Page 23 of Penance

Draco

A cold sweat clings to my skin as I jolt awake. The room spins briefly before snapping into focus, like some kind of fucked up merry-go-round and I’m strapped to the seat.

I don’t dream—not often, anyway—but that’s definitely what that was.

I can remember it though, a little bit, but it’s slowly draining away.

Distorted hymns echo in my mind, familiar melodies that are warped and twisted into something grotesque and almost unrecognizable. I can still see her—Mercy—smiling serenely. She’s in the kitchen of a large, bright farmhouse, chopping vegetables, and three kids play at her feet.

Two boys and a girl.

They are an undeniable mix of both of us.

The thought should repulse me, but I feel something else.

Something that… hurts?

What the hell is that?

I rub my hands over my face, trying to scrub the images from the space behind my eyes. The couch beneath me is damp with sweat. I can feel it clinging to me underneath my shirt. My heart hammers against my ribs. My mind is spinning.

This isn’t right.

I don’t do domestic bliss.

I don’t do normal .

So why am I waking up with the taste of some fucked-up picket fence fantasy on my lips?

And why do I want it so fucking bad?

Why do I suddenly feel this fucked up need to make it happen, and to break myself apart until it does?

What? The fuck?

I swing my legs off the couch, planting my feet firmly on the cold hardwood floor. The sudden chill grounds me, but the dream… it lingers. Mercy’s soft laughter haunts me, her hazel eyes filled with a warmth that scares me.

This is her fault.

She’s seeping into me.

She’s getting into my fucking head.

I can feel it, like a poison coursing through my veins.

I can feel myself slowly dying, and yet, there’s a part of me that craves it.

No.

No.

Fuck no.

I won’t be swayed by some naive girl and her wide-eyed innocence.

I won’t be broken by Mercy fucking Clarke.

But even as I rise from the couch the unease remains, something that tears at the back of my mind. The dream was more than just a dream; it was a glimpse into a life I never knew I could want.

That terrifies me more than any demon I’ve ever summoned.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair.

This isn’t me.

I don’t do vulnerable.

But here I am, standing in the darkness in my living room, shaken by a fucking dream.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. I need to reclaim control, to remind myself—and Mercy—of who I am.

Of what I am.

The floorboards creak beneath my feet as I prowl down the hallway. I pause at the bedroom door, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I can feel her inside, my innocent girl.

I want to destroy her, to break her, to hear her scream and cry beneath me, but at the same time, something in me wants to hear her laugh like she did in the dream.

Want’s to hear her say ‘I love you, Draco’ like she did in the dream.

No.

No, FUCK NO.

I turn the knob and shove the door open.

The door swings open violently, revealing Mercy’s sleeping form, and rebounds off the wall behind it.

She’s curled up on her side, her hair splayed across the pillow like a dark puddle—like a puddle of blood.

The moonlight filtering through the window casts a silver glow on her fair skin, making her look almost ethereal, otherworldly.

A pang of something unfamiliar hits me, but I shove it aside.

I step into the room, stalking towards the bed.

She’s still asleep, but I’m not surprised.

She was always such a sound sleeper.

I place one knee on the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. Mercy stirs, her eyes fluttering open in sleepy confusion. I pause, waiting, watching. Her eyes open, fear flashing in their depths when she catches sight of me.

I must look like a demon. A fucking monster.

Good.

She gasps, her body tensing.

“Shh,” I hush her. “It’s okay.” I crawl over her, moving across the mattress until I’m overtop of her.

“Draco?” she breathes. She rolls onto her back so she can see me fully. “What are you—?”

Reaching up, I gather her wrists in my hands and pin them down to the bed. I don’t want her to move. I don’t want her to fight me.

I just need… this.

My lips crash down on hers, hard, devouring. She freezes, her body rigid against mine. I can taste her surprise, I can taste the gasp that she sucks in.

But I also taste her innocence.

I can taste my fucking future.

Goddamn it.

I pull back slightly, my teeth nipping at her lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough that she jumps. I see the struggle in her eyes, the battle between her morals and her desires.

She wants me, but she’s scared.

