Page 117 of The Ecstasy of Sin

I force her to come again, because her body belongs to me. I need to bring her pleasure as badly as I need to bring death with my own hands.

Wren shatters. Her pussy clenches around my cock, gripping me tightly as she cries out in pleasure.

Her body shakes, her moans breaking into gasps as I ride the wave with her, teeth clenched against the white-hot heat ripping through me.

“That’s it, baby,” I groan, every breath ragged. “Give yourself to me. You have no control anymore, and it feels sogood, doesn’t it?”

She’s moaning, while her entire body convulses with euphoric spasms she can’t control. My hand is still wrapped in her hair as she nods, her hips grinding back against me to draw out the last of her orgasm.

Her pussy pulsates around me, like she’s desperately trying to keep my cum right where it belongs. The sensation has me seeing stars in my peripheral.

She needed this. She needed me: to take over, to love her, to protect her. She never needed a hero, she needed a man that would spill blood for her, one that would walk through the fires of hell for her.

She also needed someone who would let her be soft, and vulnerable, and worshipped like the incredible woman she is.

She’s been aching to be found by a monster, to be owned.

And now she is.

When the final waves of release pass, she collapses onto the table, drenched in sweat and soaked in me. I gently release her hair, guiding her down with care.

She’s trembling and whimpering, ruined so beautifully for me.

When I look up, Boris is dead. His eyes are open, lifeless and blank. A halo of blood stains the pale carpet beneath him, a gallon spilled in tribute.

“Dominic…” Wren breathes, boneless on the table. “Please hold me.”

Her voice is barely there, threadbare with need. She’s shaking and vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache with the need to love her the way she deserves to be loved.

I slide out of her slowly, watching as my cum leaks from her swollen, well-used pussy. A possessive ache swells in my chest.

I turn her gently onto her back, then wrap her in my arms and lift her against me.

She melts into me, her face tucked against my throat. I feel every quiver in her muscles, every quiet and broken breath. I press a kiss to her temple, my arms locking tighter around her.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

She presses in closer. I tighten my hold and begin rocking her, slow and rhythmic, like I’m willing her back into her body with every sway.

“I shouldn’t have run,” she whispers, the words hot against my skin. “I was afraid, and I shouldn’t have been. Not of you. And look at what it cost.”

I lower my head to hear her better, my heart pounding beneath her cheek. “It won’t happen again,” I tell her gently. “You’re safe now. I’ll keep you safe, little lamb. I promise.”

“I'm done with all this blood. Can you take me home?”

I nod, even though she can’t see it. “Yeah, baby. I’ve got you.”

I don’t need her to be hardened. I don’t want her numb to death the way that I am. I don’t need her to smile at suffering. I just need her to love me as I am—a psychopath that can’t ever let her go.

I cradle Wren in my arms for a moment longer, letting her heart sync with mine. Our breaths slowly fall into rhythm. When her trembling stops, I press a kiss to her plush lips.

“Sit right here. I’ll be backin a minute.”

She nods, still clinging to the heat of my body like she’s not ready to let go. It kills me to step away, but I do.

I cross the room to the sagging couch, grab the blanket folded over the edge, and shake free the dust. Then I return and drape it over her shoulders.

She accepts it, pulling it around herself.