Page 151 of The Sea Witch's Son

I fuck her until her wounds stretch and bleed. I fuck her until she’s moaning and screaming my name. I don’t stop and she doesn’t ask me too.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

The rage consumes me, igniting the fibres of my being until all I can see is the colour of my little saint’s hair.

Dark fucking red.

It matches the state of my fury, every thrust punishing my little saint for being the reason I’m in so much pain.

She was begginghim to stop.

She wasbegginghim to stop.

And I didn’t get to her in time.

The problem is it wasn’t anger that drove my radical actions tonight.

No. It was an emotion far, far worse.

Fear.

For the first time in twelve years, I was scared. Scared that someone was going to breakwhat is mine. Scared that someone was going to take away the piece of life I finally found again.

“You’re mine, little saint.”

Something damp hits my cheek as I fuck the woman who stole the heart of the cruelest man in Wolf Hollow.

“You’ve always been mine.”

She scrapes my skin, marking me just as I am marking her. There is nothing surface level about the way she touches me, nothing shallow about the way she brands my skin.

It is agony and ecstasy tied together in the messiest of knots.

“And you’re mine.”

Her nails dig into my skin as if she will tear the organ right through my chest if I do not comply. It is a tremendous effort but a wasted one, because the only part of me that’s beating already belongs to her.

“I’m yours.”

She smiles at my response and that’s all it takes for me to come. I finish inside her, emptying my seed into the pussy that’s mine.

Blood and cum drips from my cock when I finally pull out, staining my sheets a darker shade of grey. Melody watches me with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, her lack of an orgasm neither a surprise nor a disappointment.

Tonight was not about seeking pleasure.

It was about my surrender.

I climb off the bed and disappear into the bathroom. Collecting the proper supplies, I return with wet wipes to clean up the mess I made.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Her cheeks turn pink when I spread her legs and start wiping her down. I take my time, making sure every crack and crevice is just as pretty as how it started.

“I made you messy, so I clean you up.” Spotting the new bruises running along her entrance, I feel my jaw tighten, “You do not get to trade one for the other, little saint. I get to do it all.”

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