Who could blame her?

I carefully planned it to make sure it would end up just like this.

“Draco?” she whispers again.

I let her go, instead pressing my hands into the mattress on either side of her.

Her hands come up to rest on my chest, not pushing me away but not pulling me closer either.

Her touch is tentative, uncertain. It’s a stark contrast to the fire burning within me, the inferno of need and want that threatens to consume us both.

And I know she feels it too.

I know she does.

I know she wants me.

So why am I fuckin’ playing this game?

I lean in again, my lips brushing against hers again but softer, coaxing. I can feel her melting for me. Her lips fall apart and she kisses me back, hesitant yet curious. I bite back a growl. She doesn’t realize, but the way she kisses me is like a damn prayer.

It’s worship.

She’s worshiping me, and thankfully I’m a fucking narcissist, so that’s my kink.

Fuck, she tastes so good.

She tastes like she was created just for me.

She tastes like she’s mine.

I rip myself away, moving back to sit at the edge of the mattress, staring at the door.

I can’t.

I can’t let the little whore sway me.

I have come too far.

I’ve worked too hard to fucking own her to give it up now.

“Get up,” I say, turning to look at her.

I watch as her eyes widen, and then her eyebrows knit together. She’s processing, trying to make sense of my words—of everything. Mercy’s hands are resting in her lap, and now I can see them shaking. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head, the way she’s struggling.

“Draco, I don’t understand.”

She swallows hard, her gaze flickering between my eyes and my lips, as if trying to read my intentions.

“You need to get ready. I’m taking you to church.”

Her eyes widen even further, a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Church?”

I nod, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.

“Yes, church. Isn’t that where good girls like you belong?”

She swallows.

“What… day is it?”

“It’s Sunday.”

Before she can respond, I slide off the bed, and make my way to the door. I can feel her eyes on me, her gaze burning into my back. I pause at the doorway, glancing back over my shoulder.

“Come on, Mercy. Time’s a-wasting.”

And then I’m moving, striding down the hallway and into the living room. I can hear her behind me, her bare feet slapping against the floor as she hurries to catch up. She’s running after me, chasing me, just like I knew she would.

Like I planned she would.

She’s chasing after me, not just in this hallway, but in her mind, in her heart. She’s chasing after answers, after understanding, after a sense of control that she’ll never have because I won’t allow it.

When I reach the kitchen, I stop and I turn to face Mercy, still in the living room doorway, her cheeks flushed from the chase, and maybe from the way I kissed her.

Her chest jerks with each ragged breath.

Her hair is tangled and thrown in her face, sliding down one shoulder.

She looks like a cornered animal, all wide-eyed and trembling, but she’s an animal that’s willing to fight to save herself.

“Draco?” she says, her voice cracking. “Why… why are you doing this?” Her hands clutch at the fabric of my oversized t-shirt that she wears.

I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. The cool edge of the marble digs into my back, grounding me in the reality of this little drama.

“Doing what, Mercy?”

Her eyes dart around the room, looking for answers in cabinets, the gleaming silver fixtures. The ceiling, even.

She finds none.

“This,” she says, finally meeting my gaze. “Us. Last night. Now, church?”

Her voice cracks on the word, like it’s a sacred ground she’s not sure she should tread on.

Not with me, anyway.

She wants to fuck me, but she doesn’t want to be seen with me.

A laugh escapes me, cold and sharp. It echoes in the kitchen, bouncing off the hard surfaces.

“You came to me last night, Mercy.”

“I… I don’t mean that,” she stammers, her voice barely audible. Her eyes are glassy, and I can see the struggle within her. It’s written all over her face, in the blush that creeps up her cheeks, the way she chews her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Why won’t you touch me?” she asks.

She’s adorable when she’s conflicted, her brows furrowed, eyes shining with unshed tears, shaking.

I snort a laugh.

“I won’t?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. “I ate your fuckin’ pussy last night, Mercy. Or did you forget?”

Her blush deepens, spreading down her neck, across her collarbone. I can see it even in the low light of early dawn streaming in through the edges of the blackout curtains.

She opens her mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, she looks away, swallowing hard.

