Page 198 of Somno Slave
I catch myself badly, palms sliding against the sheets, my body folding where he puts it.
Bent over.
Open.
Exposed in the ugliest way.
The position hits me like a blow. A violent flash of recognition tears through me so fast it makes my vision blur. My stomach drops. My skin goes cold.
My body reacts like it knows this. The panic arrives rehearsed.
This.
The helplessness of it. The familiarity.
“Your mind keeps making you violent toward me.” He pauses, a deep chuckle falling. Something flashes across my mind.
My arm striking. The dull ache of muscles tensing, and a wet noise when something tears through flesh. His face burns across my vision suddenly, eyes curled into anguish, lips parting with a gasp. For one sharp second, panic takes over. I jerk forward, twisting, trying to get away on pure animal instinct, just a sudden desperate need to run.
His hand slams against my lower back and he holds me there.
Something sharp tears out of me—a broken, strangled sound I barely recognise as mine. My whole body locks under him. Breathing too fast. Heart beating so hard it hurts. And above me, around me, everywhere—him. The weight of him. The heat of him. The awful calm in the way he handles me, like none of this surprises him, like my panic is expected, accounted for, already owned.
My fingers fist the sheets.
“Please—” I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
Mercy.
Slower.
More.
Anything.
His hand moves once, slow along my spine. “Soon, Little Red.”
The nickname burns like something branded into my skull, but I can’t place it’s origin. Tears sting my eyes from pure frustration, from shame, from the unbearable feeling that my mind is remembering something my body refuses to.
He drags himself between my folds once, slow enough to make my whole body shake, the head catching on every slick, sensitive place. It’s cruel. Deliberate. My hips grind back against him.
A dark sound leaves him.
“So good,” he murmurs, one hand spreading hard over my lower back, holding me down like I’m something being prepared. “Crying and still trying to take more.”
“Deogal—”
His grip tightens.
Humiliation burns so hot it makes me dizzy. My body throbs between my legs, wet and aching and traitorous.
He presses forward just enough to threaten it.
“Tell me what you are.”
The word comes out broken. “Yours.”
The silence after is worse than shouting. He exhales against the back of my neck, slow and satisfied, like he’s been waiting for that longer than I understand.
