Page 41 of Porcelain Grave

I open my mouth to scream, to tell him to move, but it's too late.

The scorpion plunges its stinger deep into his shoulder.

Rhys doesn't flinch. He doesn't even hiss. He lets out a low, guttural laugh that sounds like it crawled out of a grave. I watch his eyes—those dark, haunting eyes—and they shift. The pupils blow out until the iris vanishes, leaving two voids of absolute, ink-black madness. It’s like something has snapped, or something has entered him. He looks possessed, his expression twisting into a mask of unhinged, psychotic devotion.

The venom hits his system, and instead of slowing him down, it sends him into a fucking frenzy.

He rips my legs back, pinning them against my chest in a position that makes me gasp, exposing every inch of me to his hunger. He begins to pound into me with a violence that is terrifying. This isn't sex anymore; it's an assault of love and madness. He’s fucking the life out of me, each thrust a brutal collision that rattles my teeth and sends sparks across my vision.

"I fucking love you, Ophelia!" he roars, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His voice deep. Deeper than before. "You're mine! Every drop of blood, every fucking breath! I'll kill them all—anyone who ever touched you, anyone who even looks at you wrong, I'll rip their fucking hearts out with my bare hands!"

As he ravages me, his voice softens, turning dreamy and distant, even while his body continues to batter mine. He’s seeing something I can’t see. He’s back in that moment, the day he first saw me.

"That leaf..." he whispers, his breath hot against my ear as he slams into me. "That beautiful, autumn leaf in your hand... I knew then. I knew you were the only thing in this rotting world worth owning. I've dreamt of this—of breaking you, of fusing us together until there's no telling where I end and you begin."

He flips me over with a sudden, violent jerk, slamming my face back into the black sand. All the scorpions on my body fall off. He doesn't stop the rhythm; he just changes the angle, driving into me from behind with a force that feels like it's splitting me in two. It hurts—it fucking hurts—but it’s a delicious, searing pain that blends with the pleasure until I can't tell them apart.

He reaches around, his large hands gripping my breasts, squeezing them with a bruising intensity. He leans down, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of my shoulder, marking me, claiming me. He moves to my breasts, sucking and biting at my nipples with a starving desperation, leaving dark, purple bruises that will last for weeks.

Then, his hand slides down, his fingers finding my clit. He begins to masturbate me with a frantic, expert precision, his thumb grinding against me while his cock continues to hammer my cervix.

The combination is too much. I scream, my body arching, and I plummet into a crashing orgasm.

But he doesn't let me recover. He keeps going. He spanks my ass, the loud crack of his palm against my skin echoing through the room, the sting only fueling the fire between my legs. He pushes me further and further, driving me into peak after peak.

One. Two. Three.

I lose track of time. I lose track of the room. I lose track of the positions he changes me in several times. There is only the grit of the sand, the danger of the scorpions, and the insane, possessive force of Rhys.

Four. Five. Six.

My muscles are shaking, my voice is gone, and my mind is fracturing. Every time I think I can't take another, he finds a new way to break me, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more feral.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

I'm sobbing now, a mixture of terror and absolute ecstasy. I want to get away from the sheer intensity of it—it's too much, too scary, too unhinged—but I'm addicted to the madness. I crave the way he's destroying me.

Eleven.

I stop counting. I can't. My brain is just white noise and heat. I'm coming so many times that my nerves are fried, my body vibrating with a frequency that feels like it's going to shatter my bones.

Rhys is beyond reason now. He’s a beast, a god of obsession, his eyes blacker than the sand beneath us. He lets out one final, animalistic scream, his body locking up as he delivers one last, deepest-possible thrust. He cums inside me again, a violent surge that feels like it's filling every void in my soul.

The world tilts. The black sand seems to rise up to swallow me. The adrenaline, the fear, and the sheer exhaustion of a dozen orgasms crash over me like a tidal wave.

As Rhys collapses on top of me, his heavy, sweating body pinning me into the grit, the darkness finally wins. My eyes flutter shut, and I faint, slipping into a void where only he exists.

Chapter 12

I gasp, my lungs suddenly burning as I bolt awake, the ghost of a dozen orgasms still vibrating in my nerves. For a second, I’m disoriented, the black sand and the clicking of scorpions still echoing in my mind, but as my vision clears, I realize the nightmare—or the dream—is over.

I’m back in the bedroom. The air is cool, the lighting dim and gothic, and I’m lying naked under the heavy covers. I shift, feeling a dull, throbbing ache between my thighs and a soreness in my chest and neck that makes me wince. I pull the duvet down, glancing over my skin, and my breath hitches.

I’m a fucking mess.

Dark purple bruises bloom across my breasts and thighs, and the unmistakable prints of his large hands are stamped all over my pale skin, marking me like a piece of property. He didn't just fuck me; he tried to merge his soul with mine through sheer, violent force.

Rhys is right there, watching me with those predatory eyes, his expression a mixture of hunger and a terrifying kind of tenderness.