Page 37 of The Enslaved Duet

He turned my body into a traitor as I recognized the beginnings of an orgasm taking form in my sparking blood.

“You’re going to come for me just like this,” he taunted me.

And God, I did.

My womb cramped so tightly I keened with pain, my pussy a vise around his cock so that he could barely pry himself out of my spasming folds. I screamed as he ripped me apart, and I screamed even when everything I was collapsed to the floor beneath him and still he pumped away.

Only when his shout of release joined my voice did I quiet, my mind preoccupied with the sting of his hot cum against my overly sensitive, abraded walls.

For a long moment, he stayed inside me, and his big hands moved slowly over my back, my buttocks and my thighs. It was oddly soothing, and the absurdness of his sudden tenderness made me want to cry again.

I didn’t because he’d taken too much from me.

Finally, he pulled out, and I could feel the rush of our combined juices run out over my thighs. Alexander’s wide palm cupped me there between my legs in a gesture that was somehow more possessive even than his taking of me. Gently but firmly, he smeared our cum from the front of my pussy over my clit to the end of my crack well beyond my asshole.

And as he claimed me like a primate, he told me in the elegant accent of a titled gentleman, “You are mine now, Cosima Lombardi. It is my cum between these pretty thighs, my ache in your womb, and my bruises beneath your skin. You will wear me like this every day for the next five years, and by the time your term is up, I promise you, you will beg me for another five.”

I lay on the ground after he disappeared on theclick-clickof his expensive shoes, my sweat and blood and his cum cooling on my skin as my heartbeat slowed incrementally.

There were times in your life when it felt as if you were not really living it. You believed you were soulless at those moments, your spirit escaping your body through a puncture wound, some great trauma that your mind cannot endure, so it lets your essence escape for an all too brief reprieve.

I felt hollow as a broken relic as I lay there used, corrupted, and discarded, worshipped and warped by a heretic. There were no more tears at the backs of my eyes, but there was sorrow so deep in my bones I feared it would remain a part of me forever.

At some point, I might have slept because before I could comprehend the change, it was light outside the massive windows, and golden light was spilling across my body. I shivered at the warmth of it, then noticed how it highlighted the bloody smears on the floor, and the arrival of blackberry-coloured bruises on my hips.

Noel had told me the day before that the amount of floor-to-ceiling windows in Pearl Hall were an extravagance meant to highlight the family’s wealth.

I hated them.

“It’s time to get up and leave this place, dearie,” Mrs. White’s voice floated to me through my haze, and a moment later her soft, plump hands were smoothing back my hair.

I blinked into her face.

“Come, come,” she urged. “Let me help you get clean.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be clean again,” I told her in a hoarse whisper.

Her eyes shuttered briefly, but she turned her head before I could read the full extent of her expression. “You will, I swear it. Now, do as I tell you, and come with me.”

My body ached so wickedly as I moved that I couldn’t hold in the ragged moans as I gained my feet. I was a gutted building, my framework swaying in the wind.

Mrs. White wrapped her arm around my hips, cooing sweet nonsense as she led me slowly out of the ballroom.

I didn’t ask where we were going because I didn’t care.

The fire in my soul had gone out.

I was merely a body now, a vessel for Master Alexander’s cock.

I shivered so hard it pinched a nerve in my spine, but still, I walked on down the hall into the opposite wing where we stopped before a large red door painted with gold leaf. The knob was delicate red blown glass shaped like a bloom, and I gasped softly at the beauty of it before Mrs. White’s hand moved over it and opened the door.

The room inside was the colour of an oyster with gold cornices, sheer red draperies over the huge windows, and a bed covered in wine-toned satin coverlets and pillows. It was a room fit for a princess from the four-poster bed to the ornate gold vanity with its oval mirror.

My feet sank into the plush white, red, and pink rugs layered over each other in a way that was artless and beautiful, and I couldn’t resist the urge to wriggle my toes. When I looked up from doing so, Mrs. White was smiling softly at me.

“This is to be your room for the duration of your stay here at Pearl Hall,” she told me as she went to the bed and pulled back the plush covers to reveal satin sheets.

“Scusi?”