FINGERED ON THE CHAIR

AISHA

We drove back to the Black Star pack mansion in a suffocating, unbearable silence.

The hum of the engine was the only sound breaking the heavy darkness, but inside my chest, a violent storm was tearing me apart. I sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the passing trees, feeling so utterly used, stupid, and worthless.

It had all just dawned on me. Every single sweet word Samson had ever whispered into my ear, every desperate promise he had made while buried deep inside my body, every possessive grip on my hips—all of it was a lie. The love was entirely fake. He didn't care about my heart, my soul, or my pain. He was just enjoying my body, using my hips, my breasts, and my wet, dripping pussy whenever he felt like taking his pleasure, all while using me as a white wolf shield to fight his bloody wars.

This was not love. It was dirty, ruthless manipulation.

I turned my head slightly, looking at Damian. My husband held the steering wheel with broad, steady hands, his dark eyes fixed on the empty road ahead. He had remained completely silent from the moment we left Samson’s estate.

My mind spun with a thousand frantic questions. Why was he so quiet? Why didn't he draw his sword and rip Samson’s head off right there in his bedroom? Wasn't that the whole reason he had left the house in the middle of the night? Did he reach the doorway, hear Mabel announce her pregnancy, and feel a wave of pity for me after realizing I was just a fool being played? Or was he silently gloating, happy that I had finally witnessed the truth with my own eyes and discovered that Samson never loved me?

By the time we stepped through the front doors of our master suite, the noise in my head grew too loud to bear. The realization that I had betrayed my own life for a ghost tore through my chest like a poison dagger.

A ragged, primal scream ripped from my throat.

I snapped. I grabbed a porcelain vase from the table and shattered it against the wall. Then I lunged for the vanity table, sweeping all the glass bottles, mirrors, and silver trays onto the floor with a violent crash.

"Aisha!" a frightened servant gasped, rushing into the room with two guards behind her after hearing the commotion.

"GET OUT!" Damian’s deep, booming voice cut through the room like thunder. He stood by the locked doors, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression dark and unreadable. "All of you, get out and close the door!"

The servants scattered in panic, shutting the doors tight behind them.

Damian didn't try to stop me. He just stood there quietly, watching me tear our room apart. I grabbed the heavy wooden side table and flipped it completely upside down, sending drawers and papers flying across the floor. I ripped the curtains off their rods, kicking the shattered wood and glass, screaming until my lungs felt raw and bleeding.

When my body finally gave out, I collapsed onto my knees amidst the ruin of the bedroom. I buried my face in my blood-bruised hands and wept bitter, violent tears.

Sitting there in the dirt, a cold, heavy truth settled deep into my bones: Mabel had won.

She had won every single battle. She killed Samson's father and framed me for it, making me look like a monster in front of the entire realm. She ordered the massacre of my family, leaving my sweet little brothers, Leo and Toby, cold and dead in their blood. And now, she had won Samson's heart, securing her place as his Luna by carrying his child inside her womb. And I... I was just the brainless fool who ruined her own marriage, betrayed her own pack, and took severe beatings for a man who used me like a dirty whore in the dark.

Late into the night, the chaotic storm inside the room had settled into a heavy, mournful quiet.

I sat on the edge of the large mattress, wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at the fireplace. Damian walked into the room carrying a warm tray. He had lit the fire himself, casting a soft, golden glow across the dark floorboards.

He set the tray down on the nightstand. Without saying a word, he handed me a steaming cup of herbal tea.

I took the warm cup with shaking, bruised hands, taking a small, quiet sip. The hot liquid soothed my raw throat, but the emotional ache in my chest remained unbearable.

Damian sat down beside me on the edge of the bed. He didn't yell. He didn't throw my mistakes in my face. He didn't even mention Samson's name. Instead, he reached out with a warm, gentle hand, slowly lifting the hem of my nightgown up past my knees.

He slid his broad, calloused fingers between my thighs.

I held the tea cup near my lips, my breath catching in my chest as his hand cupped my core. He began to finger me with slow, incredibly soft movements, his thumb gently stroking over my clitoris while his long fingers worked their way into my dry, aching hole.

While I sat there sipping the tea, feeling the steady, warm rhythm of his touch between my legs, tears spilled silently down my cheeks.

Looking at his handsome, tired face in the dim firelight—seeing the way he cared for my broken body despite everything I had done to him—I saw the absolute truth. Damian truly loved me. He had always loved me. He was a tyrant to the world, a monster to his enemies, but to me, he had swallowed his pride, taken deep wounds, and endured the ultimate humiliation of betrayal just to keep me by his side.

A dark, lethal vow hardened inside my heart.

If there is another war, I whispered under my breath, my knuckles turning white around the teacup, I will kill Samson myself.

As if sensing the violent shift in my soul, Damian’s touch deepened. He set my teacup aside on the table, gently lay me back against the pillows, and slid down the bed.

He parted my thighs wide. From fingering my pussy, Damian lowered his head, pressing soft, warm kisses along the inside of both my thighs before placing his mouth directly over my core. He began to lick my pussy with long, deep, affectionate strokes.

He didn't rush. He lapped up my dryness, his hot tongue swirling around my sensitive tip, giving me a sweet, intoxicating sensation that sent electricity racing all the way up my spine to my brain. My entire lower body began to throb, the overwhelming pleasure washing away the lingering pain of my bruises until my vagina was fully soaked and dripping with natural wetness.

Damian stood up, stripping off his tunic and pants. His massive shaft was fully erect, thick, and throbbed softly in the warm light of the fire.

He hovered over me, shifting my hips to the edge of the mattress. He didn't shove himself inside right away. Instead, he made love to me with slow, tender reverence. He brushed his thick dick slowly all over my wet pussy lips, rubbing his cap up and down my core, teasing my entrance until I whimpered beneath him.

"Damian..." I sobbed softly, my hands reaching up to tangling frantically in his hair, pulling his face down to mine.

He aligned himself and slowly slid all the way inside my wet, willing vagina. The stretch was deep, full, and complete. He began to drive himself in and out with heavy, steady, rhythmic thrusts, filling the empty, hollow void inside me with his warmth.

I didn't move. I lay flat on my back, my arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, holding my true husband close as he fucked me, crying hysterically with absolute, crushing regret for every single tear I had ever made him shed.