Page 47 of Dark Soul (Tainted #1)

“Don’t you dare look away,” I growl, thrusting harder, grinding into that spot that makes her cry out, her moan tearing from her throat like surrender.

“I’m going to fill this pussy,” I whisper, low and lethal. “Every fucking drop.”

She gasps, not in fear, but in raw anticipation.

“You’ll take it,” I snarl. “You’ll hold it. You’ll remember who this cunt belongs to.”

Her body seizes, teetering on the edge. “Yes—Lucian—please—”

That’s it. I snap.

I bury my cock deep, locking us together, and empty into her, watching her fall apart—jaw slack, eyes pinned to mine, her pussy clenching with every pulse like she was made for this.

We don’t speak. Just breathe—tangled, sweat-slicked, bound. I don’t pull out. I want her to feel my cock, my claim, every inch of me still inside her.

I carry her to the leather chair by the window, her body limp, skin flushed and ruined.

She’s heavy in my arms, perfect. I sit, pulling her into my lap, her pussy still slick and swollen.

I guide her hips down, sliding my cock back into her, inch by agonizing inch.

She whimpers, overstimulated, legs twitching.

She tries to close her eyes. “No,” I snap, gripping her jaw. “Keep them open.”

Her gaze is dazed, barely holding on. “Watch me,” I order, grinding up into her, slow and controlled, her pussy still so fucking tight.

“You feel my cock?” I ask, voice lower now. “You feel how deep I am?”

She nods, a broken sound escaping her.

I reach for the knife on the table—a sleek, cold blade, its edge glinting in the dim light.

Her eyes widen, a flicker of fear mingling with trust. “Don’t move,” I murmur, pressing the flat of the blade against her thigh, the metal cool against her fevered skin.

She shudders, her pussy clenching around me at the contact.

“You trust me?” I ask, dragging the blade’s blunt edge up her thigh, slow, deliberate, stopping just shy of her hip. She nods, breathless, her body trembling under the threat and promise of the knife.

“Say it,” I demand, tilting the blade so the tip grazes her skin, not cutting, but sharp enough to make her pulse race.

“I trust you, Lucian,” she whispers, voice shaking but sure.

I smirk, sliding the blade higher, tracing the curve of her breast, circling her nipple. She gasps, her pussy tightening around my cock, and I feel her arousal drip down my shaft.

“You like this,” I growl, pressing the flat of the blade against her sternum, just enough pressure to make her feel it. “You like being at my mercy.”

She moans, head tipping back, exposing her throat. I drag the knife’s edge lightly across her collarbone, not breaking skin, but the threat is enough to make her whimper.

“You’re going to take my cock again,” I say, thrusting up into her, the knife still pressed to her skin. “Every inch. Every drop.”

She’s shaking, close again, her pussy gripping me like a lifeline.

“Say you want it,” I snap, the blade hovering at her throat now, a whisper of danger. “Tell me you want my cock, my knife, my control.”

“I want it,” she gasps, convulsing around me. “I want all of it—please, Lucian—”

She breaks, her orgasm ripping through her, her pussy pulsing as she cries out, head thrown back. I thrust once, twice more, deep and unyielding, the knife steady at her throat as I come inside her again, holding her there until her shaking stops.

She slumps into my chest, spent, my cock still inside her, the knife now resting on her thigh, a silent reminder. I clean her gently, the cloth brushing her swollen pussy. She hisses, sore from my cock and the intensity.

I lean in, murmuring, “Now you know not to provoke me.”

She glares up, not with fear, but pride. “You act like you didn’t break first.”

She’s right. I saw Strathmore’s hand on her thigh and lost it. The strategist in me vanished, replaced by something primal, possessive. I broke.

“You like it when I break,” I whisper, brushing damp hair from her face. “Don’t lie.”

She doesn’t. Just closes her eyes.

Later, I lay her in the center of the bed, her body open, lips parted, looking like a secret worth killing for. I check the surveillance panel—no one followed, no one saw. Vera Calloway is a ghost to the world.

When I return, she’s awake, bare, eyes sharp. “What now?” she asks. “You’ve fucked me like an animal. What’s next?”

I pull the sheet from her body, sit. “You stay. A few days. No press. No questions. HR will cover it.”

She laughs, cold. “So I’m your whore now?”

“No,” I say, calm. “I’ve had whores. They don’t stay in my blood.” I tilt her chin. “You’re my fucking weakness.”

She stills. I don’t soften it.

“I’ve broken bigger things than you,” I murmur. “But none of them lingered like you do.”

She looks away. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be the reason you destroy yourself.”

I lean in, thumb brushing her bruised lip. “You won’t be. I’ll destroy everything else first.”

She kisses me, slow, final. Then lies back down. I don’t touch her again.

I don’t want her love. I want her silence, her dependence, her chains.

I want her trapped.