Page 12

My stomach flips, core clenching and my mind screams run, but my body? My body leans in, my eyes narrowing because I’ve never seen anything like it before.

The tip gleams with precum, a clear sight of how much he’s turned on, and it’s pierced clean through it. A curved bar with two spikes perched at either end like fangs. It’s simply a warning and an invitation to pain.

I should be afraid. Iamafraid. But I’m suddenly wet enough to drown in it. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow hard, wondering how the fuck I’m gonna take that. Will it even fit?

He tilts forward, dragging the pierced tip across my quivering lips, smearing his arousal over them and I allow them to part slightly, not as an offer, but to speak.

“I…”

The second he has the opportunity, Wrath’s grip tightens in my hair, and he yanks my head back so violently my neck cracks with a sickening pop. In the same breath, he forces his big dick past my lips, the sheer girth of him prying my mouth open until my jaw can’t take it anymore.

My eyes expend, my lips pulled so tight at the corners I’m sure they’ll split and bleed. His piercings clash against my teeth, jarring but the moment they slide across my tongue, I thank whatever cruel god that’s watching this moment, made those studs blunt.

Wrath doesn’t give a shit, despite my struggle to take him in, he continues to force himself inside, intent on filling every corner. My fingers claw into the mud, desperate for something to hold onto as my body jolts under the pressure.

The moment he hits my tonsils, a violent gag tears out of me, but he continues to thrust in one violent shove the rest of the way until he’s buried completely, my lips sealed tight around the base.

I choke on the fullness of him, my throat rejecting the invasion, tears streaming down my cheeks as I fight to breathe and relax. He stares down at me, unblinking eyes heavy with something dark and ravenous.

I hear the audible grind of his teeth and see the clench in his jaw as he watches me fight for my fucking life, choking and gagging. He likes to see my helplessness. I can tell by the pulse in his cock, the way it beats on my tongue.

When he finally starts to pull back, it’s torturously slow, each piercing scraping over my tingling tongue. I barely manage a gasp for air before Wrath leans in and sends a sharp spit straight down my sore, open throat, taking advantage to degrade and claim me.

The taste of his saliva hits my tonsils just as he slams his cock back inside, stealing the breath I just caught, forcing me to take every brutal inch all over again. His hand is firm, locking me in place like a vice, giving me no room to pull away.

He growls low, eyes rolling, followed by a dragging gasp as his head tips back in an unnatural way. Then his palm flattens against the back of my head as he leans over, the other hand sinking into the mud behind me for balance. My head’s forced back, tilted extremely uncomfortably until it rests against the cold, wet ground.

And once I’m in the position he wants, pinned and venerable, that’s when he turns brutal.

Wrath wastes no time literally screwing my face. He skull fucks me so cruelly, driving his entire length his massive cock down my throat, I feel like I might pass out from the intensity.

There’s nothing I can do. I’m buried neck-deep in a fucking grave, trapped, every inch of me restricted while he takes what he wants, and all I can do is endure it until he’s satisfied and taught me his fucking lesson.

My gags are violent, sickeningly loud as saliva fills my mouth, coating him and it starts to drip down my chin and neck in thick, hot streaks. My stomach wrenches painfully with each strong heave, my vision starting to darken at the edges as he drives in and out harshly, showing me no remorse.

Above me, he grunts, his fingers sinking into my skull, pressing deep with a painful grip, forcing my head to remain captive under his control.

The weight of his dominance smashes against my face with each thrust and he makes me feel every part of his power as though reminding me, this is nothing. This is only a sliver of what he is capable of. What he’s truly capable of.

Just when I’m on the verge of no return, my eyes rolling into the back of my head from the sheer lack of oxygen, I can feel him growing increasingly swollen and somehow thicker.

Sitting back quickly, he rips himself out of my abused throat and as I take a huge inhale, he steals the opportunity to cum in my open mouth.

Thick, white ropes fill me as he jerks himself, his face taunt with undeniable pleasure.

