Chapter 47: Come To Bed

​The visual in the mirror was more than Damien’s possessive heart could handle. As he watched his thick cock slide deep into her creaming pussy, he increased his pace, the rhythmic slapping of his stomach against her full, rounded ass filling the quiet suite. Sofia’s breath came in ragged gasps, her palms flat against the cool glass of the mirror to keep her shaky legs from collapsing. She watched her own heavy breasts sway with every violent thrust, her nipples swollen and dark from his attention.

​Damien’s growl turned into a primal roar as the pressure in his loins reached a breaking point. He reached down, gripping her waist, and pulled out of her soaking pussy with a wet, suctioning sound.

​Before she could breathe, he spun her around and forced her down to her knees. “Open,” he commanded.

​Sofia looked up at him, her eyes glazed with a mix of exhaustion and lingering pleasure, but she obeyed. Damien didn’t wait; he grabbed a handful of her hair and shoved his throbbing cock into her mouth. He fucked her throat with a brutal, relentless rhythm, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat, almost choking her. Sofia’s hands clutched at his muscular thighs, her muffled whimpers lost against his skin as he fucked her mouth.

​With a final, guttural groan, he jerked back and released, his hot, thick seed coating her tongue and her flushed cheeks, then dripping down her chin.

​He pulled out and stood over her, his chest heaving. He reached down, his fingers digging into her jaw to lift her face so he could stare at her. She looked utterly ruined—and utterly beautiful. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, her lips were swollen and glistening with his cum, and her naked body was covered in the red marks of his hands.

​For a split second, the rage vanished, replaced by a devastating urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her until the world disappeared. He wanted to wipe the cum from her face with his thumb and tell her she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.

​But then, the reason why he hated her in the first place flashed in his mind, forcing the hate and anger back into place.

​He shoved her face away with a grunt of disgust, his eyes turning back to a cold, hard green. He didn’t offer her a hand up. He didn’t say a word. He simply turned on his heel, stepped over the emerald dress, and walked toward the bathroom.

​The sound of the heavy door slamming shut and the shower starting left Sofia alone on the floor, trembling and cold, with the taste of him still on her lips.

​Sofia lay on the cold floor, the silence of the room echoing the hollowness in her chest. The salty taste of him lingered in her mouth, a stinging reminder of her submission. But it wasn’t just the submission that hurt—it was the betrayal of her own skin.

​She hated herself. She hated the way her pussy had throbbed for his touch, the way her nipples had peaked under his rough tongue, and the shameful way she had moaned when he hit her cervix. Her body was a traitor, responding to the man who treated her like trash as if he were still the boy who used to bring her wildflowers.

​This isn’t him, Sofia, she whispered to herself, her fingers trembling as she wiped the drying cum from her chin. The Damien you loved died the day he made you his slave. This man is a monster.

​She forced her aching legs to stand. Every muscle protested; her thighs felt like lead, and her lower back was tight from being pinned against the desk. She felt drained, not just physically, but as if he had reached inside and hollowed out her soul.

​When the bathroom door finally creaked open, Damien stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips. His damp hair fell over his forehead, and for a fleeting second, he looked like the old Damien. But then he looked right through her, his green eyes cold and indifferent, as if she were just another piece of furniture in the suite.

​Sofia didn’t wait for a command. She gathered the stiff, scratchy fabric of her maid uniform from the floor and retreated into the bathroom.

​She stood under the steaming water for a long time, scrubbing her skin until it turned raw, trying to wash away the scent of cedar and rain, the feel of his hands on her lush hips, and the phantom weight of him inside her. When she finally stepped out and pulled on the drab uniform, the difference was jarring. Gone was the “goddess” in emerald silk; in the mirror stood a tired, broken girl in a servant’s rags.

​She walked back into the bedroom. Damien was sprawled across the massive bed, his back to her. His breathing was deep and even—either he was truly exhausted or he was a master at pretending he was asleep.

​The bed was huge, but Sofia didn’t dare move toward it. Instead, she crossed the room to the long velvet couch. She sat down, her body finally giving in to the weight of the day’s trauma. She curled onto her side, her generous frame barely fitting the cushions, and stared at the moon through the window until her eyes grew too heavy to hold open.

​The sudden, jarring thud of her body hitting the floor jolted Sofia awake. In her sleep, she had rolled too close to the edge of the narrow velvet cushions, and now she lay tangled in her own limbs on the cold floor.

​A shadow moved at the edge of her vision.

​She gasped, pulling her knees to her chest, only to see Damien sitting on the edge of the massive bed. He was awake, staring at her with a heavy frown.

​”You’re clumsy,” he said, his voice gravelly and thick with sleep. He didn’t sound angry, but he didn’t sound kind, either. “You hit the floor so hard you woke me up.”

​It was a lie. He had been awake for nearly an hour, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest from across the room.

​Sofia flushed, her hand going to the back of her neck where his bite mark still throbbed. She began to push herself up, her movements stiff. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay on the floor.”

​”Don’t be stupid,” Damien snapped, the familiar harshness returning to his tone. He patted the space on the mattress beside him—the side he had intentionally left cold. “The couch is too small for you. Come to the bed.”

​Sofia froze. She looked at the expansive, soft mattress and then back at him. After the way he had shoved her away, she didn’t know if this was a trap or if he wanted to fuck her again—this time on the bed.

​”Damien… I’m sore. I can’t go another round.”

​Damien’s frown deepened. “I said come here, Sofia,” he repeated, his green eyes narrowing. “I’m not going to ask a third time.”

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