The Consequence of Carnal Worship
Istanbul, Two Weeks Later – The Valenhart Manor
Anna stared at the pregnancy test.
Two red lines.
She blinked.
Once. Twice.
Still there.
She sat on the bathroom floor, one hand on her belly, the other gripping the porcelain sink as if the room might collapse.
Inside her, something shifted.
Not fear.
Not joy.
But dreaded hunger.
Something real. Something that couldn't be chained, punished, or commanded.
She was pregnant.
With his child.
The Revelation
Daimion sat in the sunken marble tub, steam rising off his shoulders, eyes closed as she entered the bath chamber.
She didn't speak.
Just walked into the water. Naked. Silent.
He opened one eye.
"You're calm," he said.
She sat across from him, straddling his lap, water sloshing gently.
"I'm pregnant."
His breath hitched.
Silence. Stillness.
He stared at her. Eyes unreadable.
She didn't blink. "Say something."
"Yours?"
She slapped him hard.
"Yours," she said. "Only yours."
He sat back.
Then laughed — a dark, guttural laugh, not out of joy, but panic in disguise.
"You'll devour me," he said softly. "Now you've made something with my blood."
She leaned in, eyes sharp, lips nearly touching his.
"You once said I belonged to you."
Her hands slid down between his legs, stroking him slowly underwater.
"Now you'll belong to us."
Erotic Scene: Water Worship
Still in the tub, she pushed him back, climbed over him.
His cock, still half-hard, throbbed beneath her palm.
"You don't deserve this," she whispered, pressing the tip against her slit.
He tried to speak.
She silenced him with a kiss.
And then she lowered herself onto him — slow, steady, her lips parting in a breathless moan.
The water lapped against porcelain. Their bodies moved as one.
But this time?
She didn't ride him like a lover.
She used him.
One hand gripping the back of his neck. One pressed against his chest.
"You gave me a child," she gasped, hips moving in cruel rhythm. "Now I give you obedience… one last time."
He groaned beneath her. Tried to grab her hips.
She slapped his hand away. "No."
She kept going until she came.
Then rose off him. Walked out of the tub.
Left him there. Dripping. Desperate. Broken.
His Blood, Her Body, Their War
Six Weeks Pregnant — Private Estate, Amalfi Coast
The villa was carved into the cliffside like a secret.
Stone and glass. Silence and wind. The sea below was ink. The moon spilled across it like spilled milk — pale and infinite.
Inside, the bedroom glowed.
Gold lamps. Linen sheets. The quiet hum of air too thick with tension.
Anna sat on the edge of the bed.
Bare legs. Satin robe falling open. A small crystal bottle of jasmine and almond oil in her palm.
She rubbed it into the subtle curve of her stomach.
No bump yet. Just heat. Fullness. A bloom of change spreading from within. Terrifying in its stillness.
Behind her—
He watched.
Daimion.
Silent. In the doorway. Hands clenched at his sides.
Two days. He hadn't touched her in two days.
Not out of punishment.
But obsession.
He stared like she was the center of a ritual he hadn't invented.
Like the child inside her was his legacy — but her body was the altar.
Touching Without Permission
She dropped the robe.
Slid into bed, skin glowing under the lamp light.
Her fingers skimmed over her breasts — tender, swollen, achingly sensitive.
She arched slightly. Not to tempt.
Just because it hurt not to be touched.
She didn't expect him to move.
But he did.
In one breath, he was on the bed — crawling forward like smoke, eyes burning.
His hand pressed flat against her belly.
Not harsh.
Not forceful.
But possessive.
"You're too exposed," he growled.
"I'm in bed," she replied, dry.
He yanked the sheet over her hips.
"Someone could see you through the window."
"It's three a.m. We're on a cliff."
His hand moved to her jaw.
Gripped it.
Firm. Contained.
"That's my child."
Anna's eyes sharpened.
Her lip curled.
"Still my body."
He didn't argue.
He didn't flinch.
But he didn't move away either.
Instead—he kissed her.
Slow. Dark. Deliberate.
A trail of heat dragged from her jaw to her throat, then down… to her collarbone.
Then lower.
Then further.