Seeing him so alive while I’m half-dead does something twisted to me. It shouldn’t, God, itshouldn’t, but it does. It feels so wrong, and yet so unbearably right.

But he’s not finished humiliating me.

He spits in my mouth, again and again, filling me with all his fluids until I’m choking on it, drowning in everything he gives without care or pause.

Then his palm lifts my chin, forcing my mouth shut, and I meet his blood-red eyes through the blur. I stare up at him like he’s the monster hiding beneath my bed, and I’m the idiot who pulled back the duvet and let him in.

He gives me a look, a demand in his eyes. And then I swallow everything.

Degradation crashes over me as it slides down my throat but beneath it, there’s something else. Something darker and deeper that I can’t quite work out yet. Not after having my skull brutally smashed in by his cock for that long.

Wrath cups my face in both of his big hands, his thumbs dragging slowly across my skin, wiping away the saliva, cum, tears and mud. His gaze moves over me like he’s memorizing every detail, and the way he touches me now, so gentle after everything he’s done, rattles something loose inside me.

It’s tender, almost worshipful, and somehow that’s more terrifying than the violence. I search his eyes, trying to read him, desperate for a glimmer of thought. And for the first time, more than anything, I need to hear his voice. I need something to ground me.

But he doesn’t say a word.

His expression stays blank until he finally releases me and my head droops forward, heavy and dazed. Then his hands are in the dirt, clawing deep into the ground, tearing it away from my body.

When my arms come free, I notice his hand at his wrist, releasing the thick chain coiled there before wrapping it tightly around both of mine, locking them in place. I just watch, confused, heart hammering, realizing he might not done with me.

He leans in, sliding his arms beneath mine and begins to pull. My body screams in protest, every inch stretched beyond its limits. The earth clings to me, refusing to let me go.

A raw, guttural groan tears from my throat and with one final yank, I’m ripped free, dragged out of the grave like something stolen from the dead.

I collapse forward, tumbling on top of him as he falls back into the sludge and we don’t move as I lie on his chest, trying to catch my breath.

Slowly, I gather the strength to sit up, straddling his waist. His solid abs flex beneath my drenched panties with every deep breath he takes, and I just down stare at him, the tension building inside me.

As the fog clears, the anger rises, and I’m ready to give him hell for everything he just put me through. The cabin, the coffin and how hard he just fucked my face.

My eyes narrow into slits and I lean down, bringing my lips so close to his they almost brush.

“Maybe I didn’t want you to touch me, did that ever cross your fucked mind?” I seethe in annoyance. “Maybe I’m not impressed by your monster cock, with all its pretty spikes and brutality like it’s auditioning for a fucking horror movie. Maybe I think it looks desperate, like you’re hoping the steel distracts from the sheer pitifulness of its performance.”

He just watches me, soaking in the rage and the defiance in my eyes. His gaze doesn’t waver, just drags across mine as the face paint on his features starts melting down his skin.

The longer the silence stretches, the louder it gets. It presses in, becoming unbearable and my chest constricts, rage bubbling over until I can’t hold it anymore.

Then I break—letting him feel everything I’ve buried for the past two years. Every ounce of pain, hate, and betrayal, unleashed without mercy.

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you, you sadistic prick!” I hiss aggressively, my gaze burning with anger. “You think you can just play these sick games and have your way with me like I’m some little fucking puppet!”

As I lift my chained wrists to smash him in the face, he’s too quick, snatching both in one hand, his other wrapping around my throat with a savage force before flipping me to the ground.

In an instant, he’s on top of me, one of my legs caged between his, my arms slammed above me, pinned in a way that leaves me powerless.

His eyes boil with warning, no words needed, a crackling growl leaving him and my teeth clench, stuck in confusing state of mind as I turn my head away, refusing to look at him.

But when I side-eye him, feeling his intense gaze crawling down my body, his fingers tightening around my throat like he’s ready to take more, because he clearly doesn’t have the restraint, I don’t hesitate. My knee shoots up, slamming into his balls.

