The Sea Witch (Wicked Villains 5)

“I can live with that.” He notches his cock at my entrance and looks me in the eye as he slides into me in a single stroke.

I cry out. It’s too much, he’s too big, it’s too foreign a feeling even after his fingers. It feels like my lower half is on fire, and my confused nerves don’t know if they like it or not.

Alaric braces his hands on either side of my ribs, holding perfectly still. His expression is a thousand times more tormented than it was earlier. “Fuck.”

Ursa’s low laugh makes my toes curl despite the nearly overwhelming urge to cry. She gives my clit a slow circle. “Don’t embarrass yourself by coming on the first stroke, lover.”

“You’re not helping,” he grinds out.

Her smile is warm and mean, all at the same time. “Am I making it difficult on you? Does she clench around your cock every time I do this?” She circles my clit again. Indeed, my entire body tightens in response.

“Ursa.”

He’s saying her name while he’s inside me.

Ursa’s voice goes harder than I’ve heard it. “Fuck her. You know it’s what you want to do, selfish boy. Chase your pleasure at her expense. Now.”

I barely have time to register the command before Alaric obeys. He pulls almost all the way out of me and shoves deep, drawing a cry from my lips. It’s too much, but Ursa keeps stroking my clit and my body is already beginning to accommodate him. It still burns, but pleasure begins to drown out the pain almost immediately. Maybe because of all the earlier orgasms.

He drives into me hard enough that my body starts to move up the mattress. Ursa’s grip on my throat tightens, and Alaric grabs my hips, holding me in place. They consume me. Her hands. His cock. The way they look at each other while he’s fucking me. I should hate it, should resent it, should feel anything but another orgasm building in my core.

Each time he drives into me, each time she circles my clit, each time their hands hold me forcibly in place, I get closer to another, more powerful, orgasm.

“Stop holding back,” Ursa commands.

For a moment, I think she’s talking to me, but then Alaric picks up his pace. He wedges his hands beneath my ass and lifts my hips off the mattress, yanking me onto his cock as he shoves forward. I swear I can feel him in the back of my throat. Once. Twice. A third time.

A high keening noise erupts from my lips and then I’m coming so hard, I think I black out. I vaguely register Alaric’s strokes losing their smoothness and him cursing as he drives into me one last time.

Stillness descends.

I’m achingly aware of his cock still inside me, of the breath filling my lungs, of Ursa’s grip on my throat. Alaric finally pulls out of me and moves off the bed, walking quickly into the bathroom. I stare at the ceiling. Should I say something? I don’t have words right now. The reality of this situation is soaking into me one wave at a time.

I sold my virginity tonight.

Alaric tricked me into doing it.

Ursa orchestrated the entire thing.

I belong to her—to them—for another six nights.

She releases my throat, and I start to sit up. She touches my chest. “Not yet.” She disappears into the bathroom and comes back a few seconds later with a washcloth. I wince as she presses it between my thighs. She’s back to the kind version of herself, the warm smile that shields the cruelty. “You did well.”

“I lay there and took it.” I swallow hard. “You commanded he fuck me selfishly.”

“Mmm. I did.” She finishes wiping me up and urges me to sit. “If I were more merciful, I’d give you tomorrow to recover, but every one of these days belongs to me, and as such I’m going to use them to their full capacity.”

I look up at her and shiver. I want to reject what she’s saying, to be able to truthfully say that I want nothing of what she’s offering me. I hate her for being part of this, for witnessing my humiliation. What kind of person is foolish enough to walk into the trap and then refuse to walk back out again? What kind of person craves their betrayers’ touch?

Apparently the kind of person I am.Chapter 12AlaricI barely get three steps back into the room when Ursa cuts through my plans for the rest of the night with a few short words. “Take Zurielle to the spare bedroom and get her situated.”

“The spare bedroom?” I stop short. “Why is she going there?”

“Because I want her to.”

I start to argue, but there’s no point. Ursa has given a command and I won’t change her mind, not when we’re apparently playing out a particular scene in her head. It was fun fucking Zuri. Really fun. But I want to be on my knees in front of Ursa on my first night free of the Underworld. More, the thought of wading through emotional conversations with Zuri sounds about as fun as throwing myself headfirst into a wood chipper.