Page 76 of Possession

The piss mixing with the trickle of milk and smearing of blood creates a potent blend I intend on exploring at a later date.

For now, I simply revel in the splendor.

As the flow comes to a stop, I step back, and my body relaxes under the knowledge that she’s mine once again.

“Now, clean me.” A chill spreads over her body, but my little doll does as I ask. She grips onto my thighs and her breath fans over me. While I grip my cock, her little tongue darts out and licks the drops of piss that have trickled down my shaft. She circles my balls and follows the line of the thick veins traveling toward the head, then she dips her tongue into the slit, causing me to grunt at her attention to detail while she sucks on the head, lavishing it with equal hunger.

“Good little doll,” I praise with one hand on her head, stroking over her silky locks.

Her eyes twinkle and a sharp pain lances through my chest at the realization that she has pretty little golden flecks in her eyes; how did I not see this before now?

As she submits so beautifully, I stare into her eyes, and her guilt and regret swims in them so powerful I feel a pain in my chest that has me wanting to reassure and forgive her, but can I do it so easily? When she tore my world apart and stole my son from me.

She sinks back onto her knees in defeat, as if hearing my thoughts, so I push them aside and turn on the water. I coat her skin in my body wash and scrub away anything that has touched her that’s not mine.

I lavish her with praise as I wash her hair and condition it with tenderness, hoping my touch brings her as much comfort as she brings me.

“Never again, Little Doll.”

“I promise, Daddy,” she whispers before wrapping her arms around my neck. “Never again.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Ellie

Rafael sits on the chair in the corner of the room, watching me feed Hudson. His eyes bore into me, and I know he’s still angry, and I don’t blame him, but I’m angry too. I’m trapped in a life I want, but as the person I don’t want to be.

He spreads his legs wide, and his erection peeks out from the top of his boxers, and I squirm under his possessive scrutiny.

Once he finished washing me last night, he wrapped me in towels, sat me on the counter, and brushed my teeth. Then he spread my legs, plugged my pussy, followed by brushing my hair, then placed me in bed. He didn’t join me, instead he pulled a chair into the corner of the room beside the nursery and told me to go to sleep. I was too tired to argue and fell into a deep slumber until he woke me half an hour ago for Hudson’s 2:00 a.m. feeding.

Sighing, I stroke over the top of Hudson’s head as his sleepy mouth barely suckles any longer, then I let my nipple slip from his lips while I place him on my shoulder to pat his back. Rafael’s sharp intake of breath has me stilling. When I glance in his direction, his hand is stroking over the fabric of his cock, and I can’t say that I’m disappointed. I relish it, in fact.

“Could you take him from me?”

His hand stops, and he jumps up from the chair. “Of course. Come on, little man.” The nickname he uses warms me; it’s the same one I use for Oliver. Rafael slips his hand between me and Hudson, expertly positioning him against his chest as he strides back toward the nursery.

“When can I see Oliver?”

He stills on my words, and my heart plummets at the way his muscles tense under the dim lighting.

“I’ve missed him, Rafael.”

He scoffs. “Did you just decide that?”

I grind my jaw so hard my teeth ache, but I allow his comment, and he continues into the nursery, whispering to Hudson softly.

Slipping the strap of my camisole back in place, I glance up toward the doorway to find Rafael watching me, his jaw stubbornly set. “You broke my son’s heart, Ellie.”

My breath hitches, and I swallow back the tears threatening to spill over. I knew I would hurt Oliver by leaving, but I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us, and when I found out I was pregnant, it only solidified that decision. I didn’t want my baby to be brought up in the same cruel world. I didn’t want him to become the bastard child who would be an outcast. He deserved more; we both did.

“What about you?”

He reels back, and his eyes narrow. “What about me?”

“You said I broke Oliver’s heart. What about yours?”

His Adam’s apple slowly slides down his throat. “Is that what you need to hear, Little Doll? That I cried for you?” His tone has turned mocking, and it angers me that he’s turning this into something so trivial.

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