I don’t know whether it’s my clipped tone that awards me the attention of her eyes or the grip I have on her face. Whatever it is, her stare is my undoing.
I want her now more than ever.
“I want to fuck you, Duchess. I want to fuck you so bad it hurts.” I step closer to her until she can feel how thick I am beneath my jeans. Even with my cock’s length being held back by an industrial-tough zipper, there’s no denying my girth. “But since I won’t touch you again until you say so, I’m not going to fuck you.” You have no idea how hard it is to articulate my next sentence when my fucked-up head has me believing the flare darting through her eyes is disappointment. “Instead, I’m going to kiss you. Alright, Duchess? Just a kiss. I’ll stop at that. I swear to you, I will.”
She shouldn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t even believe me, but for some ludicrous reason, she does. With her eyes locked on mine and her nostrils flaring, she faintly bobs her chin, permitting me to kiss her.
“I can’t be gentle, K. I don’t know how to be gentle.” Even though I’m trying to talk her out of it, my fingers weave through her hair that’s in bad need of a brush before I steer my mouth toward hers. “But I can try and be gentle for you. I’ll treat you like a real motherfucking princess if that’s what you want.” I brush my lips against her, uncaring if her teeth haven’t been brushed for as long as her hair. That’s how fucking bad I want her. “Open up for me, Duchess. Show me you want this, too.”
Any worries about unhygienic conditions fly out the window when she pops open her mouth at my request. She consumed almost two bread rolls on her way here, however, nothing but minty freshness awakens my senses when I suck in her hearty exhales, hoping the coolness of her breaths will lower my unhealthy body temperature. The seductive scent of her mouth has me so eager to join our lips, I drag my tongue along the roof of her mouth long before I taste the sweetness of her lips.
“Fuck me, Duchess. From the moment I saw you, I knew you’d destroy me.”
She doesn’t get the chance to respond. I’m on her in an instant. With one hand in her hair, and other on her waist, I pin her to the side wall of the pigsty with my crotch before kissing the living hell out of her.
For how shy she is, I figured her lips would remain as still as her mouth when she refuses to talk. I’m pleased as fuck to announce that isn’t close to the truth. Not only does she kiss me back, she leads our embrace like only one woman in my life has previously. She’s bruised, cut up, and marks cover almost every inch of her, but she kisses like she can’t see the chaos surrounding her. Like she’s perfectly stable. Beautiful and without scars.
The knowledge of her strength has me fighting for the top spot. I bite her lip harder than necessary, needing her whimpers to cool the fire roaring in my gut. If I don’t simper the temptation burning me alive, I’ll fuck her where she stands, heartless to the fact she’s already been used and abused multiple times in her pathetically short life. Then I’ll fuck her again just to ensure she knows she’ll never be touched by another man who isn’t me.
After dragging my beard-covered chin across her cheek, I press my lips to her ear. “Do you know what this means, Duchess? Do you have any clue what you’ve just given me?” I relish the pounding of her pulse in her ears for several long seconds before growling out, “This makes you mine.”
When her heart thumps faster during my confession, the darkness inside me roars. My hand is under the shirt she’s wearing as a dress in an instant, her scent causing my undoing. Her cunt smells delicious, and it has me completely forgetting my earlier pledge that I won’t touch her until she asks me. I need the wetness of her arousal coating my fingers more urgently than my lungs require their next breath.
An urge to piss on Vladimir’s ashes overwhelms me when I notch half an index finger inside of K. Her body isn’t the only thing messed up. Her insides are just as messy. Vladimir and his men fucked her over so good, no amount of tenderness will reverse their damage.
The thought of what the sick fucks put her through should have me immediately backing away. It’s a pity for K I’ve always had a fascination for the broken ones. They’re the fighters. The battlers. The women worthy of a crown. They trudged through the ashes of hell for their non-jeweled crown, so they deserve to wear it without the slightest slant.
She just needs someone stronger than them, rougher and unhinged. She needs someone tough enough to ensure her she’ll never be hurt again.
And that someone is me.
“Open up for me, Duchess. Let me in, and I promise I’ll make you feel good.” The violence roaring through me shifts to nurturing when the tight clench of her vaginal walls around my finger loosen at my request. I don’t deserve her trust, but I sure as fuck am pleased to have it.
K’s head bows forward to rest on my chest when my thumb finds her clit. It’s not marked like the rest of her. It’s perfectly soft and responsive to touch. None of the men she was forced to endure would have touched her here as their exchanges were never about K’s pleasure. It was always about them.
For how young she looks and the extent of her bruises and scars, I don’t feel comfortable saying she wasn’t a virgin when she became a captive. She could have very well never experienced pleasure. The thought has me paying extra attention to her clit and clenching cunt.
The weakest moan fans my chest like a feather dusting my skin when I circle the tiny nub protruding as much as the sharp cut of K’s hips. It causes precum to drip into the crotch of my jeans and allows me to notch the second half of my index finger inside of her.
When K clamps around my finger, uneased by the unexpected arrival of a shuddering moan vibrating through her chest, I drop my eyes to her face buried between my pecs. The rain sizzling on my red-hot skin makes my shirt appear to be painted on, leaving no place for K to hide—thank fuck.I need to know she’s with me, not in the darkness she generally hides in during sexual escapades.
“Stay with me, Duchess,” I demand, lifting her head to mine with my spare hand. Her eyes are glazed over and brimming with tears, but they’re not black and lifeless. “You’re not allowed to pass out until you’ve seen the fireworks.”
Her innocence is undeniable when she raises her eyes to the cloud-filled sky, unaware my comment was figurative. They beat her, raped her, and fucked with her head, but there’s one thing they never took away from her, and that was her purity. Anything you’re forced to do against your will doesn’t count.
I learned that three years ago.
K will learn it today.
After clearing my throat of a pride I haven’t felt in years, I say, “Are you ready to be swept away, Duchess? Are you ready to be free?”
Although I’m asking her questions, I don’t wait for her to answer me. I simply swipe at her clit firm enough to buckle her knees out from underneath her and for the barrier keeping her tears at bay to break.
As she silently shudders through a climax sparking her eyes with life, tears topple down her cheeks. Every salty drop that falls down her face has me wanting to go on a rampage. The only reason I don’t is because they also shed away the pained expression I thought her face would never quit wearing.
She is no longer a captive.
She is now just a broken woman.
