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He yanked his fingers out, then slapped my pussy hard enough I arched. Malakar grinned. “You think you came enough just now, bluebird? I told you. You belong to me. That means I get to keep you falling apart as long as I want. You don’t get to tell me when it’s over.”

He brought the back of his hand down across the inside of my thigh, then again, back and forth, building a sting that turned to heat, to more need. He grabbed me by the hips and flipped me over, shoved my face into the mattress, ass high. His body covered mine, shadow and heat, suffocating, perfect. I couldn’t breathe.

“Use your words, bluebird. Tell me what you want me to do. Beg for it.”

My cheek ground into the bedsheet, tears burning hot. I didn’t care. I was gone. There was nothing left but the need, hollow and frantic and all-consuming.

“Please fuck me,” I blurted. “Please, Malakar, use me, do whatever you want. I want it. I want everything.”

He didn’t hesitate. He spit on my hole, shoved two fingers in, twisting, opening me up, making me scream. He didn’t care how loud I was. He wanted it deafening.

He pressed the thick head of his cock against me, then pushed in.

It hurt. It always hurt, the first second, and I wanted the pain, needed it to drown out the other memories. My father’s hands, the hot rasp of his breath, the instructions. The darkness in the basement, the voice that begged me to stay quiet and be good.

Malakar was bigger, rougher, more real than anything in my head. I could feel the blunt force of him splitting me open. A gasp ripped out of me. I clung to the bedsheet, nails ragged, legs trembling.

He jerked my hips higher, my ass flush against his stomach. The first thrust nearly broke me. I groaned, face buried in the dirty sheet, tears stinging my eyes. I hated myself for how much I wanted it.

“Fuck, that’s tight. Did you miss this, bluebird?”

I tried to answer. It came out as a whimper. My cunt clenched around him, desperate, greedy. I hated the way my body gave in, even as my mind begged for mercy.

He grabbed my hair, twisted it until my head wrenched back. “Say it. Say you love being my slut.”

I gasped, my jaw aching. “I love it. I love being yours. Please, Malakar, use me however you want. I’m yours.”

He laughed, breath hot against my ear. He pushed me down, flattened me, then fucked into me with a violence that bordered on holy. My body jerked forward, cheek grinding against the mattress.

“Good girl,” he hissed. “Good fucking girl.” His hand slid from my hair, down to my throat. He squeezed until my voice rasped out, thin and birdlike, then let go just as I started to see stars behind my eyelids.

He wanted me helpless. He wanted me screaming. I was. I arched my back, pushed my ass higher, begging for more. I didn’t care if I died this way. I didn’t care if he fucked me until I forgot my name, until I split in two.

He kept one hand on my throat, the other on my ass. He spanked me, open-handed, again and again, until the skin burned under his palm. Every smack went straight to my clit. I moaned, drooled, writhed. My cunt spasmed around his cock.

The room swirled around me, dizzy with violence, shame, need. Everything else vanished. Nothing left but this.

I could hear his uneven grunting from behind me, could feel the strength of his body against mine. His cock filled me so deep. Every time he fucked into me, it tore me apart, yet it also sent downpours of pleasure through me.

This was so wrong, so wrong. The fact that Malakar was Milo messed with my head. It warped my reality, my memory. I always wanted Milo like this with me, and now I had it. But it wasn’t all Milo, not really.

Malakar pulled out then shoved me onto my back. He kneeled in front of me, shoved my legs all the way back, then entered me from the front.

His hands dug into my thighs. It was so painful, tears gathered in my eyes and I bit down on my lip to divert the pain. My cunt was aching, and the friction hurt, but I couldn’t tell him to stop.

I whimpered. Wetness smeared down my leg. My cunt pulsed, shame mixing with the filth of pleasure. The pain went deep, but the pleasure burned brighter. His hand lowered and he pinched my clit. I cried out in pain.

He didn’t care. He crushed it between his fingers, twisting. White-hot pain streaked up my spine and detonated behind my eyes. I shrieked and tried to buck, but his hand clamped down, so tight I couldn’t move. My body quivered. I thought I’d pass out, but the pain just spun into need, warped and cruel.

His body pressed me down. I was pinned, helpless, shaking. He fucked me harder, deeper, shoving my thighs to my chest, cock ramming into that tender place so hard I nearly blacked out. The pain was burning, relentless. I wanted him to kill me with it.

“Take it,” he grunted, eyes rolling back. He thumbed my clit again, merciless, using my body like it was fucking meat.

I screamed, the sound scraping my throat bloody. The orgasm hit so hard it felt like dying. I shattered, convulsed, tried to rip free, but it was hopeless. He held me through it, fucking every jolt out of my ruined body. I sobbed, tears streaming down my face.

He smiled at the mess of me.

“That’s right,” he whispered, almost sweet. “Break for me. Only for me. This is what you’re for, bluebird.”