Chapter 61: Something Wrong
Bael’s hands grip my ass really hard, his fingers digging in so deep and tight that I know I’m going to have more bruises all over it tomorrow. He spreads my cheeks wide open as he slams his cock into me, the missionary position letting him go so fucking deep it feels like he’s hitting my stomach. No matter how much I try to move or shift around, I can’t get away from how completely full I am.
He pulls his cock almost all the way out, just the head still inside me, then drives back in with one hard thrust that knocks the air right out of my lungs. He sets a rough, punishing rhythm that has me gasping and fighting to breathe between every single thrust.
My hands grab onto the sheets under me, twisting and bunching up the fabric in my fingers as I try to hold onto something, anything, to keep myself steady against the nonstop pounding that’s hitting every part of my body.
"Please," I manage to get out, the word barely coherent through my ragged breathing. "Please... stop..."
He answers with another brutal thrust that makes my vision white out completely, stars bursting behind my eyelids.
"Hmm... no," he says, voice rough with exertion but still maintaining that edge of control. "Why should I?"
I’m sobbing now again, can’t help it, tears streaming freely down my face and into my hair, my body completely overwhelmed and oversensitive and entirely at his mercy with no escape.
"I..." Another vicious thrust cuts off my words, makes me cry out. "Nngh... I said I’m sorry, please... pl—"
"I see," Bael says, and suddenly his pace changes dramatically, slowing down to something almost gentle, almost careful, the brutal edge disappearing. "I hear your sincerity."
He’s still moving inside me but the punishing intensity is gone, replaced with slow, deep strokes that feel like absolute mercy after everything that came before, like relief despite the fact that I’m still being fucked, still pinned beneath him taking everything he gives.
"I’m going easy on you now, am I not?" he asks, and it’s true, compared to the merciless pace from moments ago this feels almost tender, almost sweet despite the circumstances.
I can only nod weakly, unable to form words, my throat raw from screaming and sobbing.
Pleasure builds slowly this time, not the sharp overwhelming spike that hits like lightning, but something gradual and inevitable, warmth spreading through my exhausted and abused body as he continues that steady, measured pace.
His hand slides between our bodies to wrap around my dick, which is somehow still hard despite everything, stroking it in time with his thrusts, and I can feel myself getting close despite the exhaustion, despite the soreness radiating through every muscle.
"That’s it," he murmurs, leaning down to capture my mouth in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle compared to everything else, his tongue sliding past my lips to taste me thoroughly. "Let go for me."
The orgasm rolls through me like a slow wave, drawn out and almost peaceful in its intensity, pleasure washing over me in gradual surges rather than the violent spikes from earlier.
I feel Bael follow moments later, his careful rhythm stuttering and breaking as he buries himself deep and stays there, filling me with wet heat one more time.
We stay locked together for a long moment, both breathing hard, both trembling slightly with aftershocks, and I can feel consciousness starting to slip away, exhaustion finally winning the battle, my eyes already closing despite my best efforts to keep them open.
Then I’m being lifted, strong arms sliding carefully under my knees and back, and Bael carries me princess-style toward the bathroom before I can fully process what’s happening or protest the movement.
The bath is already drawn, water warm and almost too hot against my abused skin, and I’m barely conscious through the whole process, dimly aware of Bael’s hands washing me carefully, gently, supporting my weight while he cleans away the evidence of the night.
His movements are tender now, completely at odds with the brutal way he was fucking me minutes ago, and I can’t reconcile the two versions of him, can’t understand how he can switch between them so easily.
I try to help, try to participate in my own bathing, but my arms feel like lead and my muscles won’t cooperate, so I just let him handle everything, floating in the warm water while he takes care of me.
He dries me off with a soft towel, patting my skin rather than rubbing to avoid aggravating the soreness, then carries me back to the bedroom where I notice the sheets have been changed at some point, fresh and clean and smelling like detergent.
He sets me down gently on the mattress and I sink into it with a grateful sigh, every part of my body screaming for rest.
I feel him applying something cool to my ass, some kind of cream or lotion that immediately soothes the burning soreness, his fingers careful and precise as he works it into my skin.
