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I can feel him throb inside me, and some shameful part of me wants to know what it feels like when he cums. I want that final closeness. Proof that I can make him helpless too.

But he pulls out.

He strokes his cock until his release shoots hot and thick across my stomach.

The sudden absence leaves me hollow.

My eyes flutter closed as I regain my composure.

He grabs his shirt and wipes me clean, erasing every trace of himself with brisk efficiency. He doesn’t linger. Doesn’t touch me again or even look at me like I’m worth soothing.

But he lingers beside the bed. His hand lifts like he means to touch my face. Then his fingers curl into his palm and fall back to his side.

I want him to stay. To lie beside me and hold me the way I always assumed people did after sex. To prove this meant more than what my body was useful for.

But I already know he won’t.

All he gives me is his back as he pulls on his pants.

“You’re leaving just like that?” My voice is barely a whisper.

His shoulders stiffen as his body stills. His head lowers as if he’s reconsidering.

Then he straightens his spine.

“I’m protecting my investment,” he says calmly. “You’re less vulnerable if men know you’ve been used.”

The words lodge in my chest and dig their nails into my heart. He says it so easily.

I pull the blanket up over myself like it can shield me.

“How would they even know that?”

“You won’t bleed when your pussy is used.”

A breath rushes out of my chest in almost a laugh. That’s all this was.

“You’ll be trained to take more impact,” he continues. “Your holes will conform to my control. The Order will watch how you respond during the next Trial.”

“The Breaking?”

“It’ll be about how much you can tolerate.”

The idea opens too many possibilities.

“Wha—”

“Don’t worry, this will all be worth it for you. We have a lead on your brother’s killer. You’ll get your justice.”

I sit up straight, questions crashing into one another. But he’s already turning away.

“Go to sleep, angel.”

At the end of the bed, he stares at the portrait of Jesus on the wall. Then he makes the sign of the cross with deliberate slowness and flips the image off.

The window screen opens.

I hold back tears as he slips out, forcing myself to stay in bed, refusing to watch him leave. But when more tears rise, my resolve crumbles.