“Peter, stop,” she whimpers, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her knuckles white. “Please, it’s too high?—”
“I told you, Wendy,” I whisper, my face inches from hers, my voice a viral, lethal caress. “I am the floor that keeps you from falling. But only if I choose to be.”
I keep her pinned there, dangling over the abyss, and then I move my hand. I slide it up, past the garter, past the shredded lace of her panties, until my fingers find the soaking, swollen heat of her.
She lets out a shattered, high-pitched cry that the wind carries away.
“You’re so fucking wet for a woman who hates me,” I growl. I find her clit, my thumb circling it with a heavy, punishing pressure that makes her hips jerk uncontrollably.I’m not being gentle. I’m being thorough. I’m playing her like the cello in the ballroom, seeking the exact frequency that will make her snap.
I slide two fingers inside her, the wetness of her desire slicking my knuckles, making a soft, filthy sound that is louder to me than the distant mortars. She’s tight—so fucking tight it’s a miracle—clamping down on me as I pump into her, my other hand holding her firm against the ledge.
“Look at me,” I command. “Look at me while I do this.”
She opens her eyes, tears of terror and lust streaming back into her hairline. She’s hovering between life and death, between the cold stone and my hot hand, and she’s melting. Her pussy is pulsing around my fingers, a frantic, rhythmic thrumming that tells me she’s seconds away from the edge in more ways than one.
“You’re… you’re a goddamn monster,” she sobs, her head thrashing against the marble. “I can’t… Peter, please…”
“Say my name again,” I mutter, my thumb hitting that velvet peak with a sudden, sharp flick.
She screams, her body arching into the void, her entire frame racking with a violent, jagged orgasm that leaves her breathless and broken. I don’t stop. I keep my fingers inside her, feeling the way she ripples around me, the gold ring on her finger glowing a steady, pulsing red—syncing her climax to my own heartbeat.
I pull her back from the edge, sliding her down until her feet hit the stone, but I don’t let her go. I turn her around, slamming her face-first against the railing, and start unzipping myfly.
“The war is here, Wendy,” I rasp, my breath hot against her neck as the first explosion finally rocks the estate. “But you’re going to be too busy screaming my name to notice the world ending.”
The first mortar shell hits the outer perimeter, shaking the stone beneath us, but I don’t flinch. The only explosion I care about is the one happening between her legs.
I spin her around, slamming her front-first against the cold marble railing. Her shackled hands catch the stone, the gold chain clinking violently as I hike the massive, blood-stained skirt of her gown up to her waist. She’s exposed to the night, to the city, and to the man who owns every inch of her skin.
“Look at the city, Wendy,” I growl, my voice a viral, guttural rasp. “Look at it while I fuck you.”
I don’t ease in. I don’t give her a second to prepare. I grab her hips, my fingers bruising the pale skin, and drive my cock into her with one long, punishing thrust.
She lets out a shattered, high-pitched scream that gets swallowed by the wind. She’s so fucking tight, so wet, the friction of her heat clenching around me like a vice. I don’t stop; I pull back and slam into her again, the rhythm jagged and violent, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing over the edge of the balcony.
“You like being the Queen, don’t you?” I whisper into her ear, my teeth grazing the lobe. “You like that even with the world ending, I’m the only thing that can make you feel alive.”
I reach around her, my hands finding the heavy swell of her breasts. I don’t just cup them; I seize them, mythumbs and forefingers finding her nipples and pinching them hard.
“Peter—!” she sobs, her head thrashing, her spine arching as the double-edged sword of pain and pleasure slices through her.
“Shhh,” I hiss, my hand sliding down, past her stomach, until I find where we’re joined. I slide my fingers into the mess of our friction, finding her clit while I’m still buried deep inside her. I start to work her, my thumb circling that swollen, sensitive peak with a relentless, heavy pressure while my cock continues its brutal, rhythmic assault.
She’s coming apart. I can feel the tremors starting in her thighs, the way her pussy is pulsing and weeping around me, trying to swallow me whole.
“You’re a filthy little liar, Wendy,” I whisper, my voice dropping to a low, seductive filth. “You say you hate me, but your pussy is begging for my seed. It’s clenching me so hard it’s like you’re trying to steal the very breath from my lungs. You want to be filled by the monster. You want to be branded from the inside out.”
She lets out a broken, guttural moan, her hips bucking back against me, her shackled hands white-knuckling the railing. “Fuck… Peter… fuck me…”
“That’s it,” I growl, my pace becoming feral, a frantic, raw pounding that ignores the sirens and the smoke rising from the north. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’re my property.”
“I’m yours!” she screams, her voice cracking as she hits the peak, her body going rigid. She’s convulsing around me, the sheer intensity of the climax making her knees buckle, but I hold her up, my fingers still workingher, my cock driving deeper until I’m hitting the very back of her.
I let out a low, agonising roar as I reach my own limit, my body locking up as I spill into her, a hot, violent release that leaves me hollowed out and gasping for air.
I collapse against her back, my face buried in her hair, our hearts slamming against each other like two dying stars. The gold ring on her finger is a steady, triumphant red glow in the dark.
I’ve won. The city can burn, the Council can fall, but she is sealed.