The deep groan that escapes him is pure satisfaction, his body buckling as he grabs his nuts on instinct and it’s enough to slip free. I writhe from beneath him, flip onto my front and scramble to my feet, desperate to run.

I dart toward the trees, but before I even get close, the chain yanks me back violently, wrenching me clean off my feet. I flip backward through the air before crashing to the ground with a nauseating thud.

Pain lances through my spine as the air is torn from my lungs, my body squirming in the mud. I glance up, barely able to focus, and see his dark silhouette through the mist of torrential rain, eyes glowing red.

He stands still, disturbingly calm, watching me from a distance, his hand tight around the chain that holds us together.

And that’s when it hits me—I might not make it out alive tonight.

As he starts strolling toward me, I can’t move. My body won’t listen. But he doesn’t stop, he just strides past, vanishing into the woods. I lift my head, confused, trying to catch up to what’s happening, then suddenly, I’m being pulled across the ground, my arms stretched above me.

I dig my heels into the dirt, fighting it, but the chain keeps dragging me deeper into the forest.

“Wrath!” I scream in panic, my voice echoing through the trees, but he doesn’t listen.

Twigs slash at my skin, debris rips through me, and the moment I stop moving, I hear the chain hit something above me—metal winding around and before I can react, I’m jerked upright by my wrists, forced to my feet.

My arms continue to stretch high above me, converse barely scraping the ground, body pulled tight like a wire ready to snap. Rain pours down my face, hair slicked and heavy, my shirt clinging to my skin, soaked and stained with mud.

I just hang there, trembling as I hear his footsteps behind me, moving in a circle, but when he stops in front of me, I feel the sharpness of his blade press beneath my chin. My entire body tenses, eyes squeezing shut as he lifts my head and all I can think is, this is it.

He’s going to kill me.

But when he doesn’t move, I finally look up at him. He stands there, a statue carved from shadow and silence, gawking down at me. But this time, he’s not looking through me—not like he usually does. No. Now, he’s looking at me like heseesme. Every flaw. Every fracture. Every secret I thought I’d buried too deep to be found.

The weight of his gaze pins me in place, a silent hand around my throat. It’s not fear that chokes me, not exactly—it’s something worse. It’s recognition. I can’t breathe right. My chest rises and falls in shallow bursts, lungs working overtime like they know something I don’t.

The eye contact alone nearly unravels me, like he’s peeling me open with just his stare, and I want to scream, sob or collapse into him. But all I can do is stare back.

“Just do it,” I whisper, voice raw and cracking, my bottom lip quivering as my eyes water. “Take what you fucking want. Kill me.”

Wrath’s head tilts to the side as he inspects me, then I feel it—his blade, cold and sharp, dragging down the front of my throat. It presses just enough to remind me it’s real, gliding slowly, following the line of my heaving chest and he holds eye contact the entire time.

The blade stops right above my heart, and he lingers there—hand trembling like he’s tempted to push it in. He’s just seconds from choosing violence, I can feel it. But then, all at once, he snaps the knife shut and slips it into his pocket. He replaces it with his marker, biting down on it between his teeth.

Without warning, both his hands shoot out and he grabs me, seizing the bust of my shirt, rough and intense. He pauses and waits—eyes flicking up to mine and when I don’t resist, his hands rip through the fabric with a brutal pull, tearing it clean in two until it’s falls to the floor and I’m left bare, exposed and only in my panties.

My stomach tightens as his greedy gaze sweeps over my body, lingering on my tits, the hardness of my nipples before continuing to move downward.

Usually I’d curl into myself, but I know I can’t do that, and to be honest, I don’t feel I want to. Maybe if he sees how disgusting and scarred I am he’ll be put off. Maybe he’ll let me go and choose someone else to call his.

Yet, he isn’t put off at all. He takes steps forward, his eyes travelling back up my body until they settle on mine—full of hunger.

