Page 163 of My Ruthless Husband

Present

Ishould run. I need to run. That’s the only thought in my head as I slowly lower myself into the steaming bath, wincing as the hot water kisses my sore, aching skin. Everything hurts. My thighs, my hips, my arms… even muscles I didn’t know I had are screaming. What the hell is wrong with Damian?

It’s been two weeks. Two freaking weeks of non-stop fucking. Fourteen days since he yanked me from the community center and drained every ounce of energy I had in me before growling his warning to stay away from Matt. That was just the start.

It has been fifteen days since he came back from Dubai, and yet he hasn’t left me alone for a second since. No conference calls. No business trips. No meetings. Nothing. Instead, the man has turned into a goddamn sex machine, holding me hostage inour bedroom, doing nothing but fucking my brains out. It feels like he’s cleared his entire schedule just to keep me in bed.

Every time I think I’ve had enough, that my body can’t possibly take more, he proves me wrong. The bedroom door hasn’t opened, except for him to grab food and bring it back. He only left the bed long enough for that, and then he slams it shut, locking us back into this twisted bubble where nothing but his cock and my surrender exist.

Something’s changed.

Damian has always been intense and demanding in bed, but this? This is insanity. He’s insatiable. I don’t know if it’s jealousy from seeing me talk to Matt, or if it’s just another sick power play of his, but whatever it is, it’s got to fucking stop.

I tried everything. When he passed out one afternoon, I thought I had my chance, but the second I reached for the door, he was on me—fucking me against it before I even had a chance to twist the knob. Every escape attempt ends in the same way: with him inside me, bending me to his will, over and over again.

I was so angry that on the eighth day, I snapped. I threw a figurine at him. He just caught it midair and gave me that cold, dangerous look. Then he dragged me over his knee and spanked me so hard my skin burned. When he was done, he flipped me over and fucked me so brutally, I couldn’t speak for hours, my throat raw from screaming. Every time I resisted, he’d punish me with more.

And then there was the bathroom incident. I thought locking myself in there would give me a few minutes of peace. A few minutes without his hands on me, without him making me feel like I belong to him in every possible way.

That psycho ripped the door clean off its hinges, tossed it aside like it was nothing. Once he found me, he didn’t say a word. He just lifted me up, set me on the bathroom countertop, spread my legs, and buried his face in my pussy. He kept me onedge for hours, bringing me to the brink of a release then pulling back every single time.

I was a mess, sobbing, begging, trying to hold onto any shred of sanity, but Damian didn’t stop until I was broken.

When he finally let me come, my body gave out, and I came so hard I squirted all over him. I was mortified, my body shaking with humiliation, but Damian? No, his eyes were dark with satisfaction, as if breaking me down fueled whatever depravity lurked inside him. He was soaked, but all he did was smirk, wiping his face with his hand before shoving his cock inside me again.

Damian has been using me, fucking me in every way imaginable for the past two weeks without so much as a break. I didn’t even get to go to the art fest I worked so hard for. Canceled everything, locked us in this room, and I haven’t left our bed since.

My legs feel like jelly. My thighs are bruised, sore from being spread open for him day and night. My arms ache from being pinned down, my back hurts from all the positions he forces me into, bending me however he wants. I’ve never been used, fucked, and pleasured so thoroughly in my life.

Day after day, night after night, he’s still at it—still hard, still demanding, as if his body is stuck in some never-ending loop of lust.

He should’ve gone back to work by now, should’ve moved on, but no. He’s still here.

The worst part is even after being exhausted 24/7 I still love it. I love how alive he makes me feel.

My body aches all over, but it only takes one look from him, one touch, and I’m ready again.

It’s maddening. My mind is blown. I’ve never experienced anything like this. He’s thirty-two, but it’s like he’s got the stamina of an eighteen-year-old, forever hard, forever horny.

This is unhealthy. We are toxic. I know I should try harder to stop all this. But the thing is, I can’t even resist him at this point. I’m completely powerless. Resisting only makes him hungrier. And my body responds to him before my brain has time to catch up. It’s like my legs part on instinct, my hands reach for him, and I’m lost in the heat of it all over again.

I just want him to leave on a business trip, for my body to get a damn break. My pussy feels battered, swollen because it’s been used beyond its limit.

I let out a long sigh as the heat of the bath soothes my aching muscles, the scent of lavender doing its best to calm me.

My eyes snap open at the sound of Damian’s heavy footsteps. He strides into the bathroom like he owns every inch of it and me. His bare chest is slick with a faint sheen of sweat, his black lounge pants riding low on his hips, drawing my eyes to the hard lines of his body.

“You’ve been in here too long.” His eyes are on mine but they drift slowly, over my wet skin.

I sink deeper into the tub, trying to shield myself from his piercing gaze. “So what?” I mumble, knowing damn well how this conversation’s going to end.

“So, you need to get out.” His heated gaze sweeps over me.

I tense, incredulous. “You can’t be serious, Damian! We just did it ten minutes ago!”

That smile—God, I hate it. It’s the one he wears when he’s about to rip the control right out from under me. “Thought you might want to come downstairs for lunch.”

I blink, surprised. Lunch? Downstairs? He hasn’t let me out of this room in two weeks. But just as quickly as he offers it, he turns away, walking toward the door. “But it’s fine if you don’t feel like it,” he throws over his shoulder casually.

---