Rage & Ruin | 18+

12|Feeling Tired? (18+)

"You're far better than your sister in sex," he murmured, his voice a dark caress against her ear. The words were like acid, burning through her very soul. "The combination of obedience and rebel, hottest feeling I have ever had." His breath was hot and moist, a stark contrast to the cool night air. The statement was a knife to her heart, a twisted declaration of his pleasure in her pain.

He twisted her nipple, a sharp pinch that made her gasp. The pain was a shock to her system, bringing her back to the reality of her situation. Daphne's eyes closed, her teeth gritted together as she tried to keep her composure. The pressure grew, his index and thumb working in unison, a dance of pain and pleasure that made her knees weak.

"Your sister was a whore," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "And your family, they're all just as despicable." His words were a slap in the face, each syllable a dagger that pierced her heart. Daphne's eyes flew open, her fists clenching at her sides. The mention of her family brought a new wave of anger, a fiery rage that threatened to consume her.

"How dare you," she spat, her voice shaking with emotion. "You know nothing about them."

Alaric's grip tightened, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure as he watched the anger flare in her gaze. "Oh, but I do," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Your sister was a slut who threw away her future for a taste of the high life, and your family were all too eager to sell you to me to keep their precious reputation intact."

Daphne's tears fell like rain, trailing down her cheeks and neck, soaking into the fabric of the shirt he had carelessly thrown at her after their last encounter. She could feel the wetness spreading, a cold embrace that matched the ice in her veins. His words were a blend of truth and lies, a twisted knot that she couldn't untangle. Her sister had run away, leaving her to face the consequences of her actions, but she had never been a whore. The accusation was a slap in the face, a reminder of the power he held over her.

Alaric's hands continued to roam, his fingers tracing the lines of her body as if he owned every inch of her. His touch was both a comfort and a taunt, a gentle caress that belied the harshness of his words. He spoke of her family as if they were strangers, as if their love and pain meant nothing. Each syllable was a knife that cut deeper into her soul, twisting and turning until she could barely breathe.

And then, as if to seal her fate, his hand found its way to her most intimate part. His fingers slid through her folds, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the harshness of the handcuffs that had marred her skin. Daphne's body responded despite her mind's protest, a traitorous heat building between her legs. His touch was a siren's call, luring her into a storm of passion she knew she shouldn't want.

Her breath hitched as his mouth found her sweet spot, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. His kiss was a brand, a mark of ownership that she couldn't escape. Each nip and suck sent a jolt of pleasure through her, a confusing mix of pain and arousal that she had become all too familiar with. Her body arched into his touch, a silent betrayal of her vow to resist.

He chuckled darkly, the sound a low rumble against her skin. "See, Daphne," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper. "You want this as much as I do." His fingers danced over her clit, a slow, teasing rhythm that had her legs trembling. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

The anger within her grew, a beast that roared to life with each stroke of his hand. How could she want this monster? How could she crave the very person who had stolen her life, her dignity? Yet, she did. The pleasure was undeniable, a fierce, all-consuming fire that burned away every other thought.

Daphne felt the storm within her building, a crescendo of passion that she hadn't known she was capable of. His fingers delved deeper, filling her with a sense of fullness that she had never felt before. The handcuffs were forgotten, the room fading into the background as she was lost in the sensation of his touch.

Her orgasm was a scream that echoed through the night, a silent cry of anger and despair. Her body writhed against his, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to find purchase. But there was none to be had. She was lost in a sea of pleasure, drowning in the very thing that was her torment.

As the waves of pleasure crashed over her, she felt a tear slide down her cheek, the saltiness a stark contrast to the sweetness of the kisses he peppered along her collarbone. The handcuffs were a constant reminder of her captivity, a prison of her own making. Daphne knew she should hate him, should fight him with every fiber of her being.

Yet, as the tremors of her climax subsided, she felt a strange sense of relief. "Feeling tired?"