Page 56 of Brutal Surrender

He pulls aside the panties and sinks into my wet arousal. My body feels triumphant. My pussy greedily clutches at his cock. His hand slides under my ass to fit me closer to him as he starts thrusting, gently at first, then with bigger, harder motions. My body loves it all. I grasp the bed linen beneath me as the tension of desire in me swells. The pleasure is so beautiful, so intense.

I’m glad the omega blockers aren’t working.

Patiently and methodically, he sends my arousal higher and higher till it erupts in blinding bliss. Rapture floods my body, and when he drives himself roughly into me for his own release, I feel nothing but the purest carnal pleasure.

After he climaxes, he collapses atop me. I feel small beneath his weight but also strangely protected. Can having too many orgasms mess with one’s head?

We lay connected for a while before he rolls off and lays next to me.

“I’ll have a quality check done on your pills,” he says. “Or get you a new batch.”

“Maybe they need a little more time,” I murmur.

But an hour later, three hours later, five hours later, I’m no less aroused when Vincent touches me. We spend half the night fucking each other’s brains out. When I finally fall asleep in his arms, I sleep deeply. Without nightmares.

He stays the night with me, which kind of surprises me. I wake to find he hasn’t moved his arm at all. It can’t have been comfortable to serve as my pillow for all that time?

It’s early in the morning. I can tell because we didn’t close the blinds. Vincent gently extricates his arm and gets out of bed. Still sleepy, I remain where I am.

“You and Xander can stand guard outside from now on,” Vincent tells Misty before shutting the door behind him. “No need to disturb her privacy.”

As I drift back to sleep, I find myself missing the warmth of Vincent’s body. Which is worse than the omega blockers not working.

Chapter 25

Vincent

Standing in my shower, I let the water run down my face. To my surprise, I didn’t want to get out of bed and leave Martina, even though my arm had started to numb.

Early in the witching hours, after we had had sex for the fourth time in one night, she fell asleep with her head on my arm. Not wanting to disturb her, I didn’t move for hours. I could feel her soothing breath against me, reminding me of how I felt I could be content for the rest of my life just holding Irene in my arms.

I hadn’t expected Martina’s brush with death to affect me as much as it did. I shouldn’t have cared whether she lived or died. But it seems my conscience wasn’t buried with Irene. The thought that Martina would take her own life because of me, because of the horrific torture I put her through…worried me. Her suicide would have been the ultimate acknowledgment that I had sunk to a low that was too deep even for me.

I took it for granted that Martina was going to be around to accept whatever I wanted to do to her. To be my punching bag for all the anger and self-loathing that she managed to trigger. I mildly hated her for nearly having killed me. From the start, I could tell she had good reason to want to take me out. Now I see that reason magnified. I didn’t kill just one loved one. I took away her whole family. I can only imagine the devastation she must have felt. I know all too well the void that such a loss leaves. And only one thing can fill it. Whether one calls it vengeance or justice, life feels meaningless without it.

In the beginning, however, I was too enraged to be empathetic. I hated her for bringing up my past, even though she hadn’t done it on purpose. And I hated her for the unquenchable desire she stirred within me. The more I tasted of her, the more I wanted to consume her. I was losing control of myself, a state I hadn’t been in since the days after Irene’s death.

I would rather be stabbed with iron-hot pokers than feel helpless. I thought if I could obliterate Martina, I could regain the upper hand. But every time I’m near her, I want her. And it goes beyond my being in a rut or her being in heat. Those omega blockers weren’t defective. They just couldn’t overpower the primal desire connecting her to me and me to her.

“How many of the omega blockers did you take?” I had asked as we lay in her bed on our backs, both of us still in our clothes earlier in the night.

Staring up at the ceiling, she responded, “Four capsules.”

“That’s two doses worth!” I growled.

“I’ve been off them for several days, so I figured I needed an extra boost to get me back on track.”

While there are no serious side effects to the omega blockers, Martina is likely still recovering her health.

“Take only the recommended dosage or I’ll take the omega blockers away,” I warn her.

She turns to look at me. “So they’re not placebos?”

“I already told you they’re not. Why the hell would I give you placebos?”

“Then they’re defective.”

I doubt it. Though I told her I would have her pills checked, strict quality controls are something I instituted from the beginning, and while there were a handful of hiccups in the first year of production, there have been no issues since.

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