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“Yes, make me cum, Malakar,” I pleaded, chasing the high of it.

He pulled his hand away at the last second. I groaned and opened my eyes. He had his cock out and was jerking it. “You’re a stunning creature, bluebird.”

He laid down beside me, then grabbed me and hauled me onto his lap. His cock rubbed against my bare pussy. I moaned and threw my head back, grinding against it.

“Just like that, fuck, that feels good.” He grabbed my hips and helped guide me. I kept rubbing myself against him, lost in the pleasure. Let the shame come later. Right now, I wanted to reach that high. Not through rape, but through mutual fucking.

It was the perfect moment. Malakar wasn’t clouded by darkness. His mind was clear. Somehow. I only had to be scared when he was lost in his mind.

I grabbed his dick in my hand, and moved it to my core. His cock entered me, painful at first, then there was nothing but pleasure. I started moving up and down, bouncing on Malakar’s cock. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins, it gave me that spark of energy that I needed.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight like this. Fucking gripping me so nicely.” He fucked up into me, his hands grabbed my tits, fondling them while I rode him.

I placed my hands on his chest and moved myself. The tip of his cock hit just the right spot, I threw my head back and moaned for him.

My movements became desperate, greedy, hungry in a way that disgusted me even as I clung to him.

I rode him harder, thighs burning, every rise and fall making his cock drag against that spot inside me that made me forget everything—forget the skulls, forget the hole, forget the taste of my own blood and the sound of my own screams echoing in the basement.

Malakar’s hands moved up my body, rough palms cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they ached. His eyes were locked on me, pupils blown wide.

He looked almost feverish—possessed—but his touch was steady, guiding, commanding.

“Faster, bluebird,” he growled, digging his fingers into my hips. “Show me how much you want it. Show me you’re mine.”

My hips kept moving, as if they had a mind of their own, and my cunt clenched around him and the shame was so immense it almost tasted sweet.

He slapped my ass, then squeezed it, hard enough to leave bruises. I whimpered, and his hand slid between my legs, fingers rubbing my clit.

The pleasure built like a dark tidal wave.

I rocked my hips in time with his thrusts, our bodies slapping together, sweat and need and horror tangled in every movement.

His voice was low and cruel at my ear—“Good girl. Such a good fucking girl. Look at you, riding me.” He pinched my nipple, twisted until I gasped, then soothed it with his tongue. The shock of pain, the softness of his mouth, it left me shaking.

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, letting the sensations drown out everything else. My nails dug into his chest, scraping over old scars, new wounds. I felt the muscles twitch and bunch beneath my palms.

Still human. Still breakable. Still bleeding.

He slapped my ass again, harder, then grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head down, forcing me to look at him. “Keep your eyes on me, bluebird. I want to see you when you cum.”

His thumb pressed harder on my clit, relentless, ruthless. My body spasmed, tension winding tighter and tighter. I couldn’t stop it even if I tried.

My hips moved on their own, chasing the edge, desperate for release and terrified of it. I sobbed out his name. “Please—Malakar—please.”

“Beg for it. Tell me you want to cum. Tell me you love it.”

Humiliation burned through me, but I did it anyway. “I want to cum, Malakar. Please. I love it. I love your cock. Please make me.” My voice broke, tears stinging my eyes as the pleasure twisted, coiled, snapped.

He grinned. “Good girl.” His fingers moved faster, and I shattered around my monster. Waves of pleasure rippled through me. I moaned, nails digging into his chest.

He kept fucking up into me, hands locked at my hips, not letting me escape the sensation, not letting me run from the shame or the horror of my own need.

I collapsed against his chest, shuddering, breathing ragged. The world tilted, blurred at the edges. I felt his hands stroke my back, almost gentle. For a moment I thought he was done. I thought the violence was over.

But Malakar was never done.

He shifted, rolling us until I was beneath him. My legs splayed open, limp and shaky. He pressed my knees up until they nearly touched my chest, spreading me wide. His eyes were hungry, wild, but not lost—not yet.