95

95
Moore
“Moore…”
His voice was barely a whisper, yet the anxiousness in it was unmistakable.
I slowly opened my eyes, realizing I was still on all fours. My back was now pressed against his hard body, but he was still inside me.
When I came too, my body felt sore—every inch of me aching from his relentless thrusts. My limbs were heavy, my throat raw, my lips swollen.
Lucien hadn’t moved. His weight pressed into me, his chest rising and falling against my cunt, his breath hot against my skin.
He was still inside me. This bastard was still inside me! How long did he plan to remain there? I felt my anger rising suddenly at the fact that I became hot again, fighting every urge to grind myself against his hardness.
God! I'm burning with embarrassment right now.
I swallowed, trying to steady my breathing, but my body trembled involuntarily.
His hand, once so cruel around my throat, now rested lightly on my waist, fingers tracing small, absentminded circles over my skin.
It wasn’t tenderness.
It was possession.
A reminder that he owned me.
I wanted to move, to free myself from his hold, but I stayed still, my mind reeling. I'm afraid of the barrenness I would feel the instant he pulled out.
Why hadn’t he pulled out? Why hadn’t he shoved me away like he did before?
Lucien had let me cum. He said he would take the pleasure away while all I felt while he rammed into me we're pleasure. Undeniable one that had rendered my throat useless.
I try to recall what I was saying while moaning, hoping they aren't things he would laugh about later.
Who knows, he's probably gnawing at me right now.
He remained still, making me anticipate the next action.
I should have been grateful that he hadn’t hit me again. That he hadn’t hurt me further.
But instead, my mind fixated on something far worse.
Why did I let him do this to me? I would have protested even knowing that my family was the stake he used over me to keep me from misbehaving. I never let him do things to me without putting up a fight.
I know deep down that his threat wasn't the reason I let him. I want to badly cover my face in shame.
Why did I let myself drown in the pleasure, knowing what kind of man he was?
I clenched my fists.
He had ruined me. Lucien had finally ruined me.
Lucien shifted behind me, his cock still thick and semi-hard inside me.
I tensed.
“You blacked out,” he murmured against my ear, his voice deep with mockery, as if he hadn’t just fucked me into unconsciousness.
I didn’t answer.
His fingers tightened on my waist, a silent warning.
"You took me so well," he murmured. "Almost like you were made for me."
A shiver ran down my spine. Done right to my cunt. It throbbed against his hardness and it earned a chuckle from him.
“You see…” he was enjoying my humiliation.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.
His eyes were unreadable, dark and searching. He didn’t look satisfied. If anything, he looked… hungry… looked like he would do it again but this time in the most painful way.
He looked back at me like he wanted me to react. To cry, to fight, to beg.
But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
"Get off me," I rasped, my voice hoarse from earlier. “My hand hurts. How long do you want me to remain like this?”
Lucien smirked, his fingers brushing my waist lazily before he pulled out, leaving me empty and sore.
I bit my lip, suppressing a whimper.
He sat up, his broad frame casting a shadow over me as he leaned back against the headboard. His cock was still glistening with my arousal, thick and intimidating, but he didn’t move to touch me again.
Instead, he watched me—closely, like a predator assessing its prey. He watched me like the Master training his slave.
"You are learning fast." he said, his tone almost amused.
I glared at him. "Go to hell."
His smirk widened. "I already live there, sweetheart."
What in the world is wrong with him?
I forced myself to sit up, my body screaming in protest. I pulled the sheets around me, hating how exposed I felt under his scrutinizing gaze.
Lucien reached out suddenly, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him.
"Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it," he said, his grip firm but not painful. "You came for me, Moore. Over and over. I felt every fucking clench of your greedy little cunt."
Heat flared in my cheeks, a mix of humiliation and anger burning through me.
"Fuck you," I spat, yanking my face away.
Lucien chuckled, the sound low and taunting. "You just did."
I swallowed hard, wishing I could hawl something at him. Anything at all.
I hated him.
I hated him so much…
But I hated myself more.
Because somewhere, buried deep beneath my resentment and shame, a dark truth lingered.
I had wanted it. And I wanted it again.
And Lucien knew it.
He reached for a cigarette on the nightstand, lighting it with ease. He took a slow drag before exhaling, his gaze never leaving mine.
I had no idea he smokes, but hell he looked hot in it.
"Get cleaned up," he ordered, his voice returning to its usual detached coldness. "I have a meeting in an hour."
A meeting. I wonder what the time is now.
“Get yourself cleaned up Moore and go to bed.”
He added authoritatively.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to move, my legs weak as I slid out of bed. I turned to the exit, but his voice stopped me.
“To the bathroom Moore.” He said as I turned back to catch his glare, while he nodded towards the red room bathroom. “That one.”
I said nothing, refusing to protest that I wanted out of his presence badly. I was too weak for that. I stumbled toward the bathroom, my body still dripping with his release.
I could swear he was staring.
I locked the door behind me, gripping the sink for support. My reflection stared back at me, my skin flushed, my lips swollen, my eyes hollow.
Who was I becoming?
I turned on the shower, stepping under the hot spray, hoping it would wash away the filth clinging to me.
But no amount of water could cleanse the stain Lucien had left on my soul.
And worst of all…
I wasn’t sure I wanted to get cleaned.