Sin Starts Here: Chapter 2-Interrogation

Seraphina’s POV

The first time his cock slammed past my lips, I didn't have time to think—only to feel. The thickness of him filled my mouth before I could clench my teeth, before I could turn my head, before I could draw a single breath to scream. His fingers twisted into my hair, yanking my face forward, and I was trapped. The head of his cock pushed against the back of my throat, and my body responded on instinct—gagging, choking, the muscles of my throat convulsing around the invading flesh as tears blurred my vision.

He didn't stop. Of course, he didn't stop. This was an interrogation, not a seduction, and every brutal thrust of his hips drove that truth deeper into my flesh. Saliva flooded my mouth, hot and slick, spilling down my chin, dripping onto my bound wrists. I tried to pull away, tried to shift my weight, but he held me pinned in place, my nose pressed against the coarse hair at his groin, his balls slapping against my chin with each furious pump.

"Choke on it," he growled, his voice a low rumble from above. "You killed my warriors. You took Nico from me. Now you'll fucking pay with that mouth."

I didn't know who Nico was. I didn't care. The only thing that mattered was the burning in my lungs, the way my throat strained to accommodate his girth, the relentless rhythm that left no room for mercy. He withdrew just enough to let me gasp—a single, ragged inhale—before shoving forward again, burying himself to the hilt. My thighs trembled against the cold stone floor, my fingers curling uselessly behind my back, and all I could do was take it.

When he finally pulled out, a thick strand of saliva and precum stretched from his tip to my lips, snapping only as I slumped forward, coughing, sputtering, dragging air into my raw throat. The torchlight flickered, casting his shadow huge and monstrous against the dungeon walls.

"Monster," I rasped, my voice a broken whisper.

"Yes," he said, and the smile in his voice made my stomach clench with dread.

His hands moved to the strap binding my wrists to the chair. For one fleeting, stupid heartbeat, I thought maybe—but no. He unbuckled the leather, only to rebind my wrists behind my back with a single thick loop, pulling it tight enough to bite into my skin. Then his fingers closed around my arm, hauling me upright, bending me forward until my cheek pressed against the cold granite surface of the interrogation table.

The shock of the stone against my skin stole my breath. My palms slapped flat against the rock, my fingers spreading instinctively as if I could catch myself from falling. Behind me, I heard the clink of his belt buckle, the rasp of a zipper, and my heart hammered so hard I felt it in my throat.

"Please," I whispered, but the word was pathetic, wet, barely audible.

He didn't respond with words. He just hooked his fingers into the waistband of my trousers and ripped them down. The rough fabric dragged over my hips, my thighs, baring my ass to the cold air. I felt the chill against the bruises mottling my skin, felt the way my muscles tensed as I braced for what came next.

His hand slid between my legs from behind, his fingers finding my sex. I flinched, tried to clench my thighs together, but he drove his knee between them, forcing them apart. His fingers explored me without gentleness, pressing, spreading, and I heard the low hum of satisfaction in his throat.

"Soaking wet," he murmured. "Tell me to stop, Seraphina. Tell me you don't want this."

I bit my tongue until I tasted copper. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I wouldn't.

He laughed, and then I felt the blunt pressure of his cock head pressing against my entrance. He spat once—the warm saliva hitting my skin—and without another word, he shoved forward.

I screamed.

There was no preparation, no hesitation, no mercy. He drove into me in one brutal thrust, his cock splitting me open, stretching me wide until I felt every ridge, every vein, every pulsing inch of him buried deep inside my cunt. The stone table scraped my cheek raw as I tried to push back, but there was nowhere to go. His hips pressed flush against my ass, and he let me feel it—let me feel the weight of him, the fullness, the way my body had to accommodate him or tear.

Then he started fucking me.

Each thrust drove me harder into the granite, my bound wrists twisting uselessly at the small of my back, my breasts crushed against the unyielding stone. He pounded into me with a rhythm that was pure aggression—no finesse, no pleasure, just the raw, punishing claim of a victor over his spoils. The wet slap of his thighs against mine echoed through the dungeon, obscene and rhythmic, mingling with my ragged breaths and his grunts.

"Name," he demanded, his hand snaking up to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back until my spine arched. "The rogue leader. Who is he?"

I gritted my teeth. "Fuck. You."

His free hand snaked around my hip, fingers finding my clit. He didn't tease, didn't circle, didn't stroke. He pinched—hard, then rolled the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger with a cruel, calculated pressure. The sensation was white-hot, searing through my pelvis, mixing pain and something far more dangerous. My hips jerked involuntarily, my thighs shaking as my body responded to the vicious stimulation even as my mind screamed for it to stop.

"Last chance," he growled, still pounding into me, still pinching and rolling until my vision swam and my breath came in ragged, unwilling gasps. "Name."

"Scent," I choked out, the word torn from me. "I only know his... his scent."

He thrust deeper, his rhythm faltering as something new swelled at the base of his cock. I felt it—the growing bulge, the thick ring of flesh that pushed against my entrance even as his shaft filled me completely. My eyes went wide with recognition, with fear.

"No—"

"Yes."

He slammed home one final time, and his knot locked inside me.

The stretch was blinding, overwhelming, a pressure that bordered on pain but cut straight into pleasure. That engorged ring seated itself against the deepest part of me, plugging me full, sealing him inside while his cock pulsed and throbbed against my walls. And then he came—hot, thick streams of cum flooding my depths, pumping into me with each rhythmic contraction of his hips. I felt his release filling me, the warmth spreading deep in my belly, and my body betrayed me completely. My cunt clenched around him, a violent, unwanted orgasm ripping through my core, my walls milking his shaft even as I sobbed against the stone.

He leaned over me, his chest pressing against my back, his breath hot and damp in my ear. The knot still pulsed inside me, still locked us together, still pumped load after load into my helpless body.

"This is only the beginning," he whispered, his voice dark with promise. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you completely."

I closed my eyes. Felt the cum trickling down my thighs, warm and wet. Felt the weight of him still inside me, still rooted, still claiming. Felt the cold stone beneath my cheek, the ache in my wrists, the rawness in my throat.

And said nothing at all. There was nothing left to say.

A few moments passed as I felt his weight leave me and his pants jostling. He brought me over to my cot, fastening one of the chains to my cuff, binding me there until someone released me. And without another word, he left, slamming the door to my cell behind him.