Page 36 of Cursed
The sudden kindness is jarring, more disorienting than cruelty. I can’t predict him, can’t prepare for what comes next. His comfort feels like another form of torture, keeping me perpetually off-balance.
“Good girl,” he praises, wiping away my tears with one hand while the other continues its relentless exploration. “You’re taking your medicine so beautifully.”
I turn my face away, but there’s nowhere to hide in this chair, nothing to shield me from the monster who caught me. His fingers trace lazy patterns between my thighs, keeping me on edge even as my body still trembles from release.
“Water?” he asks, as if we’re in the middle of a normal conversation.
Before I can respond, he’s reaching for a bottle nearby. Instead of bringing it to my lips, he removes his mask to reveal his full, devastatingly gorgeous face. He takes a mouthful himself, then leans down, pressing his mouth to mine. I try to resist, but thirst overrides dignity, and I accept the water from his lips, hating myself for the intimacy of this forced connection.
“There we go,” he murmurs when he pulls back.
Fresh tears spring to my eyes, partly from humiliation, partly from confusion. The gentleness in his touch as he brushes hair from my forehead contrasts sharply with the clinical observation in his eyes.
“Why are you doing this?” I manage to ask.
“I told you—I’m healing you.” His thumb catches another tear as it falls, and he brings it to his lips, tasting it. “These tears are necessary. Purging the poison of your past.”
He leans down and kisses the wet trail on my cheek, his lips warm against my skin. This unpredictable shifting between torturer and comforter leaves me disoriented, unable to prepare for what comes next.
“Stop,” I plead.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, kissing another tear away. “Your body is finally speaking its truth. Don’t silence it now.”
Landon’s eyes darken as he pulls back. Without warning, he drops to his knees between my spread legs, secured in the chair’s restraints.
“I need to taste you,” he growls, no longer sounding like the clinical observer from moments ago. “Need to devour every inch.”
His hands grip my thighs with bruising force as he buries his face between my legs. The first stroke of his tongue makes me jerk against the restraints, a shocked cry escaping my lips. Unlike his touches before, this is desperate, hungry.
His tongue flattens against me, licking a long, possessive stroke before circling my clit with relentless precision. My body responds instantly, sensitive from the previous orgasm he forced from me.
“Fuck,” he groans against me, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves through my core. “You’re so fucking sweet.”
I’ve never heard him curse before, never seen him lose his composure. He devours me with an intensity that borders on violence. One hand leaves my thigh, and I watch in shock as he reaches down to squeeze his own cock through his pants, grinding against his palm while his tongue works me mercilessly.
“Can’t get enough,” he pants between licks, his refined speech disintegrating. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”
The filthy words coming from his articulate mouth shock me almost as much as the desperate way he’s consuming me. His fingers dig into my thigh with punishing force while his other hand continues to work his own erection. He growls against me, the sound more animal than human.
“Mine,” he snarls, sucking my clit between his lips with bruising force. “All fucking mine.”
His control—the thing that made him most terrifying—has fractured, revealing an unfiltered version of him.
I try to fight the sensations, but tension coils tighter in my core. His fingers dig into my thighs as he devours me, groaning against my flesh like a starving man at a feast.
“I can feel you getting close,” he growls between strokes of his tongue. “Give it to me.”
The command in his voice sends another wave of unwanted heat through me. “Stop fighting it,” he demands, nipping my clit with his teeth. “Let go.”
His tongue flicks rapidly, and the dam inside me breaks. The orgasm hits with shocking force, different from before. My backarches against the chair as liquid gushes from me, flooding his eager mouth.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, his lips and chin glistening with my release. Instead of pulling away, he presses closer, drinking down everything. “More.”
His tongue delves deeper, coaxing another wave from me. I cry out, unable to process the intensity of the sensation as my body continues to pulse and release.
“Feed me your cum,” he orders. “Every last drop belongs to me.”
My thighs tremble uncontrollably as he laps at me, swallowing each new surge with greedy satisfaction.
