C16 Sixteen

~Bianca's POV~

The cuffs dug into my wrists, metal pressing against my skin, blood ebbing slowly. My legs trembled where they were bound, spread wide, muscles cramping from both the heels and the position. My chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

I was helpless. Bare. Burning.

Damien stood a few feet away, his shirt discarded, exposing inked muscle and arrogance carved into every inch of him. His gaze devoured me—slow, possessive, devastating. No longer the cold, calculating monster in a tailored suit.

He was something else now, and I was his offering.

He came forward without a word, his palm dragging up the inside of my thigh—teasing, claiming, spreading the slick already glistening there.

A whimper escaped my lips, small and broken, but he didn't speak, his silence was its own form of cruelty.

"You ache," he murmured. "I can smell it."

My throat seized as his fingers trailed downward—between the curves of my breasts, along the dip of my waist, until they hovered over the soaked strip of lace clinging to me.

His lips curved into a cruel, icy smile as he whispered, "You've soaked through every inch of this pathetic little scrap."

Then he ripped it off, the sound tearing through the air. I gasped, hips jerking—now bare, open, vulnerable.

Stepping back, he licked his thumb and knelt. My breath hitched as one cuff snapped open, he freed my legs and draped it over his shoulders, his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady.

Then his mouth descended—fire.

His tongue slid slowly through my folds. I cried out, my head knocking back against the wood. He licked again, flat, sure, merciless.

Every nerve screamed as I cried out, "Oh-oh my God," but he didn't stop; he devoured me, each flick of his tongue a punishment, every swirl a demonstration of control, sucking my clit into his mouth—slow at first, then faster, then slow again—never letting me settle, shifting pace at will, torturing me.

My legs shook on his shoulders, wrists burning against the metal as he pushed his tongue inside me deep, then dragged it back to circle and taste everything.

"Damien..please..please—"

He moaned into me, and the vibration shattered something inside.

"I-I'm gonna—" My voice cracked. "Please let me—"

"No."

The word rumbled into my cunt, and then he stopped. Everything inside me collapsed, and I sobbed.

"Not until you earn it."

Tears clung to my lashes, my body throbbing with frustration, need, and pain.

"What do you want?" he asked, rising slowly, lips glistening with my arousal. "Tell me, little Bianca. What filthy, depraved thing do you want from me?"

"F-fuck me," I begged.

He cocked his head. "What was that?"

"Please, fuck me."

He said nothing, and my pride cracked.

"I'm yours," I choked. "I'll do anything…just please, Damien, I need it—need you—inside me…please."

He stepped forward. Dragged his thick cock along my slick slit causing me to scream as he pressed against my entrance—just enough to feel the stretch—and I cried out in relief.

At long last.

But then he pulled back and stepped away. I blinked, confused.

"What-what are you—"

He laughed—low, mocking, as if it amused him to watch me fall apart.

"That'll be all for tonight, slave."

The word whipped me hard.

I stared, shaking, my wrists still bound. "W-what?"

Reaching for his belt, he looped it casually through his hands.

"You begged beautifully," he said. "Almost made me want to reward you."

Almost.

"But no," he added, buttoning his pants. "You're not ready."

Rage. Shame. Humiliation. Need.

I could barely see straight.

"Don't leave me like this," I whispered. "You can't just—"

"Oh, I can," he said coolly, turning for the door.

One hand touched the knob, and he glanced back.

"Martha will be in shortly. She'll take you to your room and clean you up."

My mouth parted, but no sound came.

He smiled.

Sin made flesh.

"I'll see you at breakfast."

The door closed with a final click. The sound was a slap, and silence followed.

Thick. Cold. Loud.

I was still strapped to the cross, wrist joints screaming, skin sticky, my body trembling with the sharp edge of denial.

He left me.

Just like that.

'That'll be all for tonight, slave.'

His voice echoed like a ghost.

My throat burned. My legs trembled, now numb from the position. A tingle of pins and needles crawled through my foot. I shifted slightly, wincing as the bite of the cuffs sent a jolt up my arms.

I hated him.

I hated how badly I still wanted more.

Time passed, how much? I didn't know—minutes or an hour, my thoughts spiraling into silence, teeth clenched, the taste of him still on my tongue.

The door creaked open and Martha entered without a word, not flinching when she unhooked my wrists, not when I slumped into her arms like a broken puppet. Her touch was gentle but sure like she'd held someone unraveled and hollow before.

She wrapped a soft, warm towel around me, but I was still soaked, still trembling, still aching, and most definitely still furious.

I couldn't meet her eyes as she guided me from the red room. The hallway blurred past, my steps shaky. My fingers clutched the towel tighter, as if it could hold together the pieces of what he'd just torn apart.

In my room, she took off my heels and led me into the bathroom. Hot steam fogged the mirror, curling through the air. She sat me gently on the edge of the tub, the water already running. Dipping a cloth into the basin, she began to wash me.

Silent and gentle, like I was something sacred,

She said nothing still, until I couldn't take it anymore, and I snapped.

"Was he always this evil?"

She didn't pause.

"Who?" she asked, rinsing the cloth.

"Damien," I spat. "Who the hell do you think?"

Now, she looked at me with a steady, unreadable gaze.

"Damien has been through a lot in this life," she said quietly. "If this is his way of finally being happy... then I'm more than happy to support him."

I stared at her. "Happy? That was happiness to you?"