with those feathery wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
The farthest the soldiers watching my every move had allowed me to go was the gazebo. And even in there, I was surrounded by five armed men. And when I looked to my right, at least ten armed soldiers were hanging on the guard tower, which oversaw everything happening on the ground.
The only person that had ever given me a reaction in this house was Callan’s sister. Oh, she hated me. The sight of me alone always set off this grenade in her head.
My first dinner here, on my way back to my room, she cornered me.
I really couldn’t catch most of the things she said.
I had zoned out, only seeing the rage in her eyes, the twisted way her lips moved as she said another annoying thing to me in Scottish.
But she was the least of my problem. I found her rather entertaining.
A heavy sigh broke out of my lips as I leaned off the metal railing, my fingers whisking away the hair that the wind plastered across her face. I wrapped my arms around my body when a gentle shiver travelled through me.
With one last glance stolen at the soldiers disappearing into the large building where they usually went for training, I turned away at the same time a loud knock came on the door.
I slid the balcony door shut, my feet padding against the floor as I crossed over to the said door. I pulled it open, my brows pinched when I saw no one. I glanced down at the hall but saw nothing.
Shaking away the strange feeling, I proceeded to shut the door but something on the floor caught my eyes fleetingly.
It was a folded paper.
Bending over, I moved to touch it, but retrieved my hand cautiously.
Is it a bomb?
‘It’s just a freaking paper,’ a snarky voice uttered.
Glancing down at the dark and empty hallway, I lifted the paper with such delicate hands, as if the faintest of pressure would shatter it. I shut the door behind me, then walked to the black leather couch and sat.
I took a deep breath in and unfolded the paper. It was just a note, of course, in black ink.
It had no name.
I read.
~A golden cage is still a prison. I see you, French bird. I see the way your wings twitch, the way your eyes dart to the door you’ll never open because you think you’re not brave enough. But trust me, you don’t have to belong to him just because he said so~
Huh?
???
I was asleep, but I could swear someone was touching me. Maybe it was just a dream, but my body was on fire, heat pooling low in my stomach. And there was an unquenchable, burning ache between my thighs.
A long gasp echoed in the room, my eyes snapping open. For a split, I felt disoriented, unable to make up anything in the poorly lit room. Then I heard it, a satisfied hum so close, almost like it was happening right in front of—
A zap of pleasure wracked my body, my chest heaving as my eyes fell on the mass of white hair buried between my legs.
The person’s head lifted, a sly grin stretching across his lips, the same lips that were currently covered in my release.
“What the–”
“Do me a favor, and keep quiet, yeah?” The word rumbled from his chest as he tucked out a tongue, swiping it across his lower lip. “I’m trying to fucking eat, baby.”
My back almost arched into his touch as his face disappeared between my thighs again, his tongue plunging deep inside me.
“G-get away from me.” The words broke in my mouth.
“I already did that,” he murmured between swipes of his tongue along my clit. “For seven days, Elizabeth. I’m not usually that generous, you know that.”
“Don’t…” I bit down a moan when he pulled my clit into his hot mouth, sucking on it like a man starved.
“Fuck, Zaghan. D-don’t, god, don’t touch…me.”
He released a disgruntled sound before detaching his mouth and lifting his head.
He pushed himself up, stretching his large body over my petite one.
Before I could make another protest despite the agonising ache between my thighs, he buried his face into my neck, lips brushing against my skin, leaving behind a trail of flame.
“In case you didn’t realise it,” he whispered huskily, like a man drunk.
“I missed my wife dearly.” He left open-mouthed kisses along the curve of my neck, on my chest, above my breast. “I missed her scent, her body, her fucking moans, and god, I missed her perfect pussy.” I nearly whimpered, clenching my thighs to nurse the burn that was now driving me insane.
“So forget touching, Elizabeth.” His teeth sank into the soft flesh below my ear, his tongue swiping out to numb the sharp ache. “I’ll be inside you tonight. All.” Kiss. “Fucking” Kiss. “Night.”
A gasp was caught in my throat when his lips claimed mine in a possessive, lingering kiss.
And as much as I wanted to fight him off, to not be like this with him, weak, pathetic, I found myself kissing back, catching up with his pace, opening my mouth when he demanded access, my fingers intermingling in his silky hair as the kiss turned hungry, deep, demanding.
Briefly, he broke away to pull the soft material off my body, tossing it aside before his lips found mine again. His hands were all over my body, kneading my breasts, gripping my hips as he ground his clothed cock against my aching opening.