Chapter 14: The True Taking
The pain was a living thing. A raw, tearing fire deep inside me where he was buried to the hilt. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Just trembled violently around the impossible fullness, tears streaming silently into my hair. His weight pinned me, his chest hot and solid against mine, his breath ragged against my neck. The scent of him, sweat and musk and something darker, filled my nostrils, mixing with the fading jasmine and the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
He lifted his head from my breast where he’d bitten me moments before. His eyes, dark and utterly focused, scanned my face – the tear tracks, the clenched jaw, the sheer panic. A low, satisfied hum vibrated in his chest. "There it is," he murmured, his thumb brushing roughly over my bitten nipple, sending a fresh jolt of pain-pleasure that made me gasp. "The gift he didn't claim." He shifted his hips infinitesimally. The movement sent fresh agony rippling through me. I whimpered, my hands pushing weakly against his shoulders. "Shhh," he soothed, the sound utterly devoid of comfort. "The worst is over. Now..." His hands slid down to grip my hips, fingers digging in possessively. "...we begin."
He withdrew. Slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. It wasn't relief. It was a different kind of torment. The drag of his thick shaft against my torn, sensitive flesh was a white-hot scrape. Every nerve ending screamed. I cried out, a ragged, broken sound. He watched me, his gaze locked on mine, drinking in my distress. Inch by agonizing inch, he pulled out, leaving me feeling hollowed and raw, yet still throbbing with the echo of his invasion. He paused when only the swollen head remained inside me, stretching me taut. The anticipation was torture.
Then he slammed back in.
A scream tore from my throat, raw and primal. The force drove the breath from my lungs. He filled me brutally, completely, the pain flaring bright and sharp again. He didn't pause. Withdrew halfway – another slow, searing drag – and slammed home again. And again. He established a ruthless rhythm: the slow, deliberate torture of withdrawal, followed by the brutal, piston-like thrust that punched the air from my lungs. My body jerked with each impact. Tears blurred the canopy above into a smear of gold and red silk.
"Please..." I choked out between sobs. "Stop... it hurts..."
"It's supposed to hurt," he grunted, his rhythm never faltering. His hands tightened on my hips, lifting me slightly to meet his next deep drive. The angle changed. The pain was still there, a deep, burning ache, but something else flickered beneath it. A spark. A treacherous, unwelcome warmth spreading from where he stretched me, radiating outwards with each punishing thrust. My traitorous hips lifted slightly, seeking... something. I bit my lip hard, tasting blood, trying to stifle the gasp that escaped anyway.
He saw it. Of course he saw it. A predatory smile touched his lips. "There," he breathed, his voice thick with exertion and triumph. "Feel it? Even through the pain." He shifted his angle again, grinding his hips against mine on the next thrust. The spark flared hotter, brighter. A low moan escaped me, unbidden, mingling with the sob. Shame burned hotter than the pain. My nails, which had been scrabbling uselessly at the sheets, found his back. They dug in, raking down the sweat-slicked muscle as he drove into me again. Not to push him away. To hold on. To anchor myself against the terrifying onslaught of sensation.
The sounds changed. My screams became ragged cries, punctuated by gasps and low, shuddering moans I couldn't control. The pain was still present, a deep throb, but it was being overlaid, woven through with threads of shocking, undeniable pleasure. Each deep thrust sent a jolt through me, hitting a place that made my vision blur. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him deeper, my heels digging into the small of his back. His groan was guttural, approving. "Yes," he hissed. "Take it. All of it."
He fucked me like that for what felt like an eternity, pinned beneath him, the silk sheets soaked with sweat and tears and blood. The relentless rhythm, the brutal fullness, the confusing storm of pain and burgeoning pleasure – it shattered thought. There was only the pounding of our hearts, the slick slap of skin on skin, the ragged symphony of our breathing, and the terrifying feeling of being unraveled from the inside out.
Suddenly, he stopped. Buried deep inside me, he lifted his weight off my chest. His hands gripped my hips firmly. "Up," he commanded, his voice rough.
I blinked, dazed. "Wh-what?"
"On top. Now." He pulled out abruptly, leaving me gasping at the sudden emptiness. Before I could protest, his hands were hauling me upwards, maneuvering my trembling body. I stumbled, my legs weak, landing awkwardly astride his hips. He was still kneeling on the bed, powerful and imposing. The thick length of him stood rigid against my slick, aching entrance. He guided himself back to my opening, the blunt head pressing insistently. "Sit," he ordered, his hands firm on my waist. "Take me back."
