Raphael, please. Raphael, I scream in the solace of my mind when Alden refers to a reverse ligation, to restore my womb, to resurrect me.
Then, his hips slam against my ass, and he shoots his load into me.
“Bri…” He hovers over me, his lips rubbing my cheek.
When I don’t move, don’t respond, he grips my throat, shaking me. When I realize he’s are in perfect alignment to catch sight of the arrowhead, I turn, my gaze burning.
It’s inhuman. A violation for him to look the way he does. Because any woman would kneel and beg him to ruin them. Many have.
He sighs heavily, then picks my worn body up. I can’t stop shaking. My ass hurts. Worse than Rory ever could.
And then, Alden takes my mouth.
I forgot the way he could kiss. Gripping the back of my neck and the base of my spine to hold me in place, he crushes my mouth with his. It’s worse because of how controlled he is, how commanding. His tongue laves mine, heating my blood. He steals a moan from my lungs.
My body was groomed, trained for him. It still remembers him, because the heat spreads until my inner muscles tighten. He triggers my greatest shame, vowing to hurt me, to cage me in this kiss.
His groan resonates down my throat and sends little echoes of thunder to ignite all my nerve endings, every pleasure zone in my body.
It would have been better if he’d left me here, broken, bruised, but my heart beating.
Instead, he forces the pleasure on me. He doesn’t taste, explore, or worship. Alden doesn’t even dominate. Because it’s not about me. It’s all about him. A narcissist’s seduction is love bombing. The pleasure after the pain, to reward me for taking him.
He’s building me up, just so he can break me down.
He will do it as many times as it takes until he owns me, body, mind, and soul.
Waves of primal heat grow between my thighs, betraying me. My skin and flesh, my very blood, respond.
Alden touches me. Two fingers sweeping my labia, collecting my fluids. I shudder down to my core.
As the shameful heat spreads, Alden chuckles into my mouth. Fear sharpens in me.
“I’ve learned quite a few things in the five years of your absence, my beautiful Bri.” He kisses my brow and sinks his fingers in. “Would it please you to know how I’ve prepared for you?”
Those fingers trace my rim. My hips rise against my will.
I don’t let the words get inside me.
I’m too focused on ignoring him, trying to defy my body—I don’t see the handcuffs until he’s chained me to the bed.
Nothing I can do. He lathers his palms with oil, then cups my neck, coating me in it, working his way down. My nipples harden as he kneads my breasts and rubs his thumbs along the erect buds.
He closes his mouth around one, and I hiss, my back arching.
“This is my anointing of you,” he tells me before circling his tongue around my other nipple.
“I’d rather drown you with it.”
Low amusement ripples from his throat. He pinches my nipples, twists, turns, savoring, conquering.
“Mother of God, you’re soaked.” He stabs his fingers inside me.
I whimper because I’m still sore after Rory earlier, Raphael before him.
“Such a hot channel, so tight. You will please me greatly as I prepare you during the ritual.”
He’s going to fuck me first. Then, the procedure.
