Page 59 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

Without warning, I thrust forward, slow at first, cruelly slow, forcing the thick head of my cock past the tight resistance of her body. She gasps, tries to move, but I've got her hips pinned.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide.

She's so fucking tight around me. My vision blacks out for a moment, the sensation is so overwhelming. Hot. Wet. Virgin-soft. I drive deeper, watching the way her eyes widen, the way her nails scrape at my arms in helpless, useless protest. Every inch I sink inside her feels like I’m burying myself into her bones.

And she is mine.

By the end of this, there will be no part of her that will be untouched by my hands, my mouth, my cock. That I know for sure.

When I'm seated fully inside her, I pause, trembling with the effort it takes not to just rut into her like an animal. I give her time to stretch, those warm walls holding onto me. She's so fucking small compared to me. So fragile.

But this is what she was promised for.

What she was given for.

And I will take .

I drag my mouth along her throat, biting down just hard enough to make her whimper. Then I start to move, punching in long, deep strokes that force cries from her lips.

She clutches at me, overwhelmed, eyes shut like she’s blocking everything out. She can try, but I know she feels me from the inside out. Whatever innocence she had left, whatever fantasy she tried to cling to… I shatter it with every punishing thrust.

Every filthy, perfect drag of my cock inside her virgin body brings out another sob that I swallow on my tongue. It only makes me fuck her harder.

"That's it, my wicked little thing," I snarl into her ear, "cry for your Daddy."

And she does.

She cries and writhes and clutches at me like I'm the only thing tethering her to her body, until she's shaking beneath me, legs splayed open, pinned helpless to the mattress by the weight of my body and the force of my thrusts.

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, and I catch one with my thumb, smearing it across her cheek. "Perfect," I mutter, voice breaking into a growl. "Fucking perfect ."

The cabin fills with the brutal sounds of our bodies colliding–flesh on flesh, her sweet whimpers, my ragged breathing, the creaking of the bed under my relentless rhythm. Her pussy clenches around me, hot and greedy, sucking me deeper with every stroke.

Taking me.

Accepting me.

Unlike the ghosts of my past.

Her cries pitch higher as I angle my hips, grinding against a spot deep inside her that makes her scream, arch her back, and clutch at me with desperate little hands.

She's coming again, without permission, her whole body convulsing around my cock.

"That's it," I snarl against her mouth. "I want to feel you clench around me.

" I don't slow down. I fuck her through it, through her shaking climax, while chasing my own release.

I'm losing control. The thin thread of restraint I've held all night is fraying, snapping.

I sink my teeth into her throat without warning, biting down hard where the leather collar once was, marking her with a final, bleeding claim.

Mine, not theirs. Not Hexley.

Maddox.

Her blood fills my mouth, hot and coppery and ours .

She moans, raw and broken and beautiful.

And that's when I break too.

I drive into her one final time, burying myself to the hilt, grinding against her as my cock jerks and spills inside her, claiming her in the oldest, darkest way a man can claim his wife. Holding her there, trembling, panting, our mouths locked together in a brutal, bloody kiss.

When I finally lift my head, her lashes flutter.

She's ruined.

Beautifully, completely ruined by me.

For a long moment, there is nothing but breath and the crackling of the fire.

The aftermath of something I can never undo and will never risk again, which is why I stay buried deep inside her, her thighs trembling against my hips, feeling the way she clenches and spasms even now, and I brace for it, the tears. Silence. Maybe regret.

Instead, she laughs. A strange, fragile sound, curling out of her throat.

Arianette shifts underneath me, her soft, ruined body writhing as though she’s chasing more pain, more pleasure. She cups the back of my neck with shaking hands, pulling me down until our foreheads touch.

"It hurt.”

She hums, soft, dreamy. Her nails scratch lightly at my scalp.

“It’s common,” I say, wary of her lilting voice.

"I wanted it to," she whispers, and the words are a kiss against my skin. "Hurting means you’re real ."

I rear back enough to see her face.

Her eyes are wide, glassy, filled with stars and madness. A saint kneeling at an altar, high on holy visions. A doll cracked open.

I’ve been here before and just like last time, I’m drawn like a moth to a flame. Except the spark isn’t bright. It never is, it’s dark and twisted, demented and damaged, and I can’t say no.

Why can’t I say no?

"You took me apart," she says, almost wonderingly. "You made me yours. Now the world can't touch me."

A low growl escapes my throat. Possessive. I cup her jaw roughly, tilting her face up to mine, forcing her to meet my gaze. "You don't belong to the world," I tell her. "You belong to me.”

Arianette shudders, a rapture passing through her thin frame. Her hands fist in my hair, desperate, greedy. "I was waiting ," she says, voice distant, as if remembering a dream. "All this time. I was waiting for someone to come for me. To claim me."

Her head falls back, baring the throat I marked, the throat I own, offering herself again without hesitation. I run my teeth lightly across the tender skin there, feeling the frantic flutter of her pulse. I murmur against her flesh, "My broken little wicked thing.”

Her laugh bubbles up again–sharp, stuttering–but this time it’s a sound of relief. Of recognition. As if being shattered was the only thing she ever truly wanted.

That, I can do.