Chapter 378: Mining Sophia Vale.

I stayed on my knees between her legs.

The metal frame ticked under the shift of my weight. Hard white light sat on everything without mercy — the raw marks at her wrists, the dark hair dragged across the sheet, the full length of her body open from the unbound ankles up. Her arms stayed tied above her head. She had asked for that. The rest of her was free and already failing to hold still.

I looked.

Her breasts rose and fell in short uneven pulls, the nipples tight, the pale skin flushed high across her chest. The stomach hollowed with each held breath. Lower, the thighs trembling in small discontinuous waves. And between them, her pussy, bare, the outer lips swollen and parted, the inside of her a deep flushed purple-pink where the light reached. Wet enough that a thin shine coated the folds.

The entrance of her flexed once, open, closed, open again, as if the fire under her skin was working her from the inside out.

My father entered there before me.

The thought landed clean and unwanted. I didn’t push it away. I let it sit while I looked at the exact place it had happened years before I existed.

She tried to close her knees.

They came in an inch and fell open wider than before. A sound left her throat and she bit it off. Her wrists pulled against the rope and the metal headboard gave a short dull ring.

I can’t—

I’ve held this for years and I can’t—

I put my hand on her inner thigh. Heat. The muscle jumped under my palm. I didn’t go further yet. I let her feel the weight of it, the fact of contact, while I looked at what she’d opened for me.

My cock was already hard. The looking had done half of it; the heat coming off her pussy did the rest. I could feel the pulse in my own shaft, heavy between my legs, the head tight against the air of the room. Touching her was going to make it worse. I knew that and put my fingers against her anyway.

Slow. The pads of two fingers against the soft outer lip, then parting her.

She was soaked. Hot. The slick of her coated my fingertips at once. I spread her gently and the purple-pink inside showed clearer — darker at the entrance, glistening, a small involuntary flutter as my breath hit her. Her hips lifted off the mattress an inch and the rope at her wrists stopped the rest of her from following.

"Abram—"

Not an order. Not the director. Something frayed.

I ran one finger through the centre of her, from the swollen peak down to the entrance and back, gathering the wetness, feeling the way her pussy tried to close on nothing. She clenched around the absence of me hard enough that I felt the tremor travel into her thigh.

My cock kicked against the open air. The want in my own body was no longer theoretical — it sat low and thick, every pass of my finger over her feeding it.

I pressed the tip of my finger against her entrance.

Not in. Just the pressure. Her mouth opened. The fangs flashed for half a second and vanished again as she forced them back. Her legs shook harder. The metal frame ticked under us as her weight shifted and shifted again.

Please—

Don’t be gentle — I said don’t be gentle and he’s—

Touching me like he has all night—

I pushed the finger in.

Hot. Tight. The velvet clutch of her closed around the first knuckle, then the second, until I was inside her to the last joint and her pussy pulsed around the intrusion in small greedy pulls.

She made a broken sound. Her head tipped back. The tendons in her throat stood out. I left the finger there, still, feeling her clench and flutter around the unmoving pressure, and watched her stomach jump.

My own breath had gone short. The heat of her around my finger was a direct line to the ache in my cock — every clench of her cunt made the want sharper, more specific, until the only thing left in the room was the next contact and the fact that she was still fighting the fire and losing.

I added a second finger.

Stretched her open on the slow push, the wet sound of it soft and filthy in the quiet cell. Her hips worked against my hand without her deciding to work them.

The purple-pink of her was stretched around my fingers now, shiny, taking me. I left them there, still, feeling the way her pussy tried to pull them deeper, and her thoughts stopped arriving as sentences and became the same fragment over and over.

Yes—

That touch—

Years — years of this and he’s—

I looked up from her pussy to her face.

Eyes dark. Mouth open. Arms locked above her head, wrists raw against the rope, the whole of her laid out under the bulb with my fingers buried in her and my cock hard and untouched between my own knees, throbbing every time her cunt clenched around my hand.

I drew my fingers out.

No movement inside her. Just the slow pull free. They came out wet, shiny under the hard light, the scent of her already in the air between us.

I wrapped my hand around my cock and rubbed the wetness of her along the shaft in one long stroke, coating myself in what I’d taken from her. The heat of it, the slick of it, made the ache sharper. I did it again, slower, feeling her on my own skin, and then I put my hands on the backs of her thighs and opened her wider against the mattress.

The head of my cock settled heavy and hot just above the flushed, glistening entrance of her.

Put it in. Please.

The heat of her kissed the underside of the head. A bead of precum gathered and dropped onto the bare skin above her pussy. Her hips lifted again, seeking, and the rope sang at her wrists.

"Don’t be gentle," she said again. Frayed. Almost gone.

I lined the thick head of my cock against the purple-pink open of her cunt and held there, looking at the place we were about to join, while the metal frame ticked under my knees and her body shook through another wave of the fire she could no longer put out.