The Golden Line (Knotted 1) - Page 69
Scraped raw, confused, the back of her neck a pulsing mush of torn bleeding flesh, Quinn began to weep.
“Oh, Sigil.” Sovereign slid his lips over her ear. “It had to happen this way. Can you not already feel me working inside you, undoing the damage? Does it not satisfy to be mounted by your own kind? Every time we mate, you’ll know completion. You’ll chemically recognize your place, until you are healed of the poison they inflicted on you to punish me.”
Ashamed the enemy was witnessing her weakness, Quinn turned her face away. Cheek bleeding from the rough edges of the grated floor, she welcomed the pain and stink of blood. Anything to distract from the fact he had played with her as a cat plays with a mouse—the plan of fucking her his endgame from the moment she’d stepped foot into the room.
She’d lost, he’d shamed her, and even in the moment, she could feel his come inside her womb pooling warm and unnatural.
She tried to shift her hips away from the thick plug still pulsing inside her. She tried to force that heat out.
“Hold it all, precious one,” Sovereign warned, his grip growing tight again. “Hold every drop I gave you. Your body must absorb and recognize my mark if we are to break your compulsion.”
She was in shock—shivering, hyperventilating, and afraid of the monster on her back.
“Please…” The word was a long entreated sob for freedom.
“You are beautiful, even when you cry.” A large hand slipped under her skull to cradle it, preventing the woman from gouging her bleeding face against the abrasive floor. “It pains me our first coupling has upset you.” Thumb brushing her lips like a kiss, he promised, “In time, you will learn you need not fear me.”
But she was terrified.
More tears began to flow.
Quinn bawled, teeth chattering, the bastard’s encouragements only upsetting her further. When she squirmed, body going numb from the pressure of the grate and the burdensome weight of the man, his organ pulsed back to life.
She froze, petrified of her body’s reaction, of the blood she could feel pumping to engorge her sex further, of the slippery offered fluid which eased his passage and enticed further fucking.
Sovereign thrust gently, Quinn’s hiccupping sobs twisting into soul wrenching whimpers at the decadent swirl of hips and softer scrape of teeth along her spine. He held her down as he had the first time, though she did not fight him—the second claiming infinitely tender, debilitating.
Calloused hands stroked to erase the horror, to foster nonexistent comfort.
With her eyes screwed shut, her head resting in his palm, Quinn lost the final trace of bloodlust.
Praise was lavished upon her for submission, a tongue tracing the shape of her ear when she arched her pelvis encouraging him to rut. She came screaming the name of her oldest enemy, her body greedily draining him of seed—no orgasm in her history as obliterating, as gratifying, as those desolate moments under Sovereign.
A throbbing cock emptied, splashing more fluid against her womb.
With labored breath, he commanded, “Sleep.”
The effect was almost instant, and before she could reflect on why, she obeyed.