Page 18 of The Traitor's Curse
A cool, startling tingle rushed up into my body from where he touched me, starting at my hole and going…gods, so deep, deeper than any man had ever been inside me, and I jerked and cried out, my arms wobbling and nearly dropping me face-first into the bed.
“What the hell was—” I cut off in a moan as one of his fingers pressed inside, stretching me open. Slick. It was slick, oil dripping down my thighs and coating my rim. “Where did you get—oh gods,” because he twisted his finger and pushed deeper, all the way to the last knuckle.
“Summoned it from my dressing table,” he said, and pulled his finger out, drawing another moan out of me with it, and forced two back inside. “If I let you go and went to get it, you’d run. And then I’d have to—” He thrust hard with his fingers, twisting them and rubbing unerringly over the little nub behind my balls that Tavius’s friend had been completely incapable of finding. My deep, helpless groan drowned out half of what he said next, but I heard him finish with, “—pin you down on the floor when I catch you.”
Three fingers inside me now, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even moan, splayed out with my elbows and forehead on the bedding and my ass up in the air like a whore.
Benedict’s whore. The same to him as one of the painted strumpets who took his gold and his cock on nights when he didn’t trouble to seduce one of my courtiers.
My hole clenched convulsively around his fingers, their uneven pressure in my soft insides nearly too much. I stifled a whimper in the blankets.
A moment later I was empty, clenching around nothing, Benedict spreading my cheeks with his hand and muttering something I couldn’t quite catch but that sounded like it contained a lot of profanities.
The head of his cock pushed against my hole—stretched, but not quite enough to prepare me for his girth, and the wet sound as he forced his way inside echoed obscenely in the quiet bedroom.
I could only push back on him, trying desperately to relieve the ache of it, as he thrust inexorably forward and impaled me. Benedict leaned down, letting his weight bury his cock even deeper inside me.
“That’s it,” he said, either to me or to himself, I wasn’t sure. “Gods. That’s right.”
No, it was wrong, wrong in every possible way: wrong that Benedict, my horrid stepbrother who might or might not be lying about wanting me dead, had his monstrous cock buried in me, that he’d started to thrust, tugging on my hole and then opening me again, tunneling into me. Wrong that I had to bite my lip and clutch the bedding in my fists to keep in the cries that bubbled up in my throat, that my hair stuck to my forehead and temples with sweat, that my own cock and balls throbbed, on the point of spilling everything I had, including my self-respect.
Benedict fucked me harder, driving me face-first into the mattress, the bed starting to creak. I spat out a mouthful of damp fabric, focusing on the scratch of a wool blanket against the front of my thighs to try to distract me from the heat and muscle of his legs flexing between them.
It didn’t work.
Nothing could distract me from the oncoming rush of spending my brains out on Benedict’s cock.
He’d lost control now, pounding me without mercy, every thrust hollowing me out and stuffing me impossibly full all atonce, every inch of him hammering into that perfect spot inside me and ratcheting my tension higher, higher…
I couldn’t hold it in anymore, the muscles of my stomach clenched so tight they hurt. Gripping Benedict’s cock like a vise, balls tugging up, I spilled into the bedding, a few drops spattering onto my chest where my shirt had ridden up.
It turned me inside out exactly the way Benedict had threatened, everything going sideways and twisted around me.
I collapsed into a damp, whimpering, twitching heap, head spinning.
Benedict growled, caught my hips in his iron grip, and slammed me back onto his cock, like a rag doll with a wet hole he could use as he pleased.
“Lucian,” he said, voice rough with triumph—and thrust once more, transfixing me, making me cry out as he spent.
Wet heat suffused me. Benedict’s mark, his claim…his magic, gods, a sparking tickle deep within me that set off one more spasm in my balls and my exhausted cock.
My whole body quivered with aftershocks, sweat cooling on my skin, the bed feeling like it vibrated under me. Everything between my ribs and my thighs had been bruised and battered and pounded into jelly, and the sweet ache of it made me shudder with something horribly close to arousal, the echo of desire.
Desire. I’d never desired Benedict. I still didn’t, and the throbbing, trembling, melting warmth inside me had nothing to do with him.
His withdrawal made me shudder, every inch of him stretching me again on his way out and leaving me horribly empty.
When he let me go, my numbed toes hit the floor and almost couldn’t stop my undignified slide off the side of the bed. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d lifted me off the ground. Iscrabbled at the blankets and shoved myself up onto my hands again, shakily making my way to standing. A hot trickle of Benedict’s come seeped out, slicking my thighs. My trousers lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, still caught around one foot. Bending over to get them would expose my glistening, well-fucked ass to Benedict as he stood there savoring the sight of me all disheveled and used.
Shame tightened my chest and left me breathless as reality began to filter back in again.
And not only the shame of my own disgust and regret.
Any whisper that I’d become Benedict’s latest toy would destroy any credibility I’d managed to gain among my courtiers and my subjects at large. It seemed so bloody unfair that Benedict could be the one to bear a curse that typically made twilight mages objects of fear and ridicule, and that he could be the one to know every whore in Calatria by name, but thatI’dbe the one mocked and despised for taking his cock. For submitting to this.
My eyes stung. My heavy head throbbed. Benedict moved around in the room behind me, dressing or washing. Watching me. Laughing at me, or gloating.
I needed to be alone or I’d lose my mind.