The vulnerability was staggering. Exposed. Perched above him. My hands fluttered, unsure where to rest, finally landing on his broad shoulders. His gaze burned into me, demanding. I lowered myself slowly, wincing as the stretched, tender flesh resisted, then yielded. I sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch, a low whimper escaping me as he filled me completely again. The angle was different. Deeper, somehow. More intense. I felt every ridge, every pulse of him inside me.
"Move," he said, his hands tightening on my hips. "Ride me."
I tried. Tentatively, awkwardly, I lifted myself up, the drag excruciating, then sank back down. It was clumsy. Embarrassing. He watched me, his expression unreadable, his thumbs tracing circles on my hip bones. "Faster," he urged. "Use me." His hands began to guide me, setting a rhythm, lifting me and pulling me down onto his thrusting hips. It was less riding, more being used. But the friction... oh god, the friction. With each downward plunge, he hit that spot inside me with devastating accuracy. The pleasure, no longer just a spark, became a wildfire, roaring through me, threatening to consume the lingering pain and shame. My movements became less hesitant, more desperate. My head fell back, a moan tearing from my throat as I moved faster, grinding down onto him, seeking that blinding peak again.
He let me chase it, his hands firm on my hips, his eyes dark pools watching my face contort with building ecstasy. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a low thrum. "Chase it. Take what you need." His fingers slid between us, finding the swollen, sensitive bud above where we were joined. He rubbed hard, fast circles.
It was too much. The relentless thrusting inside, the rough friction outside. The coil snapped. Pleasure detonated, shattering me completely. I screamed, arching backwards, my body clamping down hard around him in violent, pulsing waves. Stars exploded behind my eyelids. I convulsed, shuddering, utterly lost in the blinding white heat.
He held me through it, his hands steadying my trembling form. As the last tremors subsided, leaving me weak and gasping, slumped forward onto his chest, he chuckled darkly. "Beautiful." He lifted me off him easily, the sudden emptiness a shock. Before I could recover, he rolled me onto my hands and knees. The silk sheets were cool against my flushed skin. My ass was in the air, utterly exposed. Vulnerable. I heard him move behind me, felt his knees press against the backs of my thighs, spreading me wider. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back towards him.
I knew what was coming. Panic surged. "No... please... not like this..." It felt too animal. Too degrading.
"Yes," he stated, absolute finality in his voice. The thick head of him pressed against my slick, swollen entrance. "Like this." He pushed forward. Not slowly. Not this time. One powerful thrust buried him to the hilt.
I screamed. The angle was brutal. He went deeper than before, impossibly deep, hitting places that hadn't been touched, stretching the already torn flesh anew. The pain was immediate, sharp, and overwhelming. Tears sprang instantly to my eyes. He didn't pause. He set a punishing pace, driving into me with hard, deep strokes that rocked my entire body forward with each impact. My hands scrabbled for purchase on the slippery silk. Each thrust felt like it was splitting me apart. "Too deep!" I sobbed, my voice thick with tears. "It hurts! Vishal, please!"
His only answer was a low growl. His hands tightened on my hips, fingers digging into the flesh. He pulled me back harder onto his thrusts, his rhythm relentless. The slap came without warning. Sharp. Stinging. His palm connecting solidly with my ass cheek. The shock of it, the sudden bloom of pain on top of the deep internal agony, stole my breath. I cried out.
"Again," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. Another hard slap landed on the other cheek. The sting was bright, shocking. It mixed horribly with the deep, grinding pain inside me. He kept fucking me, hard and deep, his hips slamming against my ass with each thrust. Slap. Thrust. Slap. Thrust. The sounds were obscene – the wet slap of flesh, his grunts, my choked sobs and gasps.
Pain radiated from my ass, throbbed deep inside me. Yet, beneath it, woven through the agony like poison ivy, that treacherous thread of sensation flickered again. The relentless friction, the sheer force of his possession, the sting of his palm – it created a terrifying, overwhelming cocktail. My body, exhausted and violated, began to betray me once more. A low, involuntary moan escaped me, mingling with a sob, as he drove into me again, his hand landing another stinging blow. Shame burned, hotter than the slap, hotter than the internal fire. He owned me. Completely. In every degrading, painful, confusingly arousing way. And as he pounded into me, his breath coming in harsh rasps, the lavish bridal suite felt less like a tomb and more like an altar to my own devastating surrender. The distant, discordant notes of the wedding band downstairs played on, a cruel, fading soundtrack to my ruin.