“Kaden,” she cries out, her voice a raw, desperate plea.
I am lost in her, in the tight, wet heat of her body, in the scent of her pleasure. My control, so carefully maintained, begins to fray. I am close. So close. The primal urge to breed her, to plant my seed deep inside her and make her the mother of my heir, is overwhelming.
“Come with me, Wynter,” I command, my voice a low, guttural growl. “Come with me now.”
I drive into her, one final, powerful thrust, my body shuddering as my release floods her, hot and thick. Her name is a roar on my lips.
At the same moment, she cries out, her body convulsing around me, her inner muscles clenching, milking me, taking everything I have to give.
I collapse onto her, my body heavy, spent. My forehead rests against hers, our breaths mingling in the quiet room. Her body is still trembling beneath me, the aftershocks of her pleasure a testament to our shared release.
I have claimed her. Not just with a kiss, not just with my touch, but with my body. I have filled her, possessed her, made her mine in the most primal, absolute way possible. I have planted my flag, my claim, my very essence inside her.
I pull out of her slowly, then gather her into my arms, pulling her tight against my side. She is pliant, exhausted, her body a warm, boneless weight against mine.
She is no longer the untouched Snow White, lost in the woods. She has been claimed by the dark king. And with any luck, she now carries his heir. She will never be the same. And she will never leave.
Twenty Five
Wynter
Mybodyisabattlefield. Every muscle aches, a deep, primal soreness that speaks of a battle fought and lost. I lie in the dark, tangled in silk sheets that are now a testamentto my surrender, the scent of sex—his scent, my scent—thick and cloying in the air. He holds me pinned against his side, one heavy arm draped over my waist, a possessive, living chain. His breathing is deep and even, the steady rumble a stark contrast to the frantic, silent screaming in my own mind.
A war rages within me. One part of me, the part that remembers the forest, the fear, the cold reality of my captivity, is recoiling in horror. I have been claimed. Possessed. Used. He took my virginity not as a gift, but as a prize, an act of ultimate ownership. The initial pain, sharp and tearing, was a brutal reminder of his power.
But then there is the other part of me. The traitor. My body.
My body, which has only ever known the cold neglect of Evilin’s rule, responded to his touch with a desperate, shameful hunger. The pain had melted into a pleasure so intense, so all-consuming, that it shattered my will. I cried out his name. I met his thrusts. I convulsed around him in a release that felt like both a death and a rebirth.
Tears of shame and confusion leak from the corners of my eyes, tracing hot paths down my temples into my hair. I am disgusted with myself. I am disgusted with the undeniable truth that, in the arms of my monster, I felt a pleasure I never knew existed.
A small, cold comfort surfaces through the haze of my self-loathing. The implant. My birth control. A tiny sliver of control in a world where I have none. At least there will be no lasting consequences of this night. At least I am safe from that. The thought is a flimsy shield, but it’s the only one I have.
Kaden stirs beside me, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. He nuzzles my hair, his lips brushing against my ear.
“Don’t cry, Snowflake,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, thick with sated desire. “There’s nothing to cry about.”
His words, meant to soothe, only amplify my shame. He knows I’m crying. He knows he broke me. And he is reveling in it.
He shifts, his hand moving from my waist to gently cup my jaw, turning my face toward his. In the dim light from the fireplace, his eyes are dark, bottomless pools of triumph.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he whispers.
Before I can protest, he sits up, pulling me with him. “Come.”
He lifts me from the bed as if I weigh nothing, my legs unsteady beneath me. He carries me into the vast, dark bathroom, the cool marble floor a shock against my bare feet. He sets me down on a plush bench, then turns on a low light, filling the room with a soft, ambient glow.
He turns on the shower, the sound of rushing water filling the silence. He doesn’t look at me. He simply adjusts the temperature, his movements efficient and precise.
When he’s satisfied, he turns back to me. He kneels before me, a warm, wet cloth in his hand. My breath hitches. My mind screams at me to run, to hide, but my body is frozen, paralyzed by a mixture of fear and a strange, morbid curiosity.
He gently parts my thighs. I flinch, a reflexive tensing of my muscles.
“Shhh,cara,” he murmurs, his gaze meeting mine. “Just let me clean you. Let me take care of what’s mine.”
His words are a chilling assertion of his ownership, yet his touch is surprisingly gentle. He carefully, meticulously, cleans the stickiness of our mingled fluids from my inner thighs, the evidence of his claim. The act is so intimate, so proprietary, it’s more violating than the sex itself. He is not just my captor; he is my keeper. Tending to his prize.
When he’s finished, he tosses the cloth aside and stands, pulling me to my feet. He guides me into the massive, glass-enclosed shower, the warm water a welcome balm on my aching body.