“No, I don’t mean—” she swallows hard again. “Why won’t you… sleep with me?” Her hands come together in front of her, and she wrings them hard enough that I hear the knuckles crack and pop, even from across the room.

I shake my head.

“You don’t want me, Mercy. You’re just desperate.”

Her face falls, and a tear slips free.

Just one.

“I do want you, Draco,” she whispers.

“Do you?”

She nods.

“Prove it.”

“How?” she asks. “What do you want me to do?”

“What do I want, Mercy?” I repeat. “I want you to prove it.”

“H-how?”

“Beg for me. Get down on your knees and crawl. Beg for it, Mercy.”

She does what I ask without a second thought, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised. She drops down to her knees, staring up at me, and I’m seconds away from losing it.

“Please, Draco,” she whispers, slowly moving towards me. “Please?”

I look down at her, this fallen angel on her knees, crawling towards me, and I feel a surge of power.

She’s mine, in this moment, utterly and completely.

She fuckin’ belongs to me.

“Please what?”

“Please, Draco,” she says. “Please touch me?”

“I already touched you. Try again.”

I can see the pulse in her neck quickening, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Please have sex with me?”

A laugh erupts in my throat, and I watch her jump.

“One more time, Mercy. You know what I wanna hear.”

She’s close enough to reach out and touch me now. Her hands clutch at my pants, her knuckles white with the force of her grip. I can feel the heat of her touch, the tremble of her fingers as she pulls herself up onto her knees in front of me.

She gulps, slams her eyes closed.

“Please fuck me Draco! Please? PLEASE?! God, please, I’ll do anything. I’ll do whatever you want!”

There it is. That’s what I needed to hear.

Reaching down, I snatch her wrists and push her down, kneeling with her. I tighten my grip on her wrist, feeling the fragile bones shift beneath my fingers.

She winces, but doesn’t pull away.

Good girl.

I lower myself, pushing her until she rolls to her back and I’m straddling her, my knees caging her hips. Her breath hitches as I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear as I press our chests together.

“You want this, Mercy?” I ask. “You want me?”

I can feel her shiver beneath me, her body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. She’s so responsive, so eager, even as she fights against herself.

She nods.

Reaching behind my back, I shove my hand between her legs.

Her panties are gone, I tore them off last night. She’s not lying. I find what I’m looking for, and she’s fuckin’ drenched.

“Why should I?” I ask.

She gulps.

“Because… I asked nicely?”

I pull away, just enough to see her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“And why do you want it so bad?”

I pull back, and with a quick flick of my wrist, I slap the palm of my hand against her wetness, and she jumps.

She jumps, but underneath it, I can hear her moan.

“Come on Mercy,” I tell her. “Tell me why.”

“Because you make me feel safe?”

I stop, staring down at her.

I wasn’t really expecting her to say that .

“I make you feel safe? Really? You want to fuck me because I make you feel safe? Interesting.”

“P-please?”

“Please what, Mercy?” I taunt her. “Please give you what you want? Please take away your guilt? Please make the decision for you?”

I laugh, a cold sound that echoes through the room. I don’t move off her as I reposition myself, shifting my weight. I kick her legs apart and press myself between them. I’m still clothed, but even through my pants, I know she can feel how hard I am. I’m fucking throbbing.

“I should,” I growl. “I should hold you down and fuck you until you’re screaming and then send you to church with my cum dripping out of you. I should send you into God’s house full of the devil’s cum, but I won’t.”

She swallows hard, her throat working visibly. I can see the struggle in her eyes, the desperation to comply, to earn my approval.

She wants me so fucking bad.

I move away from her and stand up, stepping back and staring down at her.

I can see her glistening pussy, see the need that’s dripping out of her.

“Go get dressed,” I say, staring down at her. “Take a shower. Put on some makeup. Get dressed up like a good little doll, and sit beside me in church. Then, if you’re good, I’ll give you what you want when we get home. Understand?”

She nods.

“You have an hour. Go now.”

She lunges to her feet and scrambles away. I hear her run into the bathroom and slam the door closed.

I fucking own her.