Page 37 of Purchased

“Mon dieu,” he murmurs. “You are an incredible creature, Trixie.”

I don’t usually like it when my name is shortened, but he says it with a delightful French smoothness that makes it sound like a sweet endearment.

“I like the taste of blood,” I say. “Especially blood shed for me.”

He growls in response as the tip of my tongue lingers around his pulse. I am teasing him, being quite forward. I am not playing the delicate, frightened little virgin with him. I am the feminine animal he desires, someone equal to him in ferocity if nothing else.

“More perfect than I could ever imagine,” he growls. He kisses me roughly, pushes me against the wall, rifles through the fabric that keeps him from me, the fancy gown an impediment to our mutual lust.

Blood rushes, flows, his cock surges inside me. Images of animal brutality flash through my mind as he fucks me. I know there’s something wrong with me. There’s always been something wrong with me.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he purrs against my throat, dragging his teeth up my neck in a sensual motion that sends tingles running rampant through my body.

He pulls the gown from me, soft fabric sliding down my curves and pooling on the floor. The underwear I put on is taken off swiftly and meets the same fate.

Armand hoists me up in his arms and slides me down on his cock, impaling me with rough desire. My pussy is still aching from the first time we mated, but the pain only makes it better, more intense. It’s a dull ache that sinks through my pussy, finds all the heat inside me, and turns me into a writhing, squirming animal mess grinding against his cock.

It’s hard to hide my body’s tenderness though, and his ardor means that he is not careful or gentle. He fucks me like I want him to, like a filthy, hungry little animal riled by blood and lust.

“Mmmm oww, mmm,” I try to hide my sounds of pain amid my moans of undeniable pleasure.

“Does your sweet little pussy hurt?” He rumbles the question in my ear, pins me against the wall, and gives me a firm thrust.

“Mgghh!” I let out a little stifled cry, but he follows that rough thrust with another and another until finally I give in.

“It hurts a little,” I admit.

He slows immediately, sliding more slowly in and out of me, keeping me in place and keeping me fucked, though more gently now.

“Poor thing,” he says. “Not used to being mated, are you, this sweet little pussy is tender.” He gives another long thrust deep inside me, arching his hips.

“You’re a monster,” I moan.

It’s not a complaint, or an accusation. It’s an acknowledgement. He is beautiful and refined, but I thought he was soft in some way. He is not. He is as hard as anybody I have ever encountered, including the person I see in the mirror.

* * *

Armand

I pause for a moment, deep inside her, my lust all but entirely clouding my head as I claim her, my mate, the woman I would and have killed for. I will not have her insulted. She will be respected if the whole chateau needs to run red.

Is this how she sees me now? As monstrous?

It does not seem to dull her need for me. The moment I stop, she starts moving on me herself, sliding her tightness down my shaft, breeding herself. When she whimpered and said it hurt, I sensed she did not want me to stop, and now I am certain of it. She wants to enjoy the pain and the pleasure. She wants to feel everything.

And if I have to be a monster to give her everything she wants and needs? Protection, pain, pleasure? I’ll be a monster as long as she wants me to be.

Is she afraid of me now? She says not, but how could she not be, having seen such a terrible thing unfold in front of her, and now the beast who did it is deep inside her, taking her again, using her tender pussy for his pleasure.

I feel her inner walls gripping me, I see the light in her eyes, and I smell her arousal. She likes this. This is the most receptive she has ever been, holding nothing back from me, giving even though I know it hurts.

Her whimpers are soft music to my ears, her surrender is a joy. She fought me so hard when we first met, she ran from me, she denied me her truth, but I don’t feel any of that fight now. All I feel is her total sexual submission.

“You’re going to come for me,” I growl. “You’re going to come as I breed you, filling this sweet, owned pussy up with my cum.”

I feel her suckling at my neck, and I am almost certain that motion is not designed to please me as much as it is to get every drop of blood from my skin.

She is a dark, twisted little thing and my cock throbs all the more for the realization. Fucking her feels like being inside my own personal sexual universe. We match on levels neither one of us are consciously aware of, paired at a core anchor of our very beings, and there is nothing I would not do for her.

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