Chapter 182

Chapter 182

Grace could feel the changes in Damian's body—that hard, burning penis pressed between her legs, its presence too strong to ignore.

She knew what would happen next.

Fear and humiliation made her struggle again.

"No... don't..." She turned her head away, avoiding his kiss, her voice breaking into a sob.

"Don't?" He stopped, gripped her chin, and forced her to look at him. "You don't get to say no."

His fingers found her nipple and pinched it hard, deliberately cruel.

"Ah!" Grace cried out in pain, tears instantly welling up.

"Look at me," he commanded. "Watch me take you."

He was done with foreplay. He tore at her nightgown, ripping it to shreds. Then he spread her legs and thrust his penis into her vagina without any warning.

The tearing pain made Grace's eyes fly open. Without any preparation, her body couldn't accommodate him at all.

She arched her back in agony, her nails raking long, bloody scratches across his broad back.

Damian also groaned at the tight resistance. His penis stopped inside her vagina, not moving, as if waiting for her to adjust.

Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his breathing grew heavy.

"Relax," he leaned down and commanded in her ear, his voice terribly hoarse.

Grace trembled all over from the pain, tears streaming down continuously. How could she possibly relax?

He seemed to lose patience, too.

He stopped waiting and began to move inside her body, slow but firm.

Each thrust of his penis into her vagina felt like torture with a dull blade.

Gradually, the pain was replaced by a strange, full, aching sensation. He seemed to have found the spot that could break her completely, and each time, he hit it precisely and hard.

Grace's mind went blank.

She forgot to resist, forgot to cry. She could only passively endure the impact he brought, wave after wave, a tide mixed with pain and humiliation.

Her body felt helpless, overwhelmed by sensations beyond her control.

He leaned down and kissed away the tears at the corners of her eyes, the gesture almost gentle. But the words he spoke were utterly cruel.

"Say my name." He commanded while pushing deeper into her.

Grace bit her lip, making no sound.

He punished her by speeding up.

"Say it."

"Damian..." She finally couldn't take it anymore, the broken syllables spilling from her throat.

He seemed satisfied and finally slowed down.

The night became unbearably long.

He took from her body tirelessly, again and again, as if trying to make up for all the years of absence in one go.

Grace went from initial severe pain to numbness, and finally to being tormented beyond breaking by that unspeakable pleasure.

She didn't know if she was awake or unconscious.

She felt as if she were drowning, sometimes thrown to the clouds by huge waves, sometimes smashed hard to the ocean floor, unable to breathe, unable to break free.

When it finally ended, it was already late at night.

Damian pulled his penis out of her vagina.

He didn't leave immediately, but continued to hold her in his arms. The sticky sweat on his body mixed with hers, indistinguishable from each other.

Grace lay limp and lifeless in his arms, without the strength to move even a finger.

She stared with empty eyes at the gorgeous crystal chandelier on the ceiling. A tear slid silently from the corner of her eye and disappeared into her hair.

Damian seemed to notice.

He reached out and wiped away the moisture with his fingertip.

Then he threw off the covers and got out of bed.

The chain on her ankle made a soft sound with his movement. Only then did Grace realize that at some point, the chain that had been locking her had been unlocked at one end and fastened to his wrist.

He had locked her to himself.

He walked into the bathroom. Soon, the sound of water came from inside.

Grace lay on the bed, motionless. The physical soreness was nothing compared to the desolation and despair in her heart.

A few minutes later, Damian came out of the bathroom. He wore only a towel around his waist, water droplets rolling down his defined abs.

He walked to the bedside, bent down, and lifted her from the messy bedding.

Grace didn't resist, letting him carry her back into the bathroom.

He turned on the shower, and warm water poured down from above. Holding her, he stood under the shower and began to wash her body.

His movements were gentle and careful, as if she were fragile and precious.

He washed away the mess on her body, washed away the marks he himself had left.

Grace let him do as he pleased, her eyes remaining empty throughout.

After washing, he wrapped her in a large towel and carried her back to bed. The sheets and blankets had already been changed to fresh ones—clean, soft, and dry.

The maid must have quietly come in to change them while he was showering.

He placed her under the covers, then got in himself and pulled her into his arms from behind again.

This time, he didn't do anything else.

He simply held her.

He unlocked the chain from his wrist and fastened it back to the metal ring at the foot of the bed.

Click.

That was the sound of freedom being completely locked away.

"Sleep," he said in her ear.

Then the room fell silent again.

Grace closed her eyes but couldn't fall asleep. She could clearly feel the warm body behind her and his steady breathing.

He held her like a treasure lost and found.

But this "cherishing" was built on imprisonment and plunder.

She was trapped, completely under his control.

She opened her eyes and looked at the increasingly bright daylight outside the window, her eyes gradually moistening.

After being tormented all night, Grace was exhausted too, and at some point drifted off in a daze.

She didn't know how long she slept.

Her extreme physical exhaustion pulled her into brief unconsciousness, but her mental alertness wouldn't allow her to sleep deeply.

She woke up to brightness.

What came through the gaps in the curtains was no longer the faint glow of the estate's lights, but morning sunlight.

The room was very quiet.

She moved slightly, and her whole body ached as if she'd been broken and reassembled—aching terribly. Especially between her legs, the burning pain and the soreness from overuse intertwined, reminding her of last night's long and humiliating violation.

She was still confined in an embrace.

Damian was behind her, sleeping deeply. One of his arms lay across her waist, holding her firmly in place, while his other hand rested on her leg. His chest pressed against her back, his steady, warm breath brushing against the back of her neck with each exhale.

The position was as intimate as lovers in the throes of passion.

But Grace only felt uncomfortable.

She lay stiff, not daring to move, even slowing her own breathing, afraid of waking Damian behind her.