Page 111 of Cruel Deception
Degrading.
Intentional.
But under the venom of his voice, buried deep in that demand—I hear something else.
Hurt.
A wounded animal lashing out.
A boy who watched too much pain and never learned how to hold anything gently.
And still, I let him in.
He moves behind me, his hands firm on my hips, his touch a mix of punishment and possession.
I gasped as he entered me from behind—hard, punishing.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress as he enters me, slow, deliberate, each movement a claim that breaks me further.
The chains drag, the metal a constant reminder of my status, my submission.
My mind fractures, caught between pleasure and pain, his dominance overwhelming, reducing me to his subject, yet his restraint keeps it consensual, a dark dance I’ve agreed to.
My body responds, heat building despite my tears, my heart aching as I crave his approval, his mercy, even as I hate myself for it.
“This is what you wanted,” he whispered. “To be reminded who owns you.”
Each thrust was a sentence. A scar branded into my soul.
“This body is mine.”
“You’ll never escape me.”
“I’ll make you forget what it felt like to defy me.”
I moaned—broken, trembling. Not from pleasure. From collapse.
He never touched my chest. Never kissed my shoulder. His warmth never reached me. Just control.
And still, I didn’t tell him to stop.
Because this was his version of mercy.
Because this was our language now—dark, twisted, merciless.
“You wanted to remind me what pain feels like?” he growled into my ear. “Then feel it.”
He gripped my hips tighter, dragging me onto him like I was nothing but flesh. A warm body with no voice. No rights.
But I had given this to him.
He hadn’t forced me.
I had offered.
Because my guilt was louder than my shame.
“You’ll never be free of me, Charlotte.”
