Page 57 of The Final Contract
He fucks me mercilessly, driving deep, pounding until the headboard knocks against the wall. His mouth is everywhere—my neck, my lips, sucking my nipples raw as he thrusts.
“You feel that?” he grits out, his pace brutal. “That’s my cock splitting you open. No one else has ever filled you like this.”
“Killian—yes—don’t stop?—”
“I’m not stoppin’ until you come all over me. Until you squeeze me so hard I can’t breathe.”
His fingers work my clit again, and the pressure detonates. I come screaming, shaking beneath him, my pussy clamping down around his thick length.
He curses, driving into me harder. “That’s it, angel. Milk my cock. Make me give it to you.”
He pounds once, twice more—then groans, long and low, spilling into the condom as his body trembles above me, slowing his thrusts until he finally pulls free.
On his knees between my legs, he strips the condom off, ties it tight, and tosses it aside. His eyes drop to my pussy—swollen, wet, still fluttering from the aftershocks—and his lips curl into something wicked.
“Christ, look at that sweet cunt. Dripping like she’s beggin’ for more. You think I’m finished? No, angel. I’m gonna fuck you ’til this mattress is soaked through, ’til you’re cryin’ and beggin’ and there’s nothin’ left in you to give.”
He tears open another condom, sliding it down his still-thick cock, never breaking eye contact.
“By the time the sun comes up, you won’t remember your own name—only the way I fucked you all night long.”
Then he leans forward, pressing my thighs wide again, and buries his face between my legs. His tongue drags through the mess he left behind, licking me clean with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Gotta clean up the first mess, angel,” he growls against my pussy. “Before I make the next one.”
And with the way he’s devouring me, I know he means it.
“Seraphina…”
The sound of my name drifts through the dark, pulling me forward. I’m running, bare feet slapping against the ground, lungs tearing with every ragged gasp, but the shadows stretch and shift until I can’t tell where I am—only that something is behind me, and I have to keep moving.
Out of the corner of my eye, movement catches—a swirl of fabric, the twirl of a gown as skirts fan out, the deep dip of a woman’s body into her partner’s arms. The darkness reshapes itself, and suddenly I’m not running anymore. I’m in the center of a grand dance floor.
The opera house.
Masked faces whirl around me in endless circles, their movements graceful, their waltz elegant and precise, but the music that drives them feels wrong—distorted and hollow, like a broken record scraping against the silence.
I search the sea of dancers, my chest aching with urgency, hunting for him—my stalker. Every spin and dip hides him, but I swear I see him just beyond the crowd, standing perfectly still in the shadows. My heart leaps, but when I lunge forward the figure dissolves into darkness. Another shape rises in its place, broader, taller—Killian, maybe—his storm-gray eyes catching the light for the briefest moment before he too vanishes, swallowed whole.
The press of dancers grows heavier, suffocating, until another face shimmers into view. My twin. Stasia. Her eyes stream with tears; her lips form a scream I cannot hear as the dancers orbit around her, pulling her in and out of the light. One moment she is there; the next she disappears into shadow, always just out of reach.
“Stasia!” I shout, pushing through, desperate to catch her hand, but my heavy dress weighs me down like lead.
I reach, fingers grasping at the air, but when I finally make contact it is only with darkness—cold and slick—slipping through my grip.
I trip on the layers of skirts and the floor drops away.
I crash hard onto tile, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. The world is no longer the gilded opera house but a sterile, airless chamber, heavy with despair, the weight of it pressing against my chest until I can hardly breathe.
A sudden flash cuts across the black. White light burns my vision, strobing like static—jagged and disorienting.
“Seraphina!” Killian’s voice thunders in the distance—close enough to hear but far too far to reach me. I try to push up, but my arms won’t move—my hands feel pinned to the floor, fused to the cold tile.
Another flash bursts through the dark.
And then I see him.
He is seated in the shadows, his figure indistinct except for the eyes. One burns blue and vivid, glowing like a shard of ice, while the other is dark and lifeless. He watches me with a smile that doesn’t belong to the living.
