Page 89 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Devin

I slide my cock past those chapped lips and into that deliciously wet mouth of hers.

We may have been here before, may have performed this act before, but tonight it feels different. It feels real. Like all those past moments were more a dream than a reality.

Last time my barbs sliced her mouth open, and while I’d enjoyed the brutality, maybe I’m mellowing in my old age because I want her to enjoy this. For the first time in my life, I want to give pain because it’s wanted, craved even, and not because it’s necessary.

I just need to teach my little woman here how good it can be. How delightful the feeling of torture is when you’re also being rewarded.

She stares up at me with those fake glass eyes and for a moment I can convince myself that that look is real, that she is as hungry for me as I am for her.

Soon. Really soon. I’ll make her desperate for me, I’ll turn her into a weeping, desperate little mess, only for me.

She sucks me down, and I feel myself sliding past her tongue, down to that sweet spot right past the back of her throat.

I was impressed before at how well she could take me.

I know all the Brethren girls take marital classes, that they’re well trained in the art of sucking cock by the time their wedding day comes around.

She’s showing enough willing for me to relax entirely, to truly enjoy this moment. To revel in it. To feel her complete submission.

I buck my hips, sliding myself back and forth, groaning more as I pick up speed.

I’ve had enough blowjobs in my life to tell the difference between a woman who does it out of duty and a woman who does it out of pleasure and right now, despite the circumstances, I’d put money on her actually enjoying this.

It feels like a stark contrast from that moment back in the barracks, back when I was forcing her to take me.

No, this woman here, she doesn’t feel forced. She feels - obliging.

The thought makes me frown, makes me pause for a moment. She stills too, and her body stiffens up as though she thinks I’m going to beat her.

I sweep her hair back from her face and she flinches just a little.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?” I ask her.

She gulps, pulling off me. “Beauty is only skin deep.” She says back dismissively.

My lips curl into a grin, “Not with you, malktā. With you, it’s so much more than that.”

Her eyebrows drop, instead of taking this as a compliment I think I’ve pissed her off. I glance down at my cock, seeing how well she’s lubricated it for me.

“Get on the bed.” I order. I want to feel something more, something deeper, I want to bury myself in her and not have to be gentle, not have to be careful.

Her cunt can’t take that. Not after what Guthrie did.

But her arse. Her arse sure as hell can, that is, if it’s prepped right.

Her shoulders drop, she gets to her feet so gracefully and she takes small, measured steps to the bed. As she reaches it, she puts her hands out onto the mattress to feel her way.

“Lose the robe.” I instruct.

Again, I see that reaction, that hesitation, before she does as she’s told.

The white towelling robe slips from her shoulders, landing in a heap and I get the best view of her arse as she clambers onto the bed.

I get up, ditching what little I have on, and I grab the lube from my bag. Good thing I got supplies, good thing for her that I want her to enjoy this.

I drop the bottle by her head, then position myself over her, feeling more than ever like a predator devouring their prey.

I expect her to whimper, I expect her to beg, or to say something, to ask me to once more be gentle, only she doesn’t.

Maybe she’s too stubborn for that. Too proud.

My hands run up her body, up her spine. Her skin is so soft, so delicate.

All of her is so fucking malleable. I can feel all those scars, I can feel her trembling too.

As my fingers move to the curve of her arse she tenses more.

I circle her arsehole, and she lets out a gasp of shock that makes my dick harden even more.

“No.” She whispers.

“No?” I repeat.

“No.” She says more firmly.

A low rumble escapes my throat. Does she think she’s in control here? Does she think she gets to make demands?

I work my thumb in past that tight little entrance and she lets out a squeal. “No.”

“I can fuck you anyway I want to.” I state.

“You said you’d be gentle.” She says breathlessly.

“I said I would, if you sucked my cock. You didn’t finish your task…”

“You’re the one who got me to stop.” She retorts. “I can’t help it if you change your mind.”

Another laugh escapes me. She doesn’t sound scared right now, she sounds haughty, petulant even. Like this is a scene we’re playing out. Her pretending she doesn’t want it and me then pretending to force her to submit.

