Page 33 of Strangled
The fucking symbolism.
I drag my eyes away from the… bodies… to the web on the far wall, at Lucian’s back. He surprisingly lets me turn, but he doesn’t release his hold. Nor does he remove his dick from my ass.
I’m painfully aware of how full I am as the burden of the situation creeps in—slowly, heavily, fucking painfully.
My gaze flicks back and forth between the dense covering of webs to the bodies dangling. I cock my head to the side. It reminds me of what spiders do to their prey.
They wrap them in their silk, suffocating them, paralyzing them, all while they’re trapped in their latticework.
“Why?” I beg, needing to understand. For the first time since I realizedhisexistence, I’m hoping thisisn’tfucking real.
“You brought them here,” Lucian says, his tone almost bored. He thrusts shallowly before sliding his cock out until only his head breaches my opening. I grimace at the gaping emptiness. “I only wanted you.” He shoves himself back into me, and I can’t bite back the scream of relief as he fills me with blazing heat, filling me so fucking full.
“But you… brought something back to me—want,” he grunts, his thrusts growing more brutal with every word of his confession.
I feel sick, filth and wrongness crawling over me, filling me.
“They touched you.” His tone drops many octaves, becoming harsher and deeper by the second. “They wanted what’s mine—wanted to hurt you.”
No,I plead to myself, waring with the rush of gratitude at his words.
This is wrong.
They’re dead. Because of me.
“And I will never let anyone take what’s mine.”
“Oh, God,” I choke out. His cock still thrusts inside of me, hitting every groove, sending fire licking at my groin.
“You. Are. Mine.” He accentuates each word with a thrust. “My Lyken.” My skin warms at his declaration.
I shouldn’t like it. Words don’t mean anything. Actions do, and he fuckingkilledpeople.
He killed for me. To protect me.
“Forever. Strangled in my endless silk,” he murmurs the words against my cheek, his lips pressed to it. His scars are rough as they drag with every word.
Him,this,feels impossiblyright.
Wrong,I chastise myself.So fucking wrong.
You can’t like this.
He hurt people. A lot of people. And their dead fucking bodies are hanging right in front of you. As hefucksyou.
I can’t breathe. I can’t feel anything other than Lucian at my back—hard, sturdy, demanding—as he controls my every move—my every thought—with his body and his words.
White spots flash in front of my eyes, occluding my vision as my ass convulses around the cock inside me. Endless, deep pleasure ignites my nerves, sending seismic waves ripping through me.
“Oh, God, fuck. Fuuuck, Lucian,” I cry out his name, desperate for reprieve of the guilt for what he did. Because he did it for me.
“Mmm,” he hums in my ear. His fingers stroke my pulse. I can feel his palm splayed tightly over my Adam’s apple as I choke down the lump lodged in the back of my throat.
“I have never heard anyone say my name before.”
His confession startles me out of my blissful euphoria, my heart cinching unbearably. The reality of where the fuck I’m at comes crashing back with staggering force. I slip from Lucian’s arms and collapse onto the floor. His release drips out of my used hole, smearing cum and dirt across my ass.
I should feel filthy, used,wrong.
