GRAPHIC CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains an explicit and violent depiction of sexual assault, graphic physical injury, and severe emotional trauma. Reader discretion is absolutely essential.
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Tenebrarum's hand drifted downward. His every movement was unbearably deliberate, a slow, agonizing crawl that tightened the coil of dread in Aurelia's gut.
His touch skimmed along her thigh, a feathery caress that was anything but gentle. It traced upward with a slow, claiming pressure that stole her breath, pulling a sharp, ragged gasp from her chest.
Aurelia's muscles tensed, a primal instinct to flee, to wrench herself away from the terrifying intimacy. But her body betrayed her with a sickening, involuntary sway, leaning into the heat of him as though drawn by something older than choice, a song of submission humming in her very bones.
Her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting deep, drawing pinpricks of blood.
A desperate anchor against the rising tide of sensation. She couldn't comprehend this response, this frantic pulse hammering against her ribs with his every ascending touch, her breath trembling as her hips tilted closer to him, an involuntary offering, a desperate, silent plea.
"Stop," she groaned, the word a broken syllable torn from her throat. Her teeth clamped down hard on her lower lip, drawing blood, a futile attempt to anchor herself as she felt herself failing miserably, surrendering to sensations she couldn't control.
Her gown shifted with her slightest movement, parting just enough for the cool air to kiss her skin, raising gooseflesh that prickled with anticipation.
She didn't know if she lifted it consciously or if it was her legs refusing to remain still, desperate to be closer to his inferno, to feel the shocking contrast between his heat and her own trembling flesh.
He didn't give her time to comprehend.
With a swift, merciless motion, Tenebrarum spun her. The force of the movement stole her breath, her chest colliding with the cold stone of the wall with a jarring thud that knocked the wind from her. His hand splayed between her shoulder blades, a firm, unyielding seal that pressed her against the unforgiving surface. The impact stole her voice, leaving only a broken, strangled sound trapped in her throat, a tiny whimper of protest.
Heat rolled off her in waves, a suffocating flush that painted her skin crimson from her throat to her thighs.
Sweat bloomed, tracing a slick path down the curve of her spine, gathering at the small of her back, each bead a testament to the burgeoning inferno. Her knees trembled uncontrollably, her legs threatening to give out, her entire lower body a canvas of involuntary response. Her skin felt unnaturally slick, a sheen of dampness clinging to every pore.
She felt his fingers working at her corset, untying the knots with a slow, controlled precision that made her entire body tense, waiting—unable to pull away, unable to understand why she didn't want to. Each tug of the lace sent a tremor through her, a prelude to the stark unveiling.
Aurelia gasped as the last piece of fabric was torn away, a sudden, searing heat crawling over her skin, a wildfire ignited by his touch. The air, which had felt cool moments before, now seemed to cling to her nakedness, heavy and suffocating.
She was—
Naked.
The wall was a cold, stark contrast against her back, its rough texture a brutal anchor to reality. His body, a blazing inferno against the front of hers, a clash of temperature that sent a violent shiver through her, making her shiver uncontrollably, her teeth chattering despite the heat.
Tenebrarum's breath dragged low and rough past her ear as he lifted her, the sheer strength in his arms making her pulse race like a trapped bird.
She clung to him, her hands digging into his shoulders, her nails scraping against his skin, a desperate bid for balance as he pressed her to the wall with a force that stole the air from her chest. Her muscles screamed under the strain, already anticipating the next violation.
Her vagina was hot, a searing ache, a desperate readiness for him to dive in.
It throbbed with a painful urgency, a clenched fist of raw tissue that felt impossibly tight, a knot of resistance and anticipation that screamed NO even as her body craved his invasion. It felt wrong, a battlefield of conflicting signals.
His lower clothing was already unbuckled, the fabric rough against her bare legs. And her legs, impossibly, curled around his waist, even as her bandaged limb throbbed with a dull ache—a reminder of her fragility, a wound still trying to heal, juxtaposed with the violent tearing of this new one.
What are you doing? Giving your virginity to a demon prince? The thought was a madness, yet the Aurelia who hated him felt a terrifying pull, a craving for him deep where her eyes could not follow, a primal need that overrode all reason, a desperate desire for release from the agonizing tension.
The moment he pulled her closer—too close—something inside her snapped tight, a wire pulled to its breaking point, as he went in.
His cork filled her.
It was first pain. Sharp. Bright. A shock that made her nails scrape ragged lines against the cold stone, digging into the unforgiving surface.
The initial penetration was a violent tearing, a breach that felt like acid spreading through her core. Her insides ripped, a sensation of being violently split.
"Ahhhhhh!," a guttural cry tore from her throat, raw and uncontrolled, as her body was forcibly dilated. The pressure was immense, a brute force pushing against her most sensitive flesh. Her vagina, screaming with agony, felt as if it were being ripped asunder. A searing white heat consumed her, obliterating thought.
"Do you want to kill me?" she choked out, the words ragged, desperate, lost in the storm of sensation.
She looked down at him, her violet eyes wide with shock and searing pain, tears streaming freely now, hot and stinging. She had never seen a grown cork before – this raw, potent instrument of his will. It was thick, unyielding, utterly alien, and it was destroying her, physically ripping her apart from the inside.
Then it deepened, heavier, rolling through her body in a devastating wave she couldn't make sense of. The sharp agony began to morph, to swirl with a growing heat, a desperate, confusing sensation that threatened to overwhelm her.
