Page 63 of Serpent King's Prisoner

Her legs were free, and they suddenly came up to clamp around my head, trapping me against her pussy. I loved how she fought me, how she forced me to pleasure her. I gripped her lush hips to brace my lips, sucking her clit into my mouth, plunging my tongue inside.

Her body tensed, legs quivering as she neared her climax. I doubled my efforts, determined to tear every ounce of pleasure from her, to brand myself into her memory forever.

Because deep down, I knew this was more than just lust.

This was possession.

This was claiming something I hadn’t realized I’d wanted so desperately.

“Come for me, Abby,” I urged against her flesh, my voice a low command. “Let go.”

And she did. Her body arched, straining against the cuffs, as she came apart beneath my touch, her release washing over both of us in a wave of raw intensity. I licked her until the end, swallowing down every sweet drop of her and trying to commit it to memory.

As her tremors subsided, I raised my head, locking eyes with Abby. She was still in the throes of her orgasm, body twitching, tears of pleasure in her eyes. “What a fucking good girl, Abby,” I murmured as I climbed over her. I pressed a kiss to the duct tape. “What a good girl…”

Then I was pushing myself away, standing up. I let her look at me as I undressed; knew she saw every scar, every burn, every bullet hole, and the jet black dragon that wound its way up my left side and over my shoulder. I didn’t know what she thought of me; I supposed I never would.

I climbed over her once again, positioning myself at her entrance. She was moaning, and I could hear her trying to form the word ‘please’ from around the duct tape. Her hips jerked up towards me cock and I reveled in how much she wanted me, even after everything I’d done.

I needed to stay here in this moment.

Until it was done, I needed to be here.

Abby moaned into the gag, her eyes squeezing shut when I dragged my cock through her soaking wet folds. She moved her legs to lock around my hips and I chuckled, dipping just inside…then drawing back. She let out a growl of frustration, fingers curling around the cuffs.

“Impatient for my cock, huh?” I murmured. “You’re learning your purpose…to have your holes filled, to be played with like my fuckdoll.” I leaned forward, took her breasts in my hands, rolled her nipples hard between my fingers, and she squirmed against me. “You’re so wet for me, like a good girl…and good girls get rewarded.”

I slid home.

Abby arched, screaming into the duct tape, the cuffs jangling against the posts of the headboard. I kept playing with her tits, tugging on her nipples to make sure it hurt.

“You want my cock, Abby?” I hissed. “You want me to fuck you until you’re sore? Fill you up with my cum?”

She nodded desperately, brow furrowed, eyes pleading. It made me feel…fuck, it made me feel all kinds of things. I wanted her to want me, even though I knew this was it—that I couldn’t keep her any longer.

So I fucked her…and tried to forget.

In that moment, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I dove into her, burying myself inside her, feeling her heat surround me as she gasped and moaned into the duct tape. Her curves molded to me, welcoming me in a way that both surprised and thrilled me. She was tight, wet and ready for me. I moved quickly at first, familiar with the rhythm of our bodies connecting as one. She was breathless and panting underneath me, her eyes pleading for release.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as we moved together. Her nails raked against the mattress helplessly as she tried to grip it in her desire. It only fueled mine more, knowing that this woman who had captivated me so thoroughly was completely at my mercy. The scent of sweat and sex filled the air as we grunted and panted together, our hearts pounding in perfect unison.

Each thrust was met with a groan from deep within her chest, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about her discomfort or pain anymore. All that mattered was this primal need coursing through me—a hunger for control and submission wrapped into one irresistible package.

“Abby,” I growled, each stroke punctuated by the raw need coursing through me. I chanted her name, memorizing how my lips felt around it. “Abby.”

But as our bodies moved together in a frenzied rhythm, the reality of our situation loomed over me. I’d told her too much, let her in too close. Looking down at her flushed face, her chest heaving with exertion, I knew that this would be our last time.

I couldn’t afford the luxury of softness—not when my family teetered on the brink of annihilation.

I needed this memory to be seared into my brain, to carry the imprint of her with me even after tonight’s inevitable conclusion. I wanted to remember her like this—raw and beautiful, completely undone by passion. Even if it was passion born from darkness.

“Forgive me, Abby,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over our combined gasps and the sound of skin against skin.

She didn’t hear me; she was moaning too loud to pick it up.

The thought of what came next—a thought I pushed back with every ounce of strength I had—fueled a desperation in my movements. I drove into her harder, faster, a silent plea for absolution in each desperate thrust.

And then, as the final shudders wracked my body, I collapsed beside her, breathing heavily, the weight of what I had to do pressing down on me with the inevitability of nightfall. In the darkness of the room, lit only by the sliver of streetlight that snuck through the curtains, I made my decision.

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