Page 82 of Born for Silk
“Fuck.” He groans, his hips moving, methodical and powerful. “That’s my good girl. Squeeze my cock. Let me feel you fall apart for your king.”
My pleasure blooms, then it quickly erupts, warmth rushing down the inside of my legs and curling my toes. I never want him to stop.
Even with the pain.
A deep, dark groan rumbles from him, and he tense as if he may shed his skin, his abdominals bulking beneath my fingers.
He pumps into me with a rough growl and comes, filling me between the legs until it’s pouring out of me, down my thighs. It’s violent and intense.
He stills, breathing loud and fierce.
I wish I could see him.
He drops down to his elbows, his body completely covering mine, his lips finding their place against my wet forehead. “My sweet Aster.” His breath is heavy. “My little creature. Tell me you’re not hurt.”
Coming down from that place of intensity, I feel my body. Feel him still inside me, hard and softly pulsing. Feel a tightness in my chest as I inhale a deep breath, perhaps the first since he started. Feel my pussy—that’s what he calls it—sore, swollen around him. Feel my thighs ache.
“Aster?”
“I’m okay, my king,” I say, my words a butterfly on the breeze, fragile but determined.
Lifting my trembling arms, I cup the back of his thick neck. Stroke him. Subtle. And immediately, his tension lessens, his inner beast shuddering.
A rough sigh cascades across me. “Is this what you wanted, little creature? Are you happy?”
Blinking, my lashes tickling the silk, I smile despite my lethargy. It strikes me—this is why we spent hours in ballet. To keep us nimble, loose and flexible, and to train the body to recover after intensity. It was always sold as a means for grace and posture, but as a familiar muscle fatigue squeezes me, I realise this is the main reason. “To be your Silk Girl, my king. Yes. I’ve been training to be one, and to be yours, to carry a lord. What more could a girl want?”
“More,” he utters, but it’s hardly audible.
He moves down to my lips, his length drags from inside me, and I gasp at being emptied, but he swallows my sounds, kissing me hard and confusing my senses.
“Don’t move,” he orders against my soft, nervous lips. As his mouth moves on mine, he slides a pillow under my backside, hoisting my hips.
My spine pangs with shock as he moves me, trails kisses down my naked body and leaves me panting to the dark, air cooling my sweaty flesh.
I can’t see, but I can feel his gaze between my legs. Warm fingertips touch my aching core.
“Is there a lot of blood?” I ask.
“Yes,” he hisses, a tight jaw dulling the word.
Something warm and wet laps along the outside of my swollen lips, the stimulation so subtle and so profound.
I blush. “What are you doing?”
“I want to taste your virgin blood.”
“Master Cairo will be glad,” I offer in response to having a heavy bleed. My seal was strong; it’s a sign of purity.
Blood is good.
And I’m fine.
Still unsure how I feel, I try to focus on one emotion, but I feel so many. I almost want to cry, overwhelmed. And I wonder whether Iris felt anything or whether she was a perfect vessel without useless emotions, only focused on her Purpose.
I hear his growl against my pussy. “Don’t say his name while we are together, especially while I am licking your blood from your swollen pussy lips. This is what he made me do to you. Break you. Hurt you.”
His words tear into me.