Chapter 3 Pleasure Has No Heart

🖤 SINNER'S SLAVE

{Obey, Suffer, Survive}

Author's POV

The sound of her breathing still echoed in his ears.

The look on her face-that shattered pride, the quiet tears-clung to his memory like a stain.

Damien hated it.

Hated that she affected him at all.

So he did what he always did when something tried to crack the armor he wore like a second skin.

He went to forget.

The double doors to his suite opened without a knock. The guards outside already knew better. They'd seen that look in his eyes before-restless, ruthless, dangerous.

And they'd already called the girls.

Inside, the lights were low. The fireplace burned softly against the far wall. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the table beside the bed.

And Lucia was waiting.

Of all his girls, she knew him best. Knew when to speak, when to stay silent, and-most importantly-when to shut her mouth and open her legs.

She smiled when he entered. Dressed in red silk, bare beneath it, long legs tucked beneath her as she knelt on the mattress like a gift.

"Damien," she purred. "Rough night?"

His eyes flicked to her. There was no warmth. No hunger. Only need.

"Clothes off."

She obeyed instantly, the robe falling to the floor in one smooth motion. She crawled toward the edge of the bed, breasts swaying, lips slightly parted in invitation.

But Damien didn't touch her yet.

He stood at the edge of the bed and undid his belt slowly, gaze distant.

Lucia noticed it.

"Your new toy," she said softly, a smirk playing on her lips. "She cried, didn't she?"

His jaw twitched.

"Don't speak."

Lucia shut up.

He didn't need her voice. He didn't need her comfort. He didn't even need her pleasure.

He just needed the distraction.

He grabbed her roughly, flipping her onto her stomach like she was nothing but an object. Her gasp was half pleasure, half pain-but she didn't resist.

She knew better.

He entered her hard, fast, unforgiving.

No foreplay. No tenderness.

Just punishment.

Not for her.

For himself.

Every thrust was a war between control and chaos. Between what he wanted to forget, and the girl who refused to leave his mind.

The girl with fire in her eyes and pain in her silence.

He grunted, low and animalistic, one hand on Lucia's throat, the other gripping her hip tight enough to bruise. She moaned beneath him, body arching, giving him everything.

But it wasn't enough.

He dragged her head back by her hair, biting at her neck as he fucked her with savage rhythm-each thrust harder than the last, his body desperate for release. Not of lust.

But rage.

Regret.

Resentment.

"Say my name again," he growled, his voice raw and low.

"Damien," she gasped.

"Louder."

"Damien!"

He pounded into her like he was trying to exorcise the ghost of the girl he left in that room. Like if he f**ked hard enough, he could forget the way her tears looked in the soft light.

He didn't slow down.

Didn't stop.

Lucia cried out again and again, but her sounds meant nothing.

This wasn't about her.

This was about control. About reminding himself who he was. What he was.

And Damien Romano?

He didn't feel.

He didn't care.

He didn't get haunted.

So when he came-deep, harsh, silent-he didn't sigh. Didn't relax.

He just pulled out, wiped himself off, and walked to the bathroom without a word.

Lucia lay panting, ruined on his bed.

He didn't look back.

And still...

Her face followed him.

The girl who didn't beg.

The girl he hadn't even touched.