BOUND, BRED, AND BROKEN BY THE DEVIL

CHAPTER 4: POSSESSION

CHAPTER 4: POSSESSION

ELODIE'S POV

I bite down hard on my bottom lip until I taste copper, trying to hold back the rush that floods through me, but my body betrays me. My hips rock restlessly against the bed, chasing every wave that crashes deeper and deeper, making me pant, making me gasp, making me moan out loud in a voice I barely recognize as my own. My fingers dig into the thick strands of his hair, clutching him close, refusing to let him move away, refusing to let him release me from the torment of his mouth pressed so mercilessly against my p***y.

“Oh God… oh God…” The words spill out in ragged breaths, trembling, desperate. “It’s too much, it’s too much…”

But I don’t loosen my hold. I won’t.

I can feel his tongue sliding, circling, pressing harder, each stroke so sharp and consuming it feels as though my brain is splintering into pieces. I suck in air in broken gasps, my chest heaving, my body arching as though I’m being torn open from the inside by this impossible sweetness. “Ohhh… Dad…” The word breaks out of me raw, humiliating, electric, and I nearly choke on it.

My dream, the one I’ve carried in shameful silence for as long as I can remember, unfurls itself into reality, obscene and undeniable. It’s happening, it’s too real, too forbidden, and yet my body doesn’t care about reason, doesn’t care about morality, doesn’t care about anything but the taste of pleasure crashing through me. It’s wrong—God, it’s so wrong—but his tongue feels like salvation, hot and slick, driving me wild, making me burn.

My eyes squeeze shut, lashes trembling with every flicker of sensation. I’m dizzy, the room spinning, my breaths cut into fragments as I fight to contain the fire spreading uncontrollably inside me. My thighs clamp tighter around his head, trembling against the sides of his neck, as though I can keep him there forever, as though I can merge him into me completely.

“Ahhh—hahhh—ohhhhhh…”

He chuckles against me, a low vibration that sends sparks erupting everywhere, groaning into my flesh with a hunger that only intensifies my own. Then he sucks, deep and merciless, and I can’t hold back the scream that rips from me. My back arches so sharply it feels like I might snap, the sound echoing loud enough to shatter walls, to break me open.

That’s when I hear it.

A fist slams against my door. BANG! BANG! My mother’s voice follows, sharp, anxious:

“Elodie, are you there? What’s wrong?”

I jolt, but it’s useless, because my body is no longer my own. I shake my head, my hair clinging damp to my skin, but nothing stops the possession clawing through me. I can’t even form words to answer her. I’m lost, completely lost inside a storm of heat and delirium, so consumed it feels demonic, a force gripping me tight, shredding every shred of control I thought I had.

I claw at his hair harder, nails pressing into his scalp as if urging him to push deeper, devour me whole, end me in this madness. I can hear his laughter again, thick and velvet, sliding through my bones as his lips seal tighter around me.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His whisper is low, honeyed, cruel, vibrating against my soaked flesh.

Then another rush: he sucks again, and my vision bursts wide open, sparks igniting into whirlpools of dark, endless colors spinning behind my eyelids. I gasp, I moan, I cry out, trembling violently as the sensation rips me apart.

“No—no, I can’t—ohhh God—it’s too much—”

The edges of me fray into nothing, my body shaking helplessly, sweat slick across my skin, chest rising and falling like I’m running out of breath. My throat can’t form answers, not to him, not to my mother’s voice pounding from the other side of the door.

And then—SLAM!

The door bursts open.

“Elodie, are you okay?”

Her voice cuts through everything.

I jerk upright with a violent shudder, my chest heaving, my lungs scraping for air as if I’ve surfaced from drowning. The chain breaks. The web snaps. The haze shatters.

I glance down and freeze. I’m half naked, gown twisted around my waist, thighs exposed, my p***y soaked and glistening in the dim light. But—he’s gone. My father is nowhere in sight. I blink, frantic, scanning the room, heart hammering. What the hell just happened?

This is impossible.

“Okay… what the hell was that?” My thoughts race too fast for me to catch them, each one screaming louder than the last.

Mom is at my side in an instant, her face drawn into confusion, fear, disapproval all mixed into one. “Elodie, are you okay? Why do you look like…?” She stops herself, shakes her head as though the truth might be too much to acknowledge. “You don’t look good right now.”

A nervous, broken laugh slips out of me. My hand lifts clumsily, pushing strands of sweaty hair away from my forehead as though that simple motion could disguise everything. “Oh my God, this… this has to be a joke,” I mutter, the words jagged, cracked.

Did I just imagine that?

No. I couldn’t have. It felt too real. The taste, the sound, the heat—it still lingers inside me, coating every nerve like syrup. My lips tremble as I whisper the thought no one should ever think: That wasn’t my dad, was it?

Mom stumbles closer, her hands finding mine, gripping tight, her expression sharp with worry. “Elodie, look at me. Are you okay?”

I try to focus, but my vision blurs, sweat dripping down my temples. I swallow hard, throat raw. I want to say something, anything, but the words dissolve before they leave me. Only a nervous chuckle escapes, brittle and empty.

Mom cups my face between her palms, thumbs stroking across my damp cheeks, brushing sweat away. Her touch is grounding, but it doesn’t stop the panic inside me. She sits on the bed, draws me closer, forcing me upright, guiding me into her lap like I’m still a child.

“Hey, I’m here, okay? Calm down. It’s going to be fine. Just breathe, baby. Slowly.” Her voice is soft, soothing, each word deliberate, trying to anchor me back. She pulls my twisted gown into place, sliding the strap back over my shoulder, tugging the fabric down to cover my thighs.

Her presence should comfort me, but all I can think is: What the f**k was that?

My body is still humming, trembling with aftershocks. My mind refuses to settle. My shame is a blade carving me from the inside out. Did I actually crave him? Did I actually want my father inside me so badly that I conjured him with my own mind, made him real enough to leave me drenched, shaking, and broken?

I bite my lip hard, too hard, until my mouth fills with pain instead of thought.

Mom’s voice cuts again, pulling me back. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what happened? You looked like you were having some sort of crisis. I don’t understand, but—why were you half naked on the bed like that?”

Her words land heavy, each one an accusation even though she doesn’t mean them that way.

Another nervous laugh tumbles out of me, hollow, desperate. There’s no way, no way in hell I can tell her the truth. If I tell her what I just lived through—what I just imagined, or conjured, or whatever the f**k it was—she’ll never look at me the same again. She’ll see me for the twisted thing I am, wired wrong in every possible way.

God.

There is something horribly, irreparably broken inside me.

I close my eyes tight, trying to shut it out, trying to erase the memory, but the shame claws through me with merciless precision. I wanted it. I begged for it. I felt it. And it was too real to deny, too real to dismiss as fantasy, even though it makes no sense.

So what the f**k was that?

Was I imagining him? Was it something else entirely? And why—why—does it still feel like his tongue is on me?

Mom’s arms tighten around me as though she can protect me from whatever is eating me alive. But she can’t. She doesn’t even know what it is.

And I don’t have the courage to tell her.