Erotic Obsession — Worship Through Control
His mouth met her belly.
He kissed it like he was claiming it.
Then again. Slower. A third time, longer.
His tongue slid down to the crease of her hips.
She gasped.
"You're wet already," he murmured.
"I'm always wet for you," she breathed. Lips parted. Head tilted back.
But he didn't fuck her.
Not yet.
He kissed her—again. Lower.
Then he licked her.
Slowly.
Methodically.
Worship through exposure.
Worship through restraint.
Worship through obsession.
His hands held her thighs open, thumbs digging into the softness as he tasted her with reverence.
"I need to taste what you've made with me."
Her hips jerked.
Her back arched.
Her voice shattered.
"Daimion—"
He sucked her clit.
Held it between his teeth.
And she broke.
Her orgasm hit like a curse.
She sobbed. Twisted the sheets. Shook.
But he didn't stop.
He made her come again. And again.
Her third orgasm left her voice ragged, her body limp, her hands useless.
Then—
He climbed over her.
And entered her with one long, brutal thrust.
Not cruel.
Claiming.
"You'll be the mother of my child," he groaned, fucking her deeper.
"But I'll still fuck you like you're nothing but mine."
She moaned. Cried out. Gripped his arms.
He flipped her onto her hands and knees, and drove into her again.
Rougher.
Deeper.
Possession painted into every thrust.
"You don't leave my sight," he growled, grinding against her cervix.
"Not while you're carrying this. Not while you're full of me."
She screamed when he bit her shoulder.
Hard.
Deep.
Then he came.
Hot. Violent. Buried inside her womb.
And whispered against her neck:
"I'll kill any man who even looks at you."
The Paranoia Sets In
Later—
Anna sat wrapped in a robe on the terrace.
The sea breathed beneath them.
Dark. Bottomless. Indifferent.
She stared into it, legs curled beneath her.
Behind her—
Daimion stood.
Not touching her.
Just watching.
"You moved your hand away when the guard brought tea," he said flatly.
Anna blinked.
Turned slowly.
"Because I didn't want to be stared at."
"He shouldn't have looked."
"You're overreacting."
"No," Daimion said, voice low. "I'm preparing."
He took a step forward. The breeze shifted.
"There's no such thing as safety," he continued.
"There's only who dies first when something goes wrong."
She looked at him.
Exhausted. Tender. Powerful.
"You'll kill anyone you think is a threat?"
He met her gaze.
Unblinking.
"I'll kill anyone who even thinks about being one."
He was no longer protecting her.
He was guarding a future he would kill the world to preserve.
She was no longer just a woman he had broken.
She was the mother of his legacy.
And that meant the war had only just begun.
SANCTIFIED RUIN
"You don't fuck a goddess. You kneel, and you burn."
Three months pregnant — Valenhart's Tuscan Estate
The bedroom was drenched in amber candlelight. Outside, the vineyard slept. Inside, Anna stood nude before the mirror — the curve of her belly small but undeniable now. Her breasts were rounder, her hips wider, her nipples flushed and sensitive.
She was starting to look like something other women prayed to.
And Daimion couldn't look away.
He sat at the edge of the bed, shirt undone, pants unbuttoned, breathing slow and uneven.
He had been watching her in silence.
Staring at her like a beast watching his own reflection in something divine.
The Unraveling Begins
She didn't say a word.
She walked slowly across the room—bare, belly glinting in the firelight.
She straddled him.
Placed her palms on his chest. Felt his heart pounding like a war drum.
And whispered:
"You did this to me. You put this in me. What are you going to do about it now?"
His breath caught. His eyes glazed.
And then he moved.
He grabbed her thighs. Buried his face between her breasts. Bit the soft underside of one, growling as his hands slid down to her hips.
"You're changing," he rasped. "Because of me."
"Yes."
He licked the swell of her belly. Pressed his forehead to it like it was sacred.
And then he lifted her — stood — carried her across the room and laid her down on the bed like she was a relic meant to be defiled.
Worship and Corruption
He didn't go for her mouth.
He went lower.
Kissed down her stomach, murmuring into her skin, voice shaking with reverence:
"This is mine. All of it. Made from me. And I'm going to remind your body of that."
