Chapter 69 Claimed By The Duke (3)

Chapter 69 Claimed By The Duke (3)
I couldn’t risk finding out. If survival meant surrendering my pride, then pride was a luxury I had to abandon.
My fingers, cold and clumsy with fear, managed to unclasp the heavy brass buckle of his leather belt. The sharp metal clicked in the silence of the room. I worked at the fastenings of his dark trousers, my pulse hammering so violently in my ears that it drowned out the crackle of the fireplace behind me. My breath hitched as the fabric fell away, revealing his fully aroused, impressive length. He was thick, veiny, and intimidating—a physical extension of the absolute power he held over the realm, and over me.
“Well?” Tristan’s voice cut through the air, dark and smooth as velvet, though laced with a lethal edge of impatience. “Don’t keep your lord waiting, Rosamund.”
I took a shuddering breath, my knees digging into the thick plush rug beneath me. I leaned forward, my hands settling on his hard, muscular thighs for balance. The heat radiating from his skin was startling, a stark contrast to the icy touch of his lips when he had first claimed my neck. I looked up at him through my lashes. He was watching me with hooded, intense eyes, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.
Closing my eyes briefly, I leaned in and opened my mouth, slowly engulfing the slick tip of his cock.
A low, vibrating growl rumbled from deep within his chest. It wasn't a sound of anger, but of raw, animalistic satisfaction. The sound thrilled and terrified me in equal measure, sending an electric shock straight down my spine.
I took as much of him into my mouth as I could manage, my inexperienced lips forming a tight seal around his length. Guided by instinct and the sheer, desperate need to keep him pleased, I began to move my head back and forth. I stroked his thick shaft with my hand, matching the rhythm of my mouth, sucking gently every time the head touched the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” Tristan spat softly, his fingers suddenly tangling in my hair. He didn't pull me away; instead, his grip tightened, holding me steady as he began to meet my rhythm, thrusting his hips upward in subtle, controlled movements. “You say you don't know what to do, yet you take me like you were made for it.”
His praise felt like a dirty, intoxicating secret. Blood was still faintly drying on my collarbone, the bite mark humming with a strange, sweet ache rather than pain—his saliva had done its work, numbing the tear and knitting the skin back together. As I worked my mouth over his hard length, the taste of his pre-cum mixed with the lingering metallic tang of my own blood on my tongue. It was a dark, profane communion.
I sucked harder, swirling my tongue around the tip before sliding all the way down his shaft until my nose pressed into his dark pubic hair.
Tristan’s hands tightened aggressively in my hair, his hips jerking upward in a sharp, sudden motion. A ragged, heavy breath escaped his lips.
“Enough,” he growled, his voice thick and unhinged.
Before I could pull back, he hauled me off my knees by my arms, lifting my bare body effortlessly as if I weighed nothing at all. I let out a soft gasp as he threw me back onto the massive four-poster bed. The emerald velvet duvet was soft against my bare back, but there was no time to adjust.
Tristan moved over me instantly like a dark storm cloud, shadowing the light from the roaring fireplace. He pinned my wrists beside my head, his massive, heavy frame crushing me into the mattress. His dark eyes burned into mine, completely stripped of his cool, noble facade. What lay beneath was a hungry, ancient predator.
“You think you can play the innocent victim?” he whispered, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my lips. “You liked it. I felt your body react when I drank from you. I feel how wet you are right now.”
My cheeks burned, but I couldn't deny it. Between my legs, a hot, throbbing ache had taken root, my body betraying my mind’s terror. The dark, dark magic in his bite, combined with the sheer danger of him, had ignited something primal inside me.
“Please, Your Grace,” I choked out, not even sure what I was begging for anymore—mercy, or the final blow.
“Call me Tristan,” he demanded, his thumb rough against my lower lip. “Say it.”
“Tristan,” I whimpered, the name tasting like sin on my tongue.
