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H er scream tears through the room, bouncing off the walls. I don’t loosen my hold. I force her hips still and bury myself in her with one brutal thrust. She clamps around me—tight, wet—and a guttural moan rips from my throat. I don’t wait for her to adjust.

I set a punishing rhythm, slamming into her, her body jolting with every thrust. She’s so fucking tight, her pussy straining to take me. Her cries fuel me, raw pleasure burning every nerve, the need to ruin her overpowering everything else.

I grip her harder, keeping her in place, driving deeper. Her body trembles beneath mine, slick and dripping as I push her to the edge of what she can take—and then I push her further. Her breathing is ragged as she pants through broken moans.

Tears stream down her face, and I hold her tighter. She screams, her arms straining against the zip ties. She’s fighting against me, trying to escape, but it only excites me.

Staring down at her perfect body, the bruises and cuts add a delicious edge. Her legs shake violently as I slam into her again and again. Her eyes filled with painful pleasure that sends a rush of heat through my veins.

I fucking love how fragile she looks, how easily I could break her. I’ve wanted this for so long—wanted to bury my cock inside her, fuck her—and nothing could’ve prepared me for how good she feels. Her tight, slick cunt is griping me, fighting me, trying to push me out, but I don’t stop. I can’t. The harder she resists, the deeper I drive.

I wrap my hand around her throat, forcing her body to bend to me.

I want to make her scream, and cry, and beg. I want to feel her shudder and writhe beneath me. She’s close, so fucking close, and I can feel my orgasm building.

When I slap her ass, her screams grow louder. She sobs, her body wracked with each thrust as I fuck her like an animal starved, her pussy the only thing that can satisfy the hunger inside me. Every brutal drive of my cock hits her cervix, the sensation blinding. It’s raw. Primal.

Her cry shatters the air, a desperate mix of pain and pleasure that pushes me closer to the edge. I don’t stop. I fuck her through it, my pace brutal. Her body convulses, cunt spasming around me as she comes undone. Her screams echo, fading as her muscles quake and her eyes roll back.

Gritting my teeth, I slam into her and explode, shooting rope after rope of cum into her.

Buried deep inside her, I remain still, catching my breath, enjoying the feeling of her cunt pulsing around me and her body pinned beneath me.

When the last wave subsides, I pull out, watching a mixture of blood and cum drip down her legs. I fucked her brutally, and she’ll feel it for days. Her body is bruised, and her ass is bright red. I run my fingers over the brand, tracing the lines—my mark.

She is mine.

She whimpers and shudders under my touch. Drenched in sweat, damp hair. She’s exhausted. Used. Satisfied. But I want one more hole.

That fucking smart mouth of hers.

Her arms are limp, the zip ties digging into her wrists. The sight of my cum dripping from her cunt, her bruised thighs, my brand, her tear-stained cheeks. It’s a sight I want burned into my memory.

I slide my hand over her ass, bringing my palm down, a sharp crack filling the air. She lets out a cry, her body jerking, and I slap her again. She sobs, her shoulders contracting, and I slap her harder. I continue until her skin is bright red and she’s a sobbing mess. I’m not sure what I’m enjoying more. The look on her face or how her body reacts to the pain.

I walk to the side of the vanity, stroking my cock, still slick with our cum. Grabbing her neck, I pull her to the edge before forcing her chin up. She tries to pull away, struggling against my grip. My fingers dig into her jaw, she starts to protest, but I slide my cock into her mouth, silencing her.

Her lips stretch around my length and her cheeks hollow out. She lets out a whimper, and the sound vibrates through me. Holding her head still, I push in until my balls are pressed against her chin.

She gags and chokes, but I don’t let go.

Such a good girl.

The sensation is almost enough to make me cum. It’s fucking perfection. Her hot, wet mouth, her tight throat. Savoring her gag, I thrust again. Harder. Deeper. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and tears stream down her face.

She’s mine. Every inch of her. Every fucking part. And I’m going to take it all.

Snot, drool, pre-cum, and tears mix, running down her face. She’s a mess. A filthy fucking beautiful mess.

With a loud groan, I pump my cock one more time, and cum shoots down her throat. I force her head down, burying her nose in my pubic hair.

Pleasure rips through me, and my body jerks, my muscles spasming. She sputters while swallowing my cum. The sensation is intense, and I moan, thrusting deeper, forcing every drop down her throat.

She gasps and coughs when I finally pull out. Tears stream down her face, and I smile. She looks so beautiful, used, bruised, and bloodied—the perfect image of submission.

My little siren.

Her eyes roll back, and she slumps forward, her body teetering on the brink of collapse. I stand there, my gaze sweeping over her.

