Page 110 of Born for Silk

“You're just a silly little girl. Why wouldn’t I?”

The backs of my eyes burn. “You don't mean that.”

“You desire to be a Sired Mother. Nothing more.”

Of course. That is what we are taught to want, trained to want, the perfect retirement. A special place. His words don’t make sense.

“Every Silk Girl wants to be a Sired Moth—” My sentence is cut short when he pushes a second finger inside me.

“And you do, too,” he purrs, dark.

My eyes roll.

I ignore his words; they drown in my racing heartbeat, in the rushing of my blood to the place where his fingers work at a meticulous pace.

“Pathetic, wet, little girl.”

“Don’t call me pathetic!”

He growls, stands and scoops me up with one arm as he goes. Placing me on all fours on the table, he comes up behind me, grips the back of my dress in both big hands, and rips it down the centre, exposing my spine and backside.

A dark sound rumbles throughout the room, thickening the air I try to breathe: a hiss from his teeth, a groan from his throat. “Is that what you really want? What if you could choose? What would you do?”

“I— I don't know. That's a scary question. I only know what is required of me, not what I want.”

A huge hand lands on my upper back, covering the plane shoulder to shoulder, and pushes me down until my cheek stamps the cool table.

“Remember to be very still for your king.”

That is all he has to say…

My eyes widen on the shiny wooden surface that spans out in front of me, as I listen to him unfastening his belt and lowering his pants.

A hand grips my hip, long fingers reaching to hold my pelvis. “I will feel myself here when I’m inside you.” The thick, hot bulb of his cock rubs between my thighs, travelling up and down the slick valley.

I push back into him, wanting the stretch, to be filled. Needing all the nerves that prickle inside me to be touched, stroked, praised. Like he can do. I never knew it before, but now that I know, I want it.

He hums. “Good girl. Arching your back like a wanton, little Silk Girl. It will hurt, sweet thing. I’ll see your pussy stretched to its limits.”

His grip on me tightens as he pushes through my folds, opening me up in one long, thorough thrust inward. “Oh, fuck, Aster. My sweet Aster.”

Sounds of relief, pain, fear, and excitement burst from me as he takes me from full to almost empty, and then full again. Each time he hits the end of me, hard, a spark of fire bursts through my abdomen, moments before warmth rolls the length of my inner walls as he draws out, thoroughly massaging every tender spot inside that secret place. Then he is inside me again.

I gasp for air.

His warm, rough hand on my hip bruises, his fingers holding my pubis, as though he can feel the area expanding with each pump of his hips. “I can’t stop. Tell me to stop, little creature. I don’t want to hurt you, but… fuck.” He pants and groans as he continues to use my body. “Use your claws on the table. I am watching. I will stop.”

My fear disappears.

Instantly, I lift my hands to either side of my head, but… I don’t dig my nails into the wood. I don’t need to. It’s painful in the most unnatural, pleasurable way and… He gives me the power to stop him, and so I don’t fear the pain.

I feel it.

Feel all the intensity of each thrust. Feel his heaving weight. The bite of his hand at my hip. The power in his thighs as he tenses.

I feel high—euphoric and crazed.

I feel free from my thoughts.

---