Page 30 of Penance

My body aches, yearns for more, even as my mind recoils, screaming at me to resist. I can’t, it’s too late. I’m drowning in him and all the lust he pours into me. And as his hands grip my thighs, lifting me, pinning me, I surrender, letting the tide of desire pull me under.

I can feel every ridge of his fingers, every callous. His breath is hot on my neck, a stark contrast to the cold tiles pressed against my cheek.

What am I doing?

Why am I letting him do this, and why am I enjoying it?

This isn’t me.

This isn’t who I am, but who am I anymore?

The innocent, devout Mercy Marie Clarke would never have allowed this, would never have felt this… need.

She would have fought.

She would have run screaming, and screamed her prayers to deaf ears.

“Draco,” I gasp. “Just… do it. P-please.”

Now, I’m begging for my sin.

His hand slides between my legs, fingers fucking into me, and I cry out, body convulsing as I grind myself down on his hand.

Fingers plunge in and out, and I roll my hips along with them, pushing and grinding until I can feel it climbing, pushing, pulling at my soul as if it will rip it clean out of my body.

He rolls against me, his palm pressing against something that has me soaring, and his fingers fucking me, over and over again until I can feel myself flying, and so, so close to the edge.

And then, as suddenly as it began, he stops. Draco pulls back, still holding me up, but leaving me wanting, my body aching for him.

“No,” I whine, letting my head fall back against him. “Why did you—”

“Spread your legs.”

And I do.

I do it because he asked me to, but I think even if he hadn’t, I would have done it anyway.

There’s a cruel smirk on his lips, a triumphant glint in his eyes. He knows he’s won, and at that moment I don’t even care.

Let him gloat, I just want to cum.

The water beats down on me, scalding hot, scorching my skin like the fires of hell—but I welcome the pain, the punishment.

Because I know, deep down, that I deserve it.

I sit there, wrapped in his arms as he lines himself up with my entrance, rocking against me, and I realize with a sickening certainty that there’s no going back.

Not ever.

“Please,” I whimper again. “Please, just do it.”

He thrusts into me, slowly at first, but then hard, and every breath is a gasp that releases in a shaking moan.

It hurts, but not too much.

It’s pain, but it’s a delicious ache that I can’t explain, even to myself.

His hands grip my hips tightly, nails digging into my skin as he pushes deeper and deeper, and it’s all I can do to hang on to him.

In the back of my mind, I can hear the angel on my shoulder screaming at me to stop, to flee from him and everything he represents.

But the voice seems distant, faint against the roar of fire licking at every nerve ending.

“Mercy,” Draco whispers, his voice a low growl that shakes me like a thunderclap. “You’re mine now.”

Despite everything within me screaming, before I even know what’s happening, I can feel myself nodding.

“Yes,” I whisper, whimpering. “Yes. I-I am. F-fuck, Draco.”

Why did it feel like I was signing my life away, making a deal with the devil himself for my everlasting soul?

Maybe I was.

Maybe I was, but I didn’t care.

“You want my cock, don’t you, Mercy?”

I can’t answer. All I can do is gasp and moan, my head fallen back and resting against his shoulder. I feel like I’m being turned inside out. Part of me wonders if I’m dying, but I never thought dying would feel so good.

Every thrust is painful, but amazing at the same time. He pushes into me, so hard that I think I can’t take any more, and then just as the pain reaches heights that I think may tear me apart, he’s retreating and all I can do is hope and pray he comes right back to me.

It feels so good, it’s worth the price I have to pay—my soul.

“Say it,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me, even as he doesn’t stop his bruising thrusts. “Say you want this. Say you want my cock, Mercy.”

I hesitate, but only for a moment. The truth is there, even if its faint, waiting to be let out. Maybe it’s the heat of his body against mine, or the way his hands grip my hips so tightly they leave marks, but I feel like the answer floats on the steam above our heads. Do I really need to say it?

“I want you,” I whisper. “I want you so much, Draco. W-want your cock.”

His lips crash down on my neck again, his teeth dragging along the skin, hard and punishing. I moan as he thrusts into me, each stroke sending shockwaves throughout my entire body. I can hear the slap of wet flesh, and the sound is like a symphony of hellish screaming.

I can feel inside me, deep down, that this is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be letting him do this to me, but why not?