I smirk, moving my other hand, pressing my other thumb in beside it’s brother.

Only, she reacts immediately, bucking her head, trying to throw me off. I land one good slap to her arse and she’s turning, hissing, slamming a fist into my face before she presses something right up against my ribcage.

It’s a knife. A sharp one.

Fuck knows where she got it from. Fuck knows where she found it. She must have snuck it under the pillows while I was gone.

“Smart girl.” I murmur, feeling as it nicks my skin.

She swallows hard, clenching her jaw, jutting her chin out in defiance as she faces me.

“We’ve been here before.” I say. “Remember how it ended last time?”

Her nostrils flare, she pushes just that little bit harder and I narrow my eyes as I feel my blood start to trickle.

“Maybe this time you’ll be the one bleeding out.” She spits, with all that hate, all that venom, all that delicious rage I’ve been yearning for.

I slam my lips into hers, groaning as that blade slips and cuts me deeper. It’s not enough to do any real damage but the hit of pain adds an extra delight to all this.

She tries to fight me, she jerks her body more before she gives in and kisses me back, like she’s forgotten I’m technically her enemy. I drop my hand to her breast, fondling her nipple, circling it and she arches her back as if she needs more.

“You’re a little slut for me.” I murmur against her lips. “You pretend you’re not. You pretend you don’t want it, but I can see it in your face, I can feel it in the way your body leans into my touch.”

“Fuck you.” She snarls, clenching her fist, trying to slice me up more.

I laugh grabbing hold of her hand, forcing her to fling the thing, and it goes flying, landing upright in the floorboard a good three metres away.

“Nothing to protect you now, Paitlyn.” I state. “Nothing to stop me taking that arse either.”

I slam her over, yanking her hips up and the movement is so quick she barely has time to register it. She tries to crawl away but a good hard slap to her arse makes her stop.

“Stay still.” I order, grabbing the bottle, smearing it over that puckered little hole. “Your husband’s cock might have been so shrivelled up he couldn’t do any damage, but I’d hate to really fuck up your insides.”

“You’re a bastard.” She replies. “A bastard.”

I don’t say anything back, I’m too focused on the task at hand, on prepping her adequately enough that I won’t split her in half.

She whimpers as I force a finger inside her. Her arse is tight and muscles clench around me. “Relax.” I tell her. She rewards me with another mouthful of cuss words.

I work my digit in and out, slowly building her up. I swear her hips are moving, I swear my little whore is starting to enjoy this.

I smother a good amount of lube on my cock. The barbs may be gone but that doesn’t mean I won’t still tear her up if I’m not careful.

As I place the tip of myself against her entrance her breathing becomes erratic. I can see the way her body is heaving, the way she’s preparing herself for this pain.

“Paitlyn…”

“Just fucking do it.” She spits. “Stop torturing me and get it over with.”

Torturing her? Oh sweetheart, if I was torturing you, you’d know about it.

I slide my cock in, shutting my eyes, delighting in how truly incredible she feels. I may have found my new favourite part of her; I may have found my nirvana.

She doesn’t cry out, doesn’t do anything but let me have this moment.

And it feels so fucking good.

I throw my head back, I let out a feral growl. This woman is mine. Every piece of her is mine.

I slide myself out, before working myself back in again. I know I need to take this slowly, that this is all part of the plan but it’s so god damn hard.

“Fuck,” I gasp in equal frustration and bliss. I want to destroy her, a part of me wants to make her scream, and yet she’s been so broken already I don’t want to push more than she can take.

Only, she’s raising her hips, I swear she is. She’s rocking back and forth, meeting each thrust like she’s trying to encourage me. Is she an idiot, does she not realise she’s tempting the very devil?

“You want me to ruin you?” I snarl.

“You already have.” She retorts. “Besides, you think I can’t take the pain, is that it? You think I can’t handle it? You really think your cock is as big as that?”

No, - no, no, she didn’t just say that, she didn’t just… but she did. She did.