When his wet, shirtless body touches mine, my breasts pressed hard against his abs, my breathing jams in my throat from the overwhelming sensation of the connection that passes through me. My head tilts right back, his lips mere inches from mine, breath fanning against my lips.

His hands find my hips and I flinch on instinct as he tucks his thumbs beneath the strings of my panties and begins to slide them down, dragging them over the curve of my ass. The thin fabric clings, peeling away from my slick pussylips before falling to the ground.

Cold air hits me everywhere at once and just when I think he’s going to take what he wants, right here beneath the trees, he steps back. The heat of him leaves me, the loss instant and without a word, he drops to his knees in front of me, the pen still clamped between his teeth.

I stare down at him, too stunned to speak. A single tear slips down my cheek, hot against the cold, as I watch his eyes trail over me like he’s reading something only he can see, lingering on the places I’d rather he didn’t, on the parts of me I’ve hated the most.

His hands reach out, trembling as they find my scarred thighs before his palms slide upward slowly, thumbs pressing deep into my skin until a strange, dark ache coils low in my stomach.

He pauses at my hips, then moves back down again, like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

He finally takes the pen from between his teeth, rips off the cap, and presses the tip to my skin. He starts to write on me, right across my stomach and my brows draw together, confusion curling inside me.

He doesn’t even look up. He’s too locked in and focused, like I’m paper and he’s trying to rewrite me from the outside in with words, symbols and lines I don’t recognize.

He keeps going, moving around me, covering every inch of skin he can reach, front and back.

When he’s in front of me again, something in him shifts. He grabs my hair, ripping it back, and I hiss, eyes squeezing shut. As soon as he starts writing on my tits and chest, slowly moving upward to my throat, my eyes gently open again.

Not stopping for a second, his gaze slowly moves to my lips, then up to my eyes. He searches them for a second before dropping back to my lips.

I just stay completely still, letting him do what he wants, wondering what the fuck is going through his mind in this moment.

When it seems like he’s finished, he tosses his pen aside, taking a step back. He suddenly shoves his hand in his boxers and yanks his cock free, rock hard again as he gives it a few rough jerks with dark eyes, taking me in.

I feel the arousal spike inside me again, my pussy thirsty to taste him inside me. But when he starts unwrapping the barbed wire from around his neck, I know he’s about to do something.

He walks forward, crouches and starts binding it tightly around my ankles. I hiss as the sharp edges slice into my skin, each twist biting deeper.

Then, without warning, he stands, and he does something that rips a scream from my throat. He pulls the wire upward, forcing my legs to split until my feet are folded against my stomach, suspended in the air. The chains straining my arms groan, my joints screaming, nearly pulled from their sockets.

“Wrath!” I cry out, but he seems to ignore me. Wrapping the wire around the chains at my wrists, locking me in place, and I swing there, helpless, my head thrown back, blood trickling from the torn flesh at my ankles.

When I tilt my head, I spot his knife comes into view and I feel my entire being go rigid. Closing the gap between us, his gaze wanders over my word-covered, naked body. Then he’s so close we’re touching again.

One of his hands moves up the middle of my body, creating a ripple of goosebumps until he cups my tit harshly.

My brows crease as he kneads it, his teeth grinding. His thumb flicks over the hardened tip before he pinches it with a pull and I can’t help the gasp escaping me, the pain and need filling every inch of me like a greedy wave.

When I suddenly feel the handle of his knife press between my thighs, I bite down on my bottom lip. He parts my defenceless pussy lips, teasing over my aching clit as he drags it slowly downward toward my entrance.

A visible and shameful shudder rips through me, my breath coming out sharp and quick against his lips as he watches—studying every reaction and glimmer of betrayal my body offers.

He’s inspecting how his violation, his fucked-up way of touching me, is doing something it shouldn’t. Something wrong.

He’s forceful and harsh with the handle, rubbing it back and forth smearing my wetness from my pussy and ass until I ache for more.

