Chapter 75
My eyes snapped open, and at once, I regretted it.
A violent, merciless pounding reverberated within my skull. My throat was raw, parched beyond reason, as though I had swallowed a mouthful of dust and ash, leaving nothing but an unbearable dryness that no amount of water could soothe.
The morning sun poured through the towering windows in cruel golden shafts, stabbing through my vision with an unforgiving radiance. It burned, mocked me, peeling away any remnants of blissful ignorance I might have clung to in sleep. I squeezed my eye shut, willing the agony to subside, but relief did not come.
With effort, I forced my eye open once more, though the world before me swayed in a slow, disoriented blur. The room was unfamiliar, draped in opulence, swathed in silks and velvets, carrying the faint scent of roses.
Panic slithered through me.
I attempted to move, to sit upright, but the instant I did, a piercing pain lanced through my temple. A groan escaped before I could swallow it down.
I flung the blankets off me and stood. My legs, however, failed me. The moment I tried to stand, they buckled beneath me, and I collapsed to the floor with an unceremonious thud.
A fresh wave of pain tore through me. But this time, it was not just my head.
It was everywhere.
An unbearable ache spread through me like fire licking at raw flesh. A slow, throbbing sting pulsed between my thighs. My jaw ached as though it had been pried open for far too long.
And then, the realization struck.
I have nothing on save for my garter and stockings.
I took a ragged breath, my pulse quickening, my hands trembling as I slowly parted my legs. Cold fear curled its fingers around my throat.
My sex was swollen.
Dark patches of bruising added on to my battered body, blooming along my arms, my thighs, my hips.
My mind reeled, grasping, clawing for memory, for reason.
What happened last night?!
The last thing I recalled was standing by the door, Millicent's eyes locked onto mine, watching me, as I watched her.
My eye darted back to the bed.
And there she was.
Millicent was still sleeping. The golden light of morning caressed her bare shoulders. The sight of her sent a sharp tremor through me.
Naked.
I tore my gaze away, swallowing down the panic that clawed at my throat. My body shook as I forced myself to rise, my limbs unsteady, my muscles aching. My corset and dress lay discarded upon the floor, crumpled, abandoned like an afterthought. I snatched my corset up, fumbling with the fabric as though dressing myself might somehow undo what had transpired.
My fingers faltered over the lace.
And then memories.
They came in a torrential flood.
We had lunged for each other. No hesitation. No words. Raw and unchecked desperation consumed us both. Our lips collided, frantic, breathless, a war of sorrow and desire. We fell upon the bed, tearing at each other's garments, casting them aside as though they were chains to be rid of.
I spread my legs for her out of desperate, aching need. There was no hesitation. She grasped my thighs and positioned her manhood. Pain tore through me the moment she thrust forward. The stretch was unbearable, my body straining to accommodate her.
Yet, the agony in her eyes mirrored my own.
Her crimson gaze trembled, glassy with unspoken grief, her lashes damp, trembling under the weight of unshed tears.
Her grip on my legs tightened, pulling them apart further, opening me to her entirely. Then she moved, harder, deeper, each push forcing a choked cry from my lips. And then, finally, she was fully seated within me, her entire length buried to the hilt, the sensation too much to bear. She began to move her hips, each motion a demand, an attempt to push past every barrier between us, to claim and possess in ways that words never could.
A strangled sob tore from her throat, her body shuddering as she reached her peak, spilling herself deep inside me.
But as her body slackened, her length softening within me, a sharp anger flared in my chest. No. This was not enough. I refused to let it end here.
With a surge of determination, I shoved her onto her back, pinning her beneath me. I settled between her legs, lowering my mouth to her. I wanted to taste her, to take all of her.
Wrapping my lips around her, I traced my tongue along her length, coaxing her back to life. My hands stroked her, firm and demanding. She hardened again beneath my touch, her breaths turning uneven, her fingers tangling into my hair.
She seized control with a desperate groan.
With a swift motion, she flipped our positions, pressing me back against the pillows. Her hands found my breasts, kneading them, as she positioned herself between them, sliding against the softness of my skin.
I opened my mouth, welcoming her tip, savoring the taste of her.
Her movements grew rougher, more desperate, her hips snapping forward in a frenzied rhythm as she chased her pleasure. Her chest heaved, her body trembling as she pushed herself to the brink.
And when she finally reached it, she gasped. It was beautiful, broken and undone.
I swallowed every part of her, never breaking my gaze from hers.
A choked breath left my lips as the memory seared through me. She had thrust herself deep, claiming me. Sharp pain rippled through me, yet within it, pleasure wove its wicked fingers, binding me to her. Again and again, she buried herself within me, her movements harsh. I clung to her, my cries swallowed by her lips, by the desperate kisses we exchanged between each ragged breath.
I had lost count of how many times we climaxed. She had filled me every time, marking me with her release. But it had not been just desire that drove us.
There had been grief.
Sometimes, I had sobbed against her mouth. Sometimes, she had sobbed against mine. And still, neither of us stopped. Neither of us pulled away.
When exhaustion threatened to claim her, I had taken control, straddling her waist, pressing her into the mattress as I rode her with reckless abandon, each motion desperate, each descent bringing her deeper, stretching me to the point of agony. And yet, I had wanted it. Wanted her.
She took me from behind more often than she did in the missionary position, her hands gripping my hips, pulling me against her with a need so raw it bordered on madness. And each time I believed I had grown accustomed to her size, she shattered that illusion, proving me wrong with every thrust.
There had been moments when she withdrew without warning, forcing me down before plunging herself past my lips, her heavy length pressing against my tongue. I could barely take the tip, but she did not seem to care. Nor did I. Her hips moved regardless, ruthless, her soft moans mingling with my own, igniting another wave of desire.
I had felt the way her sorrow bled into her pleasure, the way she had sought to drown her heartbreak in me. When the sobs had wracked her chest, she had pushed herself deeper into my throat, forcing me to retch, to struggle, but she had not relented. And I had not wanted her to.
She had held me from behind as we laid on our sides, her arms around my waist, her softened length still nestled within me, the heat of her seed pooling deep, spilling from where she had claimed me over and over.
And we wept.
She had buried her face in the crook of my neck, and I buried mine into the pillow.
Neither of us had spoken a word.
And at some point, exhausted beyond reason, we had fallen into sleep like that.