I slam into her, losing all that careful concern in an instant. She screams out and the sound is electrifying, sending goosebumps up my arms.

“You really are a whore.” I gasp. “A filthy, dirty little whore.”

We’re grunting, groaning, both of us bucking together, hate fucking each other. What started off as force has become something else entirely. I reach around, grabbing her breast, grabbing her nipple and I pinch so hard she screams.

“Thought you said you could take the pain?” I sneer.

She somehow manages to slam a fist into my side. It’s not hard but I love that her response right now is violence.

I slap her arse, slap her hard, then do it again, leaving a livid mark on both her cheeks.

As I come, it feels like my entire world shifts, like my entire axis has tilted. I growl out, burying myself one final time.

She lays there, her head turned to the side, her face flushed, panting like she can’t quite get enough air in. A bead of sweat trickles down her spine and I stay where I am watching it trail over her beautiful skin.

She doesn’t move. She lays there, still, like she’s in some sort of trance.

“Let’s get you washed.” I murmur, scooping her up, carrying her back to the shower again.

I’ve never cared for after-care. I’ve never bothered with that shit before, but this is different.

She is different. I may not have admitted it fully to her when she was questioning me earlier.

I may not have admitted it fully to myself but even when I hated her, even when I wanted her dead, a part of me still yearned for her, a part of me still loved her.

I shake my head, not truly understanding it, understanding me. I turn the shower on, washing her quickly and then seeing to myself. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t make a sound. I wonder if she’s in shock, if she’s somehow got herself lost in the memories, in the past.

I turn the water off, grab a fresh towel and dry her off.

Once she’s in the bed, I yank the knife free and place it on the cabinet beside her. She hears the sound of it and looks over at me questioningly while I slip into the bed beside her.

And to my surprise her hands reach for me, she reaches for me. Her nails drag up my chest, leaving faint scratch lines behind. I feel like there’s something she wants to say and yet she doesn’t say a word. She just rolls over, lets out a deep sigh and slowly falls asleep.

The first bit of sunlight streams in through the open window.

It’s only just risen, and yet, it’s impossibly bright already.

Paitlyn is lying beside me, looking almost ethereal as the light paints her skin in decadent shades of gold and amber.

I’ve been awake for hours, just watching her breathe, studying every line and curve of her face in the growing light, seeing how she’s changed, how she’s aged, how her body has altered.

My heart is still pounding against my ribs after another nightmare, another flashback to that godforsaken cell where they kept me chained like an animal.

The phantom ache of iron shackles burns around my wrists, and I flex my fingers to remind myself I’m free.

But it’s her presence that truly pulls me back from that dark place. I don’t understand it fully, but I like this, I like the effect she has on me. I like the way she calms me without doing or saying a thing at all.

The bruises covering her skin tell stories I helped write. I should feel guilt. I should feel shame. Instead, there’s something else entirely, something that makes my chest tight and my breathing shallow.

She’s perfect. Too fucking perfect.

The thought hits me like a physical blow, and I have to close my eyes against the intensity of it. I’ve never had anything worth keeping in my entire miserable existence. Yes, I’ve had everything I ever wanted, but what then is anything truly worth when you can simple buy it?

And then she walked into my world and everything changed.

That’s why I hated her so much at first. Why I wanted to see her break beneath my hands, wanted to watch that fire in her eyes dim to nothing.

Because she made me feel weak.

Made me want things I couldn’t name, things I didn’t deserve.

Made me realize there was something more than just surviving from one day to the next.

Only, lying here in the growing light, with her warm body pressed against mine, I don’t feel weak anymore. I feel invincible. Like I could take on armies, topple kingdoms, rule the entire fucking world if she stayed right here beside me. The realization is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“I love you.” I murmur, before I can stop myself.

Her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, and I know she’s waking up. I don’t know if she heard me, I don’t know if she was awake enough to realise what I said but before she can talk, before I have to acknowledge any of it, I get out of the bed and get myself dressed.

I have a busy day. A carefully planned day. One that, if it goes right, will give my sweet malktā a little more reason to trust me.