Predator

41

Outside the window, shadows flickered, and in the poorly soundproofed hallway, there were mercenaries stirring in the night. Occasionally, the sound of snoring seeped through the opening and closing doors, clearly conveying Amelia's current predicament: she was the only woman here, trapped in a fortress of steel and stone. The man violating her had become her only source of reliance.

She felt as if she was, as Liam had said, "infected," her entire body burning unnaturally, all her senses concentrated in her lower body, becoming numb from being penetrated. Her body turned into a vessel for the man's repeated abuse, secreting a temporary escape from pain. Liam, on top of her, was like a hungry dog satiating itself with eroticism, his tongue tracing the shape of her earlobe, his swollen shaft veiny and red, curved with a menacing angle.

Each time, he would pull out entirely before thrusting back in, his powerful hips moving vigorously, blocking out her screams and moans. He inserted a finger between Amelia's clenched teeth, prying her mouth open. "Why don't you scream? Are you not enjoying this? Call my name."

He controlled the direction and speed of his thrusts, easily finding Amelia's sensitive spot, making her cry out in tears. She opened her mouth to curse, "Liam, you bastard—"

A hint of excitement and madness flashed in his eyes as he quickened his pace, driving Amelia into a frenzy of spasms, transparent fluids gushing out. He barely managed a few more thrusts before biting down, sucking on her soft tongue, sharing his saliva as he reached his climax.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of their heavy breathing. "Get out," Amelia said after catching her breath, covering her face with one hand and pushing Liam with the other.

He bit her wrist, right where her tattoo was. "Another cut for you?" he teased, casually treating his life as a bargaining chip to amuse her. But it didn't amuse Amelia. She tried to pull her wrist away, only to feel a sharp pain as Liam bit down until he tasted blood.

He then used his belt to tie her hands behind her back, forcing her chest to jut forward, making it easier for him to kiss her breasts, her nipples blooming under his tongue. Through her tears, Amelia suddenly recalled their first meeting. The broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted man had grabbed her wrist, questioning if she had a death wish.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She realized then that she couldn't outdo him in ruthlessness. Liam truly wasn't afraid of death.

She uncharacteristically submitted, nestling in his arms, softly calling his name. Liam squinted, enjoying the feel of her breasts in his hands. "Trying to negotiate?"

Amelia stammered, using something so shameful as a bargaining chip for the first time. "When you're tired of me, let me go, okay?"

Liam slightly shifted his grip, lifting her leg away from his groin, thrusting deeply and rhythmically. His tongue pressed against his teeth, the pleasure making his head spin. "What if I never get tired?"

"...Then what do you want?"

He continued thrusting, tempting her, "Please me well, and I might consider it, okay?"

Amelia, in her haze, heard this and seized the opportunity. "Deal."