Page 34 of True Bastard
“That’s where you’re wrong, Kitten. You belong to me,” he asserted, before he grabbed me and roughly kissed me, sealing my fate. My world exploded in a volley of pain and desire. He pulled back, his breath hot against my lips, a possessive glint in his eyes that was both terrifying and undeniably compelling. My body, a traitorous instrument of desire and terror, responded with a shudder that was both a cry of surrender and a silent scream of defiance. His kiss, brutal and raw, had shattered the last remnants of my resistance, leaving me breathless and trembling, a willing participant in a game I had sworn I would never play. He had claimed me, not as collateral, not as a possession, but as something more, something dangerous that resonated with the darkness that had begun to bloom within me.
My mind raced, a chaotic scramble of fear and a nascent, desperate hope. He was the son of Kalden Baudelaire, the founding President of the Brotherhood, and a nephew to Skinner, President of the Death Dogs. This tangled web of violence and legacy was a nightmare I thought I’d outrun, but here I was, entangled with him, with his secrets, with his dangerous inheritance. He claimed I belonged to him, and in that moment, with his arms tight around me, the scent of sandalwood and mint overwhelming my senses, I felt a chilling certainty that he was right. My past had caught up to me, not as a ghost, but as a living, breathing, dangerous man who held my future, my very existence, in his calloused hands.
“You’re mine now, Kyllian,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my very being. His words—a brutal brand on my soul—sealed my fate. My body, a traitorous instrument, responded to his touch, a desperate dance of pain and a forbidden, sickening flicker of desire. He was the darkness I’d fought so hard to escape, now embodied in the man who held me captive, whose kiss had stolen my breath and branded my soul. The gilded cage had become a true prison, and he, the jailer, the owner, my everything.
He lifted me effortlessly, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his kiss deepened, a raw, determined claiming. My back hit the wall with a jarring thud, the world dissolving into a dizzying vortex of sensation. His hands fumbled with the zipper of his pants, the sound a chilling prelude to the inevitable. The scent of sandalwood and mint, once a foreign perfume, now choked me, a suffocating reminder of his ownership. I was his, and in that moment, clinging to him, lost in the storm of his desire, I knew I would never be free again.
The instant he shoved his cock deep, he shattered my defenses, and a terrifying finality seized me. This was the point of no return, a brand seared onto my soul, ensuring I wouldnever escape his shadow. His presence—a wildfire consuming my very being—found an unwilling accomplice in my body. Each ruthless thrust sparked, igniting a conflagration of sensations I couldn’t control, a desperate surrender to the storm he’d unleashed. He was relentless as he took what my body gave him. Rough and dangerous, my body welcomed his, even wept for more as he carried me over to his bed and laid me down, spreading my legs wider so he could ram himself in deeper.
“FUCK!” The roar ripped from his throat, a primal sound that vibrated through my bones. His hands, calloused and strong, dug into my hips, forcing my legs apart with brutal, unyielding pressure. Then, the impact. A violent thud, a searing collision as the crown of his cock smashed against the delicate, sensitive core of my being. He didn’t just enter me; he invaded, a relentless, punishing rhythm that tore into me. In, out, a vicious piston, each thrust a raw, tearing sensation. His fingers snaked beneath my ass, gripping painfully as he lifted me higher, forcing his cock deeper still, a violation that stretched me to my absolute limit. A choked cry tore from my lips, a ragged sound caught between an unbearable agony and a desperate, terrifying pleasure when he released my ass and threw my left leg over his shoulder, pushing in deep and hard and fast, shocking me, paining me, pleasuring me.
I cried out again and again as my pussy tightened around his cock.
“Mine!” he roared with a deep hard thrust, then stilled as I felt his cock pulse deep within me. He collapsed onto me, his body a heavy, shuddering weight, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. The rough stubble on his jaw scraped my skin as he ground against me, his grip on my hips tight, possessive.
I lay beneath him, pinned and violated, the taste of blood and his raw desire mingling on my tongue. The sanctuary of my mind had been breached, and the remnants of my spirit lay shattered,scattered like dust in the wake of his storm. I was his. He had claimed me, branded me, and the terrifying truth was, I was no longer sure I wanted to escape.
The silence that followed his final shudder was more potent than any sound, more terrifying than his earlier rage. It was the quiet of absolute victory, of a conquest complete. He shifted, lifting his weight from me, but his arm remained a heavy, possessive anchor around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. His unique scent now clung to me, permeating my exposed skin, a suffocating cloak of his ownership. My body, a traitorous bitch of desire and terror, responded to his touch with a sickening obedience, a surrender that felt both like defeat and a perverse kind of relief. My gilded cage had become a tomb, and I, its prisoner, was learning to breathe its suffocating air.
“You’re mine now,” he growled, his words a rough brand on my soul, a confirmation of my subjugation. He had claimed me, not as collateral, not as a prize, but as something that belonged to him, a truth that resonated with a terrifying echo of my past.
I was his, and in that moment, lost in the storm of his desire, I knew I would never be free again. The darkness he embodied had found an unwilling accomplice in me, and the battle for my spirit was lost, leaving behind only the ashes of regret and the undeniable certainty that this was only the beginning.
