He’s a fucking maniac, a man who has lost his mind to the scent of a girl who hates him. He licksa trail from my pussy to my navel, his tongue rough and demanding, before dropping back down to bury his face in me once more, all while his cock remains pressed firmly against my entrance, a loaded gun pointed at my soul.
“I’m going to ruin you, Hallow,” he breaths into my skin. “I’m going to fill you with so much of me that there won’t be room for the voices anymore.”
The air in the room is thick enough to swallow, a stagnant soup of bleach, blood, and the heavy, musky scent of a man who has completely surrendered to his own rot. Aris isn’t breathing anymore; he’s panting, a ragged, rhythmic sound that matches the frantic pulse in my throat.
He grips his cock, the skin of his knuckles white and strained as he lines himself up. He’s massive, a dark, throbbing shadow of meat and intent poised at the edge of my ruined pussy.
The head of him is slick, glistening with a mixture of his pre-cum and my own frantic wetness, and as he settles against my entrance, the heat of him feels like a brand.
“Look at me, Hallow,” he snarls, his hand moving to my jaw, fingers digging into the bruises Miller left. “Look at the man who’s finally taking what’s left.”
I don’t look. I can’t. My eyes are rolled back, myvision a fractured kaleidoscope of clinical white and blood-red.
Then, he pushes.
It’s not a slide; it’s an invasion. He shoves his cock inside me with a slow, brutal force that makes my entire world tilt on its axis. I let out a jagged, high-pitched scream that breaks against the padded walls, my back arching so high that only my heels and my head are touching the mattress.
He is too thick, too big, a solid wedge of muscle that stretches my pussy to the point of tearing. The chemical irritant screams in response, every nerve ending in my walls igniting like a fuse.
“Fuck,” Aris groans, his eyes snapping shut as he sinks deeper.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps pushing, his hips heavy and relentless, until the base of his cock slams against my clit. The impact is a sensory explosion, a white-hot lightning strike that fries my brain. I’m full—completely, agonisingly full.
I can feel the shape of him, the ridges of his veins against my internal walls, the way his weight is anchoring me to the bed in a way the leather straps never could.
“You’re… so… fucking… tight,” he gasps, his composure finally dissolving into a puddle of primal need.
He stays there for a moment, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against my knees. I’m sobbing, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts, my pussy clenching around him in violent, rhythmic spasms that I can’t control.
The feeling of him inside me is a violation of thehighest order, but with the drugs and the pain and the isolation, it’s also the only thing that makes me feel like I’m still made of flesh and bone.
He starts to move.
He pulls back—slowly, the suction of my wetness making a filthy, wet sound—until he’s almost all the way out, the head of his cock teasing the very edge of my opening. Then, he plunges back in.
Thud.
The sound of his pelvis hitting mine is a dull, wet echo. He’s hammering into me now, a rhythmic, punishing pace that turns my thoughts into static. Every thrust sends a new wave of fire through my gut, his cock hitting my g-spot with the force of a wrecking ball while his pubic bone grinds against my clit.
“You’re mine,” he growls with every shove. “My patient. My toy. My fucking masterpiece.”
I’m a wreck. I’m a disaster. I’m bucking against him, my hips meeting his thrusts in a desperate, animalistic dance of survival and psychotic need. The room is spinning, the lights are screaming, and all I can feel is the sliding, heavy heat of him ruining me from the inside out. I’m so wet that the fluid is splashing against his thighs, a hot, messy lubricant for my own destruction.
He reaches down, his thumb finding my clit and pinning it against his own shaft as he thrusts, a dual assault that pushes me right to the edge of the abyss. I’m right there—the orgasm is a towering wave of black fire, and Aris is the one holding the match.
“Cum for me, Hallow,” he commands, his voice a jagged edge in the dark. “Show me how much you love the cage.”
The air in the room is screaming, but it’s nothing compared to the roar in my head.
Aris is a goddamn animal, his hands no longer clinical but clawing at my hips, leaving red, angry crescents in my skin. He’s bottoming out with every thrust, his cock hitting my cervix with a dull, heavy thud that makes my vision flicker.
The chemical irritant has turned my pussy into a furnace, and every time he slides out, the air hits the raw skin like a thousand tiny needles, only for him to plunge back in and drown the pain in a surge of thick, pulsing heat.
“Look at you,” he gasps, his face a distorted mask of sweat and obsession. “You’re fucking shivering. You’re falling apart.”
He’s right. I’m vibrating. My muscles are wound so tight they’re screaming, my toes curled into the mattress as the pressure builds in my lower belly—a dark, pressurised weight that’s about to blow. He feels it too. He feels the way my internal walls are starting to spasm, the way I’m clamping around his cock like a vice, trying to swallow him whole.
He leans forward, his teeth baring as he grips my hair and yanks my head back, baring my throat. He reaches down with his free hand, his thumb and forefinger finding my clit and squeezing it with a brutal, rhythmic pressure that matches the frantic pace of his hips.