A dangerous, dark smirk touched his lips. He let go of my wrists, his heavy, calloused hand sliding down my chest, sweeping over my stomach, and pushing my knees wide open. His fingers slid between my slick folds, testing my moisture. A sharp moan tore from my throat as he easily buried two fingers deep inside my tight, hot passage.
“Look at you,” he purred, pumping his fingers in a slow, agonizing rhythm that had my hips arching off the mattress to meet him. “Drenched for the monster who bit you. You’re not like the others, Rosamund. They cried. They begged for their pathetic lives. They bored me.”
“Did you... did you kill them?” I gasped out, my hands clutching the velvet sheets as he added a third finger, stretching me open, his thumb rubbing mercilessly against my swollen clit.
“They died because they were weak,” Tristan grunted, his gaze locking onto mine as he pulled his fingers out with a slick sound. “Their hearts burst from the fear alone when I revealed my true nature. They couldn't survive my blood... or my touch.”
He positioned his thick, fully erect cock against my dripping entrance. The sheer head pressed against my small opening, stretching me to my absolute limit before he had even pushed inside.
“Let’s see if you are strong enough to survive me, Lady Rosamund,” he whispered coldly in my ear.
Without another second of warning, Tristan slammed his hips forward, driving his entire length all the way to the hilt inside me.
A loud, broken scream ripped from my chest, echoing off the high stone ceiling of the bedchamber. The sensation was overwhelming—a blinding mixture of intense pain, fierce fullness, and a white-hot, electric pleasure that seared through my veins. My inner walls clamped down violently around his massive shaft, fighting to accommodate his immense size.
Tristan froze, a guttural groan escaping his throat as my tight heat locked around him like an iron fist. The veins in his neck stood out, his jaw clenching tightly as he fought for control.
“God, Rosamund...” he breathed, his chest heaving against mine. “You are squeezing me to death.”
“It’s... it’s too deep...” I sobbed softly, tears of pure sensory overload spilling down my temples. Yet, instinctively, my legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him deeper into my core.
Tristan let out a dark, low laugh at the contradiction. He began to pull back, sliding out until only his tip remained inside my slick folds, before driving back in with a powerful, relentless thrust.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The sound of his hips pounding against mine filled the quiet room, drowning out the crackle of the fire. He set a brutal, punishing pace, his heavy body driving me deeper into the mattress with every stroke. Every time he bottomed out, his cock struck a deep, sensitive spot inside me that made my vision white out with sparks of absolute ecstasy.
“Tristan! Oh, God, Tristan!” I screamed, abandoning all pretense of modesty, my hands clawing at his broad, muscular back, my nails digging lines into his skin.
“Yes, my bride,” he growled into my neck, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin right over my pulse point, threatening another bite. “Take all of me. Show me you’re strong enough to wear my ring.”
He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning fast, shallow, and violent. The pleasure built up in my lower stomach like a dam ready to burst. It was too much, too sweet, too dark. The terrifying Duke who was supposed to consume my flesh was instead shattering my soul with pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
My inner walls began to convulse violently around him, pulsing in tight, frantic waves.
“I’m... I’m coming!” I shrieked, my back arching violently off the bed as my climax tore through me, shattering my mind into a thousand glittering pieces.
Seeing me break, Tristan gave three final, brutal drives of his hips, burying himself as deep as physically possible. He let out a loud, animalistic roar that shook the very air of the chamber, locking his lower body tightly against mine as a boiling hot, massive load of his seed erupted deep inside my womb.
We collapsed together onto the bed, wrapped in the sweat, blood, and slick fluids of our wild union. Tristan lay heavily on top of me, his forehead resting against my collarbone, his breathing ragged and loud in the silent room.
Slowly, the dark, suffocating energy that had filled the space cleared away, leaving only the warmth of the crackling fire.
Tristan lifted his head, his dark eyes looking down into mine. The terrifying demon was gone, replaced by a man who looked thoroughly satiated, satisfied, and strangely... possessed. He reached out, his long fingers gently smoothing my damp hair back from my face.
“You survived the first night, Rosamund,” he murmured. He leaned down and pressed a slow, firm kiss to my swollen lips. "My queen."