We were going to be married, so that meant it was okay, right?

No, it wasn’t okay.

It was right.

I was supposed to be pure.

But I wasn’t, not anymore.

Not since he touched me.

Not since he showed me everything I’d been missing out on.

“Fuck, Mercy,” Draco growls. “You’re so fucking tight. Shit.”

My body trembles in response, and my head falls forward, my forehead smacking against the tile enough to jar me, but not enough to hurt.

I am lost in him, pushing against him, arching my back and feeling the way he slips in and out of me.

He touches something inside me, something raw and sensitive, and I groan, rolling my hips back against his.

My heart races, pounding against my ribs with a wild frenzy.

I’m overwhelmed, drunk on the way he claims he, the way he fucks into me so hard that my head is spinning and I can’t properly draw a breath.

“Draco,” I whimper, reaching my hands behind me to clasp around his neck.

I can smell the heat of the steam, and I can hear the drumming patter of water hitting tile, but its like background noise, a soundtrack for our sin to dance to.

“Please,” I beg, my voice like a thread that could snap at any second. “Harder.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

His hips surge forward, each thrust deeper than the last, harder, higher, deeper, and before I know it, I’m drowning in him.

I cry out, a mixture of agony and ecstasy ripping from my throat so hard that I taste blood. My body writhes and bucks beneath him, each movement pushing me closer and closer to the brink. I can feel myself teetering on the edge.

I’m so close.

So close that my thighs are shaking and my muscles are clenched so hard that every joint aches.

“Close,” I whisper, my nails digging into the back of his neck as I struggle to pull him closer, deeper, against that spot inside of me. “Close, Draco, Gonna—”

Then he rips himself away from me, and I want to cry.

Why is he teasing me like this?

Is it on purpose?

It has to be.

He likes when I beg, he said so himself, so maybe this is just another way for him to get what he wants.

“W-wait,” I whine, my nails pushing into the flesh at the back of his neck and urging him forward. “Don’t s-stop, I was—”

“Don’t worry, baby girl. We’ll get ya there,” he rumbles in my ear. “We’re just gonna try something new.”

I swallow hard, confused, but too desperate to question him. Despite the confusion I felt, at that moment I would have let him do anything he wanted to me.

“What do you mean? W-what else is there?”

He lets out a barking laugh and I jump as he pulls me away from the wall and steps out of the shower, still holding me. Reaching over, he grabs the shower tap and flips it, and it suddenly feels so quiet without the thrumming of the water against the tile.

“Trust me,” he says, his voice low. “There is so much you haven’t experienced yet.”

He turns us around, stepping out of the bathroom, and on our way out, I can see myself in the mirror.

I can see my eyes, hooded with lust, and my cheeks flushed a light shade of pink.

It’s lewd, the way he carries me, and the way his erection leads us, standing at full attention beneath me, but something about it feels so right.

He steps into the bedroom with me and drops me onto the mattress.

I barely have time to react, a yelp slipping past my lips before he pushes me down and flips me onto my hands and knees with enough force that it takes my breath away.

Without any warning, he slaps me on the ass hard enough that tears spring to my eyes.

“Ow!” I say, jumping and looking back at him. “What was that for?”

“That’s for being a naughty girl,” he says. “And if you continue to complain, you’re going to get worse.”

He reaches down, gripping my hips firmly in each hand and pulling me back to the edge of the bed. My fingers grip the comforter, my hands twisting in the fabric and holding onto it, hard, as if its the only thing keeping me alive.

“What are you gonna do?” I ask, my voice soft and quivering.

“I’m gonna fuck your ass, Mercy,” he says. The tone of his voice is steady, like to him, it’s just another day, but for me, it’s a slap to the face.

What?

What did he just say?

“W-wait,” I say, my voice shaking. “That’s gonna hurt, y-you can’t, you—”

“I can do whatever I want to you,” he says, leaning over me. “You’re mine, remember?”

One thick hand finds the back of my neck and tangles in my hair, pulling at the root until my scalp tingles and giving me little to no wiggle room—or hope for escape. He’s holding me down, shoving my face into the bed and forcing me to stay.

I couldn’t get away, even if I wanted to.

And part of me does want to.

“Is it gonna hurt?”

I already asked that.

Crap.

I’m just grasping at straws.