Duke of the Beast and the Vicarious Bride - Chapter 82

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※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

Searching for the cause of this incomprehensible behaviour, Fiona arrived at a conclusion: he had learned to savour pleasure. He wished to prolong these moments of fleshly union.

That Caligo was capable of such strategy astonished her, even as it struck her as absurd. There was something almost endearing in his guileless yet audacious behaviour—but more than that, she wished this physical labour to end.

Fortunately, his earlier reaction had provided a hint.

Fiona tightened the muscles of her passage around his member, which had slowed to a languid rhythm. At the same time, she rocked her hips against him, deepening the penetration.

“Kkhuh……”

The effect was immediate. Stimulated by her active response, Caligo surrendered restraint and resumed his rapid, rhythmic pounding.

“Ah! Hnngh! Caligo! Nngh! Hahk! Please…….”

Her passage, stretched around his massive length, was sorely taxed—yet at this point, she felt almost exhilarated. Body and mind could shatter, and she would not care.

“Ah! Aahk! Aaah……!”

Only desperate longing—that he might do something, anything—consumed her thoughts. With a dizzying plummet, sensation peaked once more. Fireworks of climax burst within her mind, obliterating thought and reason.

Though their congress lacked foreplay or caress, Fiona had, despairingly, become a woman who could climax from penetration alone. An unwanted conditioning, yet in this moment, she could think of nothing.

“Hahkk! Kkhuh!”

At the convulsive trembling of Fiona’s body, Caligo too could hold out no longer. Gripping her slender waist with both hands, even as his member pulsed and spilled its seed, he continued thrusting, feeling and refeeling the warmth of her flesh.

Fiona’s intuition had proved correct. At some point, Caligo had begun deliberately delaying his release. He simply could not bear to end this perfect union.

Tonight was no different. Caligo had tried to hold back, and now resented his body for yielding so quickly.

Thus, driven by lingering desire, he continued to grind against her—but beneath him, Fiona’s reluctance was palpable.

If permitted, he could continue indefinitely. But he had learned that once he reached his climax, he could no longer share her body that night.

After the night in which the world had been remade, Caligo found each passing day tinged with the sorrow of an ending. The knowledge that he must withdraw from Fiona’s warmth immediately upon finishing, that he must pull his body away from hers, troubled him and left him aching.

Why were females born into such fragile forms? If she possessed a body as strong and robust as his own, could they not mate more often, more freely? Such a simple, childish resentment bloomed within him.

And yet, Caligo loved that soft, yielding body. Its substance, so utterly different from his own—that delicate tenderness which seemed it might bruise under pressure—filled him with wonder and a fierce tenderness. His only regret was that this skin was not truly his to claim. Jayden’s lessons stood before him like a new prohibition. He did not wish to do anything that might disturb Fiona.

If she did not mind, he longed to do more than grip her slender waist. He wanted to stroke every part of her. During their coupling, Caligo often felt an overwhelming impulse he could scarcely contain.

He wanted to leave his mark upon her—to knead and press her soft, swollen b*****s, the hardened peaks of her n*****s, her flat and yielding belly, her lush backside. He wanted to touch her freely, to claim her with his hands.

Most of all, he wished, even once, to taste the place that always carried such an intimate scent. He wanted to drink the moisture she shed, to know her more primally, more completely. In short, Caligo was haunted by a predator’s urge to devour her entirely.

But none of this was permitted. When he looked at his own body—every part of it, including his hands, so absurdly large and rough—he understood why.

With these coarse hands, if he touched and handled her delicate form as he wished, surely she would bruise and tear. In his hazy thoughts, he accepted this, yet the unmet longing continued to torment his body.

“Mm, enough now…”

He had been slowly moving within her, his lower body still buried deep, ready to begin again at any moment. Only when he heard Fiona’s refusal did he reluctantly, with difficulty, withdraw his great length.

A wet sound, a soft slap. Fiona shuddered.