Page 197 of Somno Slave

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “You kneel so easily for someone you call a monster.”

The sound of his trousers hitting the floor cuts through the room like something final. He steps out of them without hurry.

My eyes betray me first, dragging downward before I can stop them, catching on the hard shape of him, the heavy outline pressing against dark fabric.

My mouth waters.

He watches every betrayal.

He frees himself slowly, and the sight of him knocks something loose inside me. Thick. Heavy. Arrogant in the way it stands there, like it already knows exactly what it does to me.

I flinch but I can’t move far because his hand in my hair holds me fixed.

“Don’t hide now,” he says softly. “You know what to do.”

I can’t breathe around the shame of it. His thumb strokes once against my scalp, almost soothing.

“You spend all day pretending you’re still in control, Doctor,” he murmurs, looking down at me like he’s examining damage he caused himself.

My fingers curl uselessly against his thigh.

His mouth shifts, not quite a smile. “And then you end up here. Again.”

My lips part on instinct. I make a small sound, something trapped and useless. My hands fly to him, fingers digging in, not to push him away, not really. Just to hold on.

He forces himself inside of my lips. There’s no patience. In one hard motion, he thrusts past my tongue and slams the back of my throat. I choke immediately. Gargled noises escape me, pitched and desperate. I stare up at him, tears burning viciously. One slips down my face, and he tracks it all the way down.

“You want to know why this fantasy works on you?” His voice roughens low in his throat.

My body betrays me, hips shifting instinctively against the floor before shame burns through me hard enough to hurt. His mouth drags close to my ear. “Your mind likes cages.”

“Touch yourself.” He growls.

I move before I can think about it, too fast, too desperate to pretend there was ever a choice. My hand slips between my thighs and finds the wet heat waiting there immediately, proof of my own betrayal. The shame of it barely has time to land before pleasure crashes through me, sharp enough to make my whole body jolt.

I press harder, helpless against the ache that has been building for too long. Everything turns hot and tight and unbearable, pleasure and humiliation twisted together so completely I can’t separate one from the other anymore.

His stare is unrelenting, stripped of anything soft. He watches me like he’s witnessing something ugly.

My hand trembles between my thighs, the pressure turning unbearable, every touch sending something sharp and electric through me until I can’t stay still. I writhe under it.

It’s too much.

Too hot.

Too exposing.

“Good,” he murmurs, and the praise feels like degradation. “Now you look honest.”

A broken sound leaves me. I hate how much that does to me.

“Deogal—” I try to say his name, but it falls apart halfway, weak and wrecked.

Something in his expression shifts at that. And then, suddenly, he pulls away. The absence hits like injury. My whole body reacts before pride can stop it, a desperate movement forward. I lurch toward him like something starving. The second I realise what I’ve done, humiliation crashes over me so hard it almost makes me dizzy.

His touch isn’t gentle.

One second I’m on my knees, still trying to breathe through the humiliation of it, and the next his hands are on me—firm, impatient. He shoves me forward onto the bed hard enough to steal the air from my lungs.