Chapter 68 The Body's Betrayal!

Chapter 68 The Body's Betrayal!
Saintilia’s POV

To my surprise, his frustration boiled over into an unexpected, brash action. He suddenly thrust himself into my mouth. The sensation was jarring, foreign, wrong. A wave of disgust and repulsion washed over me, prompting a purely instinctual reaction. A move I regarded as both intrusive and pathetically brave on his part.

‘Wait what the hell is he doing?’

Without thinking, I bit down. Not hard enough to maim, but just enough to cause a sharp, searing pain. A warning. A boundary drawn in the only language he seemed to understand.

In response, he hastily withdrew, a curse escaping his lips as he stumbled backward. I remained still, on my knees, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird desperate for freedom. My jaw ached from his earlier blow. My stomach churned with residual nausea. But beneath it all, a small, fierce flame flickered to life in my chest.

‘I said no. In the only way I could.’

‘I said no. You disgusts me.’

He hoisted me up and threw me onto the bed, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. The mattress creaked beneath me, a familiar sound in a familiar nightmare. He hoovered over me, while forcing my legs apart, shoving my panties to the side, and entered me.

This was nothing new. There was no reason left in me to struggle, no point in resistance. The same occurring scenario played out so many times before that my body knew the rhythm by heart. I shut my eyes, intentionally severing the visual connection, refusing to give him that part of me. The darkness behind my eyelids was a refuge, a small sanctuary where he could not follow.

But then a novel sensation began to sweep through my body; something foreign and terrifying that I had never encountered before. A heat that had nothing to do with friction. A tension that built in my core without my permission. I was determined not to name it, not to acknowledge the feeling that was electrifying every single cell within me.

‘No. This is not happening. This cannot be happening.’

"Open your eyes."

His voice was different. He seemed to have calmed down, his movements now slow and deliberate, as if he were trying to show me a softer side of himself. The gentleness was more disturbing than the violence had ever been. I understood violence. I had built walls against it. But this; this calculated tenderness slipped through the cracks I didn't know existed.

I was determined not to give him the gratification he sought. I would not open my eyes, no matter what he said. My eyelids were my fortress, and I would hold them shut with every ounce of will I possessed.

Suddenly, I sensed the warmth of his lips approaching mine, and I instinctively turned my head away, my eyes still sealed shut. The thought of his mouth on mine was unbearable. That was too intimate, too personal. Let him take my body. I would not give him my face.

He then gently touched my face. His fingers traced the line of my jaw where earlier he had struck me. The contrast made my skin prickle.

"You look very pretty," he murmured, his voice a soft vibration against my skin.

His unprecedented tenderness caught me completely off guard. The words settled into me like thorns, sharp and unexpected. Pretty. As though this were a courtship. As though I were something precious to him.

To my horror, my body began to respond to his motions on top of me. A warmth spread through my limbs, a loosening of tension I had not authorized. I questioned, for a fleeting moment, if his feelings for me were undergoing some kind of transformation. And then I hated myself for the question.

What does it matter what he feels? What does it change?

Though my eyes remained closed, I could feel his unwavering gaze on me, watching, waiting for any sign of response. He was studying me like a specimen, noting every reaction, every twitch.

He was not pounding into me as he usually did. His actions mirrored the gentle way he had been with Tina, or so I had imagined it, watching from a distance, seeing the softness in his expression when he looked at her. Now that same calculated gentleness was being turned on me.

I was resisting in my mind, fighting a war on a silent battlefield. I kept my hands to myself, my eyes shut and lay beneath him like a corpse, a passive receptacle for his new, unsettling intimacy. I would not participate. I would not respond.

But for the first time, something incredible was building inside me. A wave of sensation intensely climbing higher with each passing moment. I struggled internally, fighting to keep my body from betraying me, to hold back the tide that threatened to pull me under.

'No. Stop. Do not let him see. Do not let him win.'

Then the moment hit. A peak of overwhelming pleasure that crashed through me without my consent. I clung to my self-control with desperate fingers, my body shuddering beneath him, and I released at the same time as he did. His body shuddered strongly above me, his breath catching in his throat. And in that shared convulsion, my own response was concealed. My climax hidden from his awareness by timing, by darkness, by the last fragments of my dignity.

'He must not know. He can never know.'

The weight of his body lifted, and the air rushed back into the space around me, cool and sharp against my skin. Emilio rolled off me, his breathing still ragged but softening into the rhythm of approaching sleep. He was a warm, heavy presence beside me, but I had never felt more alone, more adrift in a sea of my own betrayal.

My body, which had been a battleground, now lay still; a traitor that had surrendered against my will. The first thought was a venomous, internal scream.

‘Did that feel good?’

The words in my own voice echoed in my mind, spoken more like an accusation than a question; It was a verdict. I’ve prided myself on my indifference, my fortress of apathy against his cruelty, only to be crushed by an incredible sensation that had hijacked my nervous system. A wave that had crashed over me and left me gasping on its shore.

The shame was a physical thing I couldn’t out into words; a hot, suffocating blanket that made my skin crawl. How could my body do this? How could it deceive me and respond to my captor in such a way that my heart rejected, and my mind refused to accept.

It felt worse than the act itself. Worse than the drunken assaults, worse than the forced positions and the silent endurance. This was something I carried inside me now; proof that my body was not entirely my own, that it could turned against me, and made to feel things my mind couldn’t comprehend.

Continue……...