Trigger warning:🔞🔞 This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Read with caution.
I stirred beneath the thick duvet, my body aching with a dull throb, the kind that reminds you you're still alive. I glanced under the covers—nothing but my red G-string clinging between my thighs. My skin was warm, but a chill ran through me.
I remembered the water. The darkness. The moment I thought it was over.
But I didn't die.
I thought I did.
Then I saw him.
His tall figure stood in the shadows, facing away from me. His bare back gleamed in the low light as he drank from the glass in his hands, black trousers hanging low on his hips—every inch of him unmistakable.
Don Pedro.
I didn't speak–just watched him. My breath hitched as my mind drifted...drifted into insane fantasies.
How can I want thesame man who claimed me, violated me?
God, I'm crazy.
The thought of it soaked through my panties.
A moan slipped out, barely more than a whisper.
He didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't acknowledge it.
But I knew he heard.
Silence.
Then slowly, he turned.
His eyes locked on me under the duvet and drifted down, landing on my exposed breast. He stared like he was trying to memorize every detail.
I couldn't match his intensity, but I didn't look away—at least, not right away. I held his gaze long enough to catch the black scar etched across his chest.
"I can't protect you if you never listen." He spoke with a soft roughness, the kind that held both care and warning.
"You left me," I whispered.
He didn't respond. Just stood there and took a slow sip from the glass of alcohol in his hand.
"I thought I was going to die," The fear clinged to my voice.
"I thought I was going to lose you," It slipped cause I could hear the restraint beneath it.
He didn't look at me when he said it.
He couldn't.
My heart skipped.
Don Pedro, the man who ruled everything with cold precision, had almost lost me and it meant something.
I let out a breathy laugh, unsure what else to do.
"I'll leave you to rest," he murmured, moving towards the door.
"Stay." I said quickly.
I kicked off the duvet and stepped onto the cold floor, a sharp chill shot through my legs but I didn't hesitate. I walked toward him in slow strides, like prey willingly drawn to her predator.
"Please... stay."
My voice cracked as I reached for his bare chest. But before my fingers brushed his skin, he caught my wrist with swift precision.
"Stay away from me," he ordered, the command vibrating with tension.
Our gaze locked.
My throat tightened.
Slowly, I retreated to the bed, swallowing the lump in my throat.
But then—
In two long strides, he was in front of me.
He grabbed me in his arms and tossed me onto the bed like I weighed nothing.
I gasped, heart pounding as I stared up at him.
I tried to reach for him again but he pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, pressing them hard into the mattress.
"I don't make love, I fuck."
I froze.
Not in fear. In anticipation.
He stared down at me, his gaze piercing mine.
So I gave him what he needed.
"Then fuck me," I breathed.
"You'll beg for mercy," he muttered, his tone dripping with sin.
His co** pressed hard against my belly, and I shivered.
"Bring it on." I whispered.
He grabbed a pillow from the bed, ripped the pillowcase off, and tied my wrists tightly.
I didn't resist. I didn't want to
He hovered over me, his eyes roaming down my body. He paused on my red, swollen nipples.
His fingers traced them gently, then pressed harder. Heat and cold collided beneath his touch, a burning chill that left me breathless.
He leaned down, taking them deep into his mouth, his tongue flicking cruelly. My back arched, and a loud moan slipped out.
His mouth trailed down my stomach, tongue licking every inch of me. He paused just above my panties, his eyes flicking up to watch me writhe.
Two fingers pressed against the soaked fabric. I gasped as he circled slowly.
Then one finger slipped in.
Then another.
My hips jerked. I cried out.
He pulled his fingers out, then brought them to his lips. Licked them clean. Eyes still on mine.
Then he unzipped.
His co** sprang free. Girthy and enormous.
And without a word, he slammed into me.
I screamed. It was too much. Too deep.
He moved fast and rough, pounding into me like I was his to break. My legs shook uncontrollably.
My mouth opened in a silent scream as he filled me over and over, every thrust hitting something inside me I didn't know existed.
I could feel him slamming against my walls.
Pain and pleasure blurred.
Tears slid down my cheeks, not from hurt, but from how deeply he reached me. Not just my body—but everything.
He didn't stop. Didn't slow down.
Most men pause after they cum.
Not Don Pedro.
He kept going.
Like this wasn't about sex but control. Power. Escape. Rage. Obsession. All of it, pouring out of him and into me.
He wasn't like Damien. Damien made love like a god. Slow and intimate.
But Don Pedro?
Don Pedro was sin himself.
He was the devil in tailored suit.
And I was his offering.
My body trembled beneath him. My wrists ached. My legs shook. My voice was gone. I couldn't take another thrust.
And yet I wanted more of him
Until finally,
"I'm tired," I choked, sobbing.
And just like that,
He stopped.
No final thrust. No groan of release. Just stillness.
He looked down at me, and for the first time, his eyes softened.
Something shifted between us.
This was sin in all its holy glory. Raw, sacred, unrepentant, brutal, consuming and almost divine–an unholy liturgy of pain, power, and possession.
I welcomed it like prayer.