Chapter 141: Said Her Safe Word
Oliver’s POV
I pushed harder, my pace becoming a blur of friction and pain. I wanted her to feel the consequences of her choice in every nerve of her body. My hands gripped her waist so tight I knew my fingerprints would be imprinted.
I shifted my stance, planting my feet firmly on the floor while her knees remained buried in the mattress. I pulled her back against me, tilting her pelvis at an angle I knew was punishing.
I began to thrust with a relentless, bone-deep force. With every lunge, I felt my cock bury itself to the hilt, stretching her beyond her limits. I pulled out until I was nearly gone, only to drive back in with a wet, heavy thud that echoed in the quiet room. In and out. The rhythm was hard and violent. Each time I bottomed out, I felt her body shudder under the weight of my anger.
I was burying the King with every stroke. I was killing the man who loved her and replacing him with the beast she had invited in.
"Look at you," I rasped, my breath hot and ragged against her ear. "Sobbing for a man who doesn’t even show you his face. While your King waits for you at home, you’re here, taking everything I give you."
I reached around, my hand finding the sensitive, wax-covered skin between her legs, adding a rough, jarring friction to the brutal pace of my hips. I wanted her overstimulated. I wanted her mind to break. I wanted her to regret this decision and never come back again. I pushed myself into her so hard her chest hit the mattress with a dull ’oomph’ every time I hit the back of her.
The sound of our bodies colliding was raw and loud—the sound of skin hitting skin, of leather creaking, of her desperate, broken moans. I was relentless. I didn’t care that she was shaking. I didn’t care that her breath was coming in panicked hitches. I was lost in the dark gold of my rage.
I gripped her hair again, pulling her head back so far that her spine arched like a bow. I drove in one more time, harder than before, a deep, bruising slam that made the bed frame groan.
"Red!"
The word echoed through the air like a boom.
I froze instantly—like the word had ripped me out of whatever I had become.. My muscles locked, my heart slamming against my ribs. Aurora just used her safe word.
I stayed buried deep inside her, my chest heaving, the mask feeling like it was suffocating me. Aurora was trembling violently beneath me, her forehead pressed into the pillow, her breath coming in ragged, terrified sobs.
The silence that followed was deafening. I had pushed her too far. I had let the rage of the betrayed King turn into something truly monstrous. My wolf whimpered, the bloodlust cooling into a sickening wave of guilt.
Slowly, agonizingly, I pulled out of her. I stood there, naked, watching the woman I loved collapse onto the bed, marked by the welts I had given her, the wax I had poured, and the brutality I had unleashed.
As Oliver, I wanted to strip off this cursed mask, pull her into my chest, and weep against her skin until the welts I’d caused vanished. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I was here, that she was safe.
But I wasn’t Oliver. I was the monster she had signed up for.
I moved to the chair and pulled on my clothes, my movements stiff. Once dressed, I reached out and silently untied the blindfold.
Her eyes were red, swimming in tears that finally spilled over the moment she could see the room again. She didn’t look at me; she looked at the ceiling, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The sight of her—broken, marked, and trembling—was a knife to my gut.
I grabbed a heavy, cold robe from the closet and draped it over her limp form. I didn’t cuddle her. I didn’t offer a shoulder. I walked to the basin, fetched a bowl of cool water and a soft cloth, and returned to the bedside.
I began to wipe the hardened black wax from her skin. My touch was distant, my fingers kept as steady as possible through sheer force of will. I scrubbed the marks I had made.
"You reached your limit," I said, my voice dropping back into Raymond’s gravelly, emotionless tone. "It seems... you’re not as strong as you thought."
Internally, Oliver was screaming. I could feel her heart beating fast. I could feel the terror radiating off her, and it made me want to vomit. The welts on her thighs were darkening, a map of my own rage written on her beautiful skin.
I couldn’t look at her anymore.
I turned and walked into the private bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I gripped the edges of the marble sink so hard the stone groaned. I leaned into the mirror, staring at the piercing green contacts, at the black hair, at the man who had just brutalized the woman he claimed to love.
"I hate you," I whispered to the reflection. "I fucking hate you."
I stayed there for minutes, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the feeling of her tears on my hands. When I finally found enough strength to put the mask back on—the mental one—I walked back into the bedroom.
Aurora was sitting up, the robe clutched to her throat, her eyes hollow and drained. She looked like a ghost of the girl who had smiled at me over bacon this morning.
"You’re done for today," I said, not meeting her eyes. I stood by the window, my back to her. "Get dressed... and leave."
I heard her move, the rustle of her discarded clothes being picked up from the floor. She was shaky; I could hear her stumbling slightly. Every instinct in my body screamed to catch her, to hold her up, to carry her to the car.
But I stayed frozen.
"Go, Aurora," I commanded, my voice cold. "Before I change my mind about letting you leave."
She didn’t say a word. She gathered her things and hurried out of the room.