His breath, warm and heavy against my skin, stirred a primal awareness within me as I slowly woke the next morning. My body, a battlefield of conflicting desires, responded with a tremor born of both fear and a sickening curiosity. He pressed closer, his hand tightening around my breast, his touch no longer just possessive, but demanding as his hard cock sliddeep between my swollen folds, entering me once more. The sandalwood and mint that clung to him, once a subtle perfume, now felt cloying, suffocating, a scent that promised a future steeped in his control.
“Morning, Kitten,” he rumbled low, the sound vibrating through me, a chilling echo of the night before. “Ready to earn your keep?” His words were a cruel reminder of my subjugation, a stark contrast to the warmth that had briefly flickered in his eyes the night before. The game had changed, and I was no longer just a pawn; I was the prize, the object of his possessive attention, and once more, a terrifying realization settled in... he wasn’t going to let me go.
Not ever.
I closed my eyes, a silent plea for oblivion, as he chuckled, rolling me onto my stomach. Settling himself behind me, he grabbed my hips with both hands, pulling me toward him as he slammed his cock deep into me as far as he could.
I screamed into the mattress, a silent entreaty lost in the storm of sensation. His thick cock stretched and ripped through my tender pussy, a violation that warred with a desperate, gnawing need I hadn’t known I possessed. As he started pumping, each thrust a brutal, undeniable claiming, I felt myself unraveling. This was wrong. Every fiber of my being screamed against this surrender, against the shame that coiled in my gut. Yet, as he used my hips as leverage, forcing a rhythm that was no longer my own, a part of me, a dark, treacherous part, began to sink into it.
He growled, a sound that vibrated through my core, and in the next instant, I felt the sting of his hand on my ass. My breath hitched. This was the boundary, the line I’d sworn I would never cross, the degradation I’d promised myself I’d never endure. But as he reached around, his fingers finding my clit and pinching hard, a guttural scream ripped from my soul. Mybody convulsed, a traitorous betrayal of my own will, releasing an explosive orgasm that tore through me. It was a release I should have fought, a pleasure I should have denied, but in that moment, it felt like the only escape from the warring factions within me.
“That’s better, Kitten.” He laughed, the sound like shards of glass in my ears. He slapped my ass again and again, a harsh punctuation to his dominance, as he hammered his dick into my body. Each blow was a physical manifestation of the internal battle raging within me. I was failing. I was yielding.
Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he yanked, forcing me to arch my back, to expose myself further. This wasn’t just physical; it was a psychic breaking, a shattering of the self I thought I knew. I wanted to fight, to claw, to scream for help, but my body, a puppet to his will and my own compromised desires, obeyed. The regret was already a cold stone forming in my chest. I was doing something I would never forgive myself for.
My body betrayed me, releasing a surge of heat and slickness I couldn’t control, coating his skin, sliding down his thighs. The sound, a wet, desperate whisper, mingled with the cloying scent of my own arousal. This was not me. This was pure instinct, a riptide pulling me under. My mind screamed in protest, a silent, horrified observer of my flesh’s capitulation. I was a prisoner in my own skin, my will a fragile raft against this overwhelming current. His grip tightened in my hair, a rough anchor that yanked my head back.
He growled, “Oh fuck!” as he lost himself within my body. My mind screamed, a silent shriek of protest against the pleasure that coursed through me, pleasure I knew was rooted in something broken within me. He released my hair, and for a fleeting second, a sliver of hope ignited—perhaps he would stop. But then he grabbed my neck with both hands and squeezed tightly as he rammed his cock into me from behind furiously,right before he stilled, and his cock pulsed, shooting his cum deep inside me. When the last drop spurted from his dick, he finally released me, slapping me hard on my ass again before he got up from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
The silence that followed was heavier than his weight, more suffocating than his grip. My body, slick with a mixture of sweat and something far more shameful, lay exposed on the sheets, a testament to my complete and utter surrender. The sandalwood and mint still clung to me, a phantom scent of his dominance, a chilling reminder of the battle lost. He had claimed me, not just physically, but something deeper—something that felt like the very core of my being had been fractured and remolded to his will. He’d wanted to break me, and in a way, he had. The defiance that had burned so fiercely within me was now reduced to a smoldering ember, a faint glow in the encroaching darkness.
He emerged from the bathroom, towel cinched low, water still glistening on his chest, his eyes—those dark, unnerving pools—meeting mine. There was no gentleness there, no remorse, only a cold, hard assessment that spoke of ownership. He was a creature of instinct, a hunter who had claimed his prize, and I, Kyllian Ward, was his, body and soul. The realization was a bitter pill, a descent into a despair I hadn’t known I possessed. He had promised to make me earn my keep, and as I met his possessive gaze, I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the price of my survival would be my own continued degradation.
He didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. The command was in his eyes, in the subtle shift of his posture as he moved toward the bed. I was his to control, his to break, his to mold into whatever twisted shape he desired. The gilded cage had become my reality, and he, the master of this domain, held the keys to my subjugation. The storm within me had finally broken, and I wasleft shipwrecked in its aftermath, adrift in a sea of his making, with no shore in sight.
Chapter Twenty-One
Firestride
“You’ve been holed up in your room for three days now, brother,” Morpheus stated as I sat in his office wondering why he needed to talk to me. “So, how’s the honeymoon going?”
“She knows her place.”
“You better be damn sure because I’m going to test her today.”