Her body, ravaged by the brutal entry, was already slick with sweat and tears, her skin glistening under the dim light. The torn tissue screamed with every movement, yet a strange, terrifying warmth began to spread, a confusing counterpoint to the tearing pain.
Aurelia was powerless. Instead of pushing him away, she found herself instinctively grinding her hips against him, her movements a frantic, uncontrolled dance, her body betraying her with every writhing thrust.
Her thighs, already burning and bruised from this, now screamed with a new agony as they were forced wider, stretched to their limit with each jarring thrust. The friction was intense, a raw, burning sensation that mingled with the deep, tearing pain.
Little bloodstain bloomed between her thighs, a stark visual testament to the violence of his entry.
But instead of pausing, he drove in harder, and harder. She didn't stop him as sweat dripped from her body to his, a slick, shared sheen of desperation, her skin slick against his, clinging and resisting.
"Okay, that's how you want it," he rasped, his voice a low growl against her ear. His palm struck her ass hard, the sting echoing the deeper thrusts, a brutal cadence of pain and forced pleasure that sent tremors through her already ravaged body.
He pumped into her faster, filling her with his thick, sticky essence, each stroke a demand, a conquest that ripped through her defenses, each impact searing.
"Ehhh... Mmmmm...stopppp" she moaned, her eyes squeezing shut, the sounds tearing from her throat against her will.
Did she truly want him to stop, or was she praying for more, for an end to the agonizing confusion, a surrender to the oblivion?
Her breath hitched, her lungs burning for air, her vision swimming with black spots. She felt the urge to faint, to escape the torment, but a primal instinct kept her tethered to the searing reality.
The more she choked on a scream, the more he slid in, harder. The speed and depth increased, each movement a brutal assault, yet her body responded with a desperate, fervent rhythm, her hips moving with a life of their own, seeking an impossible relief that was inextricably tied to the pain.
Her legs trembled violently as she braced herself, palms flat against the wall, her breath breaking into ragged gasps she couldn't swallow.
Each movement was rougher, fiercer, a rhythm she couldn't fight even when she tried to twist away—and yet her body betrayed her at every turn, heat and sweat curling beneath her skin until she didn't know where the pain ended and something else began.
Her entire being became a battlefield of conflicting sensations.
Her first time, and she was drowning in sensations she had no language for. A primal, overwhelming flood that washed away everything she understood.
Aurelia's breath trembled. Her body was still reeling, overwhelmed, hungry in ways she didn't understand. Every nerve felt awake, burning beneath her skin, and she found herself leaning into him again—not out of fear this time, but something far more dangerous.
She wanted closeness.
She wanted to feel him against her in a way that stole the strength from her knees.
She wanted his mouth on every part of her skin, his presence wrapped around her, anything that could answer the wild, untamed rush inside her.
But the mask stayed in place.
It hid his expression, his intentions, everything she desperately needed to read. She reached up without thinking, fingers brushing the edges of the cold metal, her pulse racing at the thought of what might be underneath, of what lay hidden behind that impassive barrier.
"My Lord," a voice quivered, almost swallowed by the shadows.
Who had dared step into Tenebrarum's chambers without a signal, without warning, without even a trace of permission?
Camilla's heels clicked softly on the marble floor, betraying her presence, a delicate sound that cut through the raw urgency of the moment.
Camilla was breathtaking. Her blunt hair framed her face perfectly, moving like liquid with every step. Her eyes were a striking blue, sharp and unreadable, and her lips a soft, confident pink. There was something in her posture, the tilt of her chin, the way she carried herself—a quiet authority, a presence that made her feel like a queen even before the crown rested on her head.
She was the crowned princess, the one meant to be at Tenebrarum's side, yet here she stood like a shadow herself—small, brittle, and watching.
She had just seen him with another woman.
Again.
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last. Her stomach tightened, a familiar ache of resentment and resignation curling inside her. She had learned to expect this—the stolen touches, the whispered names, the way he could look at anyone and still leave her heart hollow.
Her hands clutched the folds of her gown. She hated that it trembled under her fingers. Camilla hated that her pulse raced, a frantic bird trapped in her chest.
"Leave Flavia," he said, his voice a sudden, brutal command that tore through the haze. He tore himself from her, pushing Aurelia aside as if she were nothing, a discarded object.
She stumbled, falling to the cold floor. Her white hair scattered like fallen snow against the dark stone. Her eyes, wide with disbelief, refused to believe what had just happened, what she had just witnessed.
Was this a hallucination? Had she imagined every moment of closeness, every whispered word, every searing touch? Tenebrarum—Tenebrarum—was throwing her out, after everything she thought they shared.
"Get out!" His voice cut through her, sharp and unyielding. There was no jest this time. No playful cruelty. This was absolute, final. It was a dismissal that echoed with the finality of a slammed tomb.
Aurelia scrambled to her feet, the torn black fabric of her dress clinging to her like a shroud, heavy with shame. Her chest heaved, every heartbeat a drum of disbelief. How could he—Tenebrarum—push her away like this, after everything she had thought they shared, after the raw vulnerability he had just forced from her?
Her legs wobbled. The room seemed to tilt, the air thick with his presence, sharp and unyielding. She wanted to scream, to demand an explanation, to lash out—but she had no words, no power.
Every step away from him felt like a public unmasking, as if the world had seen her—vulnerable, exposed, utterly powerless. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she forced herself to keep moving, swallowed by a mix of fear, humiliation, and a disbelief that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces.
She obeyed. She had to.
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To be continued...