Slowly, anger creeps back in. This was her choice. Her decision. And I’m furious. I told her what would happen if she fucked another man. I warned her. And she did it anyway. But her cum and tear-stained, bruised, and broken body is something to behold.

I should end this now—rip the mask off, let her see who just fucked her. But I don’t. There’s a twisted satisfaction in seeing her like this—the rush, the power, the thrill of knowing I orchestrated it all, that she willingly walked into this—chose this.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do, but I’ll figure that shit out later.

Right now, I need to deal with this motherfucker who thought he could touch what belongs to me. I’m going to make this bastard suffer.

The masked man retrieves a knife, the blade glinting in the light. He slides it under the zip ties, cutting them free. My hands fall, wrists burning, and I wince.

Pushing off the vanity, I stand on shaking legs, my entire body throbbing with pain. The ache between my legs is excruciating. My jaw is sore, throat raw, lips swollen, and my stomach churns.

Tears continue to flow, and I can’t stop trembling. Bradley lies on the floor, blood pooling around him. The masked man who just fucked me, and Bradley, who tried to rape me, are in the same room. Overwhelmed, I step toward the masked man, wrapping my arms around him, sobbing into his chest.

He remains still, saying nothing. I bury my face in his shirt, clinging to him.

“Please don’t leave me,” I whisper hoarsely.

He hesitates, then slowly wraps his arms around me. Desperate for comfort, I cling tighter. His clothes muffle my cries. His grip around me tightens and when he strokes my hair, the gentle gesture makes me cry even harder.

Everything hurts. Everything. My body, my mind. My heart.

My knees buckle, and I collapse. He slowly lowers us to the ground, cradling me against his chest. Pain, humiliation, and the weight of everything crash into me. My tears soak through his hoodie, and he says nothing. Just holds me while I break apart in his arms.

We stay like this, wrapped in each other’s arms, until my tears subside and my breathing steadies. I look up, meeting his dark brown eyes behind the mask. He gently wipes the tears from my face, and I close my eyes, savoring the tenderness of his touch.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words falling out before I can stop them. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

My throat tightens with emotion, and I trail off, unable to find the right words. He pulls me closer, and I bury my face in his chest. His hand moves gently along my arm, grazing over the bruises. Tears well up again as memories of the past week replay in my mind—the pain, humiliation, anger, and ever-present fear.

“I shouldn’t have messaged you. The people here...they’re dangerous. You have to be careful. I shouldn’t have put you in danger.”

His fingers trace the brand on my skin.

“The man who did that—he’s the worst of them all. If he finds out about us, he will kill you.” His fingers linger over the brand, sending shivers through my body. “And what he’ll do to me...” My voice trails off, tears flowing freely again. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

His appearance is unsettling—a black hoodie, gloves exposing only his fingers, jeans, and combat boots, leaving no part of him visible. I’ve never felt so vulnerable.

“Will you tell me your name?” I ask, barely audible.

Silence.

“Can I at least see your face?” The question hangs between us, unanswered. “Please?” I plead, but he remains silent, and my heart sinks.

It’s probably better this way, but the disappoint still stings.

“Thank you for saving me. For being here. For staying.”

After a moment, he stands and gently pulls me to my feet. My legs tremble as I rise, body weary and still shaking.

He walks over to Bradley, kicking his motionless body until he rolls onto his back, shallow breaths still rising from his bloodied, swollen face. The masked man grabs Bradley by the arm, dragging him across the floor.

He returns, retrieves my robe from a wall hook, and hands it to me. I slip it on as he guides me out of the room, pointing toward the bathroom with a gentle nudge.

“I’m Rory.” I don’t know why I share my name with him; it just feels right. Then I make my way to the bathroom, teary-eyed.

I’m a wreck—my face streaked with makeup, tears, and dried cum. I flick on the faucet and drop my robe before stepping into the shower. The warm spray mingles with my tears, which fall uncontrollably. My body aches; the brand burns, my legs wobble, and my arms throb. I’ve never felt anything like this. Not just the physical aftermath but the raw vulnerability ripping me apart.

I’ve never cried in front of a Sovereign or a client. It was always about pleasure, release. But this time, it was different. There was a connection, a trust. I surrendered to him completely, and he took everything. He claimed me with a raw, brutal intensity that made me scream.

Every touch, every thrust, every slap left me craving more.

Now, I can’t escape the memory or the mystery of who he is.

I’m caught between screams, tears, and laughter, but all I can do is let the tears flow.

Bradley tried to rape me, and this man, whoever he is, saved me.

I have no idea what will happen when Bradley wakes up. Will he remember? Will he come after me? I could tell Axe about Bradley’s attempt to rape me and hope he didn’t witness my encounter with the masked man.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap myself in a towel and return to my dressing room.

But it’s empty—no trace of blood on the floor, and no trace of him .