Then, without warning, he angles it and shoves the entire thing deep inside my pussy with a single brutal thrust that knocks the wind from my chest. A sharp gasp rips from my throat, my eyes widening in shock, the stretch instantly burning me.

But just as fast as he pushed it in, he rips it out like it was never meant to stay. He lifts the knife between us, and I stare, gasping, as his pierced tongue snakes out. He drags it up the handle, tasting my come and it sends a sharp pulse through my core.

As soon as my taste hits his tongue, he growls, loud and primal as his eyes roll back into his head before he suddenly snaps, slamming the blade against my throat, deep enough to sting, and I feel the skin split.

My warm blood slides down the center of my body, winding through the words he already inked into my skin. His eyes are wild now, starved and torn. He wants to fucking kill me. But for some reason he won’t. I can see how his body is trembling with restraint, like it’s destroying him to hold back.

When he removes the blade from my throat, he lowers it again, but this time it’s for a different reason. He slides it over my core again, but he goes further toward my asshole.

I freeze, my body taunt. His eyes flash with something unsettling before he suddenly twists it inside me. Further and further with no holding back.

I cry out with my head thrown back, pain and pleasure twisting together. He pushes further without mercy, until it's buried inside me completely, and all I can do is hang there, shaking, lost in the sting of it.

I breathe heavily as he lets go of the blade, leaving it buried deep before grabbing his stiff cock with his cut hand, covering it in his blood.

He presses the tip against my wet pussy, and I moan, the cold piercing teasing my clit. His other hand wraps around the back of my neck, holding it tightly and forcing me to stare him in the eyes.

His lips hover over mine, brushing and I feel like I need that contact, I need him to close the gap and kiss me. I move my lips tenderly on his and he lets it happen, but I can see how unfamiliar this closeness and intimacy is to him. It doesn’t belong in his world.

And I know, with every part of me, he hasn’t done this with anyone else. Any other girl would already be dead. Gone hours ago. Just a ruined body under him while he took what he wanted, no hesitation or second thoughts. But I’m still here and alive. And whatever this is between us… it’s different for him and for me.

Different enough to scare us both.

“Kiss me, Wrath.” I whisper, unashamed and wrecked, my voice barely a breath.

My eyes flutter shut, continuously touching his lips, feeling the softness of them and the tension in my chest coiling tighter as I wait. My body’s trembling, raw with need, desperation bleeding into every inch of me like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

He gives a couple more strokes over my aching clit with his cock before reaching down and pulls the knife out of my ass with a tough tug.

I have no time to react to the pain before the chain and barbed wire follow suit, freed from my wrists, and my body gives out, collapsing onto my hands and knees in the mud. I stay there with my head down as Wrath looms above me.

When I finally lift my head, barely able to hold the weight of it, he’s already moving, leaning down to unwrap my ankles, then his big arms scoop up my naked body, pulling me off the ground like I’m nothing but air in his grasp.

I don’t fight it. I don’t have the strength. I rest my face against his chest, his skin wet but warm against my cheek and my lashes fall, the edges of the world obscuring as he carries me through the woods.

I could fall asleep right here in his arms, lulled by the rhythm of his movement and the feel of him—solid, terrifying, and somehow weirdly safe.

Then something shifts. The air changes, the cold fades and the rain disappears.

I blink awake, feeling groggy and confused for a moment until I realize we’re inside my trailer.

He carries me straight to my room and lays me down on the bed with a gentleness that doesn’t match the insanity of everything that came before.

My body sinks into the mattress, too heavy to move, too tired to think and just as quickly as he brought me here, he’s turning away without looking at me.

“You’re not taking my life tonight?” I ask and he stops.

He waits a second, his hands clenching, but he ignores me, continuing to leave. I just stare at his bare tatted back while he heads toward the door, as if this was all he needed to do. As if he’s done enough.

After hearing the door close, and the silence settles in, I look up at the ceiling blankly. Feeling confused and dismissed all at once.