Then the blanket is being pulled over me, tucked around my shoulders, and I’m already sinking into darkness, consciousness fading rapidly as exhaustion claims me completely.
Sleep pulls me under like a tide, deep and dreamless and absolute.
***
I wake up to fullness.
To the immediate awareness of being stretched open, filled completely, Bael already moving inside me with slow, deliberate thrusts that send sensation radiating through my still-sleeping body.
My eyes fly open in shock and confusion.
"Wh... What the hell?" I manage to get out, voice hoarse and rough, still thick with sleep.
"Morning!" Bael says with entirely too much cheerfulness, like waking someone up by actively fucking them is completely normal and acceptable behavior.
Then he thrusts harder, deeper, and I gasp involuntarily, the sound catching in my throat as pleasure and pain mix together in confusing waves.
My sore body protests the intrusion immediately, everything still tender and oversensitive from last night’s marathon, but simultaneously my traitorous system starts responding anyway, arousal building despite the discomfort.
Heat floods through me, warming my skin from the inside out, my exhausted body somehow still capable of getting turned on, still reacting to his touch despite everything we did for hours last night.
He sets a steady pace, not brutal like the punishment before, but firm and thorough and relentless, and I can feel myself getting wetter despite the soreness, my body accommodating him even though everything aches in protest.
His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he moves, and I realize I’m on my side, one leg lifted and held up to give him better access while he fucks me from behind.
The position lets him go deep, hitting that spot inside that makes my toes curl and my breath catch.
Then my stomach cramps.
Not subtle, not gentle, but a sharp, sudden pain that makes me tense up completely, makes my entire body go rigid, makes my breath catch in my throat for entirely different reasons.
It’s wrong.
The pain is wrong, not arousal or pleasure or even the good kind of soreness, but something else entirely, something that sends alarm bells ringing through my foggy brain.
Bael thrusts in again and the pain intensifies dramatically, my stomach tightening and cramping in a way that makes panic spike through my system.
My face must change, must show the fear suddenly flooding through me, because Bael stops immediately.
Completely.
Pulls out in one smooth motion.
"What’s wrong?" he asks, and I can hear genuine concern cutting sharply through his voice, all traces of playfulness gone.
My hands fly to clutch at my stomach, pressing against the cramping muscles, trying to ease the pain, trying to understand what’s happening and why it hurts like this.
"My stomach," I gasp out, curling slightly around the pain. "I don’t know... it hurts..."
Bael is already moving, already in action, and I watch through pain-blurred vision as he grabs clothes from the wardrobe with quick, efficient movements.
He pulls a shirt over my head, maneuvering my arms through the sleeves with practiced ease despite my inability to help much.
Then pants, tugging them carefully up my legs while I’m still trying to process the cramping pain radiating through my abdomen in sharp waves.
His movements are controlled and composed like always, that careful mask of calm firmly in place, but I can see panic flickering clearly in his eyes, can see the tension in his jaw and the tight set of his shoulders as he works.
He pulls on his own clothes with record speed, movements sharp and precise, getting dressed faster than I’ve ever seen him move.
Then he’s lifting me again, scooping me up into his arms like I weigh nothing, carrying me toward the door with long, purposeful strides.
"Liang Feng!" he calls out, voice sharp and commanding, carrying clearly through the house.
The bedroom door opens and I see Liang Feng already standing there, already alert despite the early hour, taking in the situation with one quick, assessing glance.
Bael doesn’t slow down, doesn’t pause to explain, just carries me straight through the doorway and toward the stairs.
Mrs. Wen appears at the bottom, face going pale when she sees us, and I watch her mouth open to ask something but Bael cuts her off before she can speak.
"Call Dr. Xi," he says curtly. "Tell him we’re coming."
Then we’re out the door, moving toward the car where Qiao Jun is already holding the back door open, and Bael slides in with me still in his arms, settling me carefully across his lap.
Liang Feng is already in the driver’s seat, engine running.
"To the hospital," Bael says, voice tight and controlled. "Now."