His tongue slid between her thighs. She gasped.
She tried to close her legs—he pried them open with a growl.
"Don't hide from me."
She whimpered. "Daimion—"
"Let me taste what you made for me."
He licked her slowly at first. Drawing out the sound from her throat. Her hands fisted the sheets. Her eyes rolled back.
He flattened his tongue, dragging it up and over her clit again and again, licking her until she was crying. Until she begged.
But he didn't stop.
Even when she screamed. Even when her hips bucked. Even when she came on his mouth—he didn't stop.
Full Possession
He crawled up her body.
Slid into her slowly—inch by inch.
She arched under him, mouth open in a silent scream.
Her pussy clenched around him immediately, slick and swollen.
"You feel tighter," he growled. "So hot. So fucking full."
She cried out as he began to move—deep, punishing strokes, his body crashing into hers, sweat dripping from his jaw.
She tried to push against his chest, but he grabbed her wrists, pinned them to the bed.
"You don't get to stop me. Not when you carry me."
He fucked her harder.
Her pregnant body rocked with every thrust.
Her breasts bounced, nipples pebbled. Her cries filled the room.
She came again—shaking violently—and still he didn't stop.
Broken Worship
He flipped her onto her side, curled around her from behind.
His hand cupped her belly. His other tangled in her hair.
He drove into her from behind, slow and deep.
His voice was cracked.
"I'll never let you go. I'll keep you pregnant. You'll carry me forever."
She moaned, half-conscious, half-high on pleasure.
"I can't—Daimion—"
"You can. You were made for this."
He bit her shoulder. Kissed her spine.
And when he came again, he stayed buried inside her — pulsing, twitching, groaning as he filled her womb with more of himself.
His breath shook.
"I'll fill you every night until you forget who you were before me."
Afterglow or Ownership?
She lay limp. Sweaty. Spent.
His hand rested on her belly, thumb stroking softly.
For a moment, it was quiet.
But then he whispered:
"When this child is born, I'll put another in you. And another. Until your body knows no purpose but being mine."
Anna's lips parted.
And she whispered back:
"Then make me yours again."
And he did.
Yours Again
The Ending of "Owned by Valenhart"
She lay beneath him, limp and wrecked. Her thighs sticky with his release, her breasts rising and falling in slow, ruined breaths. Her belly—small, round—glowed beneath his hand. His seed already thick inside her.
But Anna was not finished.
And Daimion?
He had never stopped.
He kissed her stomach once more, reverently.
Then kissed his way down again, lower, lower—his lips parting her thighs without pause, his tongue sliding into her before her body even recovered from the last orgasm.
She whimpered. "No… I can't…"
But her hips lifted anyway.
He licked until she was crying again, her hand in his hair, not pulling him away—but holding him there, trembling. Her pussy swollen, dripping. His mouth relentless. Gentle, then rough, then slow again.
Until she broke.
Until her voice cracked. Until her nails dug into the mattress. Until her back arched off the sheets and she screamed, coming so hard it was almost a sob.
But Daimion didn't stop.
He climbed over her again.
Entered her again.
This time even deeper, as if her body had opened just to take more of him.
She cried out.
He bit her neck. Fucked her slowly at first—so painfully slow she moaned in desperation—then faster. Harder. Their bodies slapping wetly. His hands under her knees, pressing them up, folding her until she couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
Her belly bounced with every thrust. Her breasts jiggled from the force. Her skin flushed, glistening, dripping with sweat and his obsession.
And still she whispered:
"More. Don't stop. Claim me again."
He growled against her throat.
"Mine."
Each thrust became deeper.
Harder.
Final.
Until his teeth sank into her collarbone, his hands tightened on her hips, and he came again—flooding her, spilling into the woman carrying his legacy.
And even then…
He stayed inside.
Holding her.
Pressing deep.
Making sure not a drop left her womb.
He didn't give her love. He gave her his name, his blood, his body— Again and again— Until her moans sounded like devotion… And her womb belonged to no god but him.
~ THE END ~ Owned by Valenhart A Dark Legacy Born in Pleasure and Ruin