Captive by My Lustful Enemy

Chapter 5

Estella Verena’s POV

I kept my eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving as I chased my ragged breaths, the aftershocks of my release still pulsing through my core like liquid fire. I knew Killian hadn’t left the room—his presence hung heavy, a predator’s gaze devouring my every twitch, waiting for my next move. I couldn’t face him. Not after the callous s**t he’d pulled downstairs. Irritation boiled in my veins, but beneath it lurked a deeper shame—hot, prickling my skin. This was the first time I’d ever touched myself like that in front of a man, baring my most secret hunger. And it wouldn’t shock me if he’d captured it all on those CCTVs, plotting to send the footage to Mommy as his next twisted weapon.

“Are you just going to stare at me like that?” I snapped after five agonizing minutes, my voice edged with irritation.

“Just checking if you passed out. You were burning up earlier. Now you’ve got a fever.”

“What do you care about? It’d be better if I died quicker—end this misery.”

I tugged the polo down, but it clung to my sweat-slicked skin like a second layer of shame, sticky and suffocating. I ached to peel it off, but what else did I have to wear?

“Do you want to change?”

It was like he’d plucked the thought from my mind, his voice low and knowing.

“Do you have clothes to give me?”

“Of course. Borrow mine.” He nodded to a massive cabinet across the room.

I crossed it and yanked it open. Guns stared back—rows of them, gleaming in various sizes and shapes, barrels promising death.

“The other side, Estella,” he said, patience fraying.

“You’re not an i***t, are you? Why leave guns in your room? What if I use one on you?”

My breath hitched as his heat pressed against my back, his body eclipsing mine in the cabinet’s full-length mirror. His massive frame swallowed my reflection, dark and dominant.

“First, I’m not stupid. Those guns are empty—no bullets. Second, I doubt you know how to shoot. Too much of a pampered princess. Your parents never handed you a piece.”

“Because they never dreamed a demon like you would drag an innocent girl like me into hell,” I bit out, venom lacing every word.

He slammed the cabinet shut, trapping us in that mirrored cage. Our eyes locked in the glass—his burning with dark promise, mine wide with defiance.

“Innocent? I doubt it. That’s not what I saw earlier, Estella.”

“You’re the reason I’m tainted like this. Don’t pretend you’re shocked I can do those things, Killian. You pulled me into your world—watch me thrive in it.”

His hand wrapped around my throat, firm but not crushing, igniting sparks down my spine. I gasped as his rock-hard c**k nudged against my ass—thick, insistent, demanding entry like a weapon forged for ruin.

“I can’t wait to see it, princess,” he growled into my ear, breathing hot against my skin. “Your wings turning black. Growing your own demon.”

I wrenched his hand away, snatching an oversized T-shirt from the shelf before fleeing to the bathroom. The shower scalded away the stickiness, but not the fever weighing my limbs like lead. When I emerged, towel-dried and drowning in his shirt that skimmed my thighs, he was gone. I collapsed into the demon’s bed, surrendering to sleep’s pull.

Darkness cloaked the room when a rustle jolted me awake. A hot palm glided up my knee, tracing fire between my thighs—possessive, unyielding.

“Stop!” I cried, but our eyes met in the shadows—his dark, feral.

“What are you doing?”

In all my hours in his lair, this was the first time terror clawed my gut so viciously. His gaze promised he’d take what he wanted tonight, resistance be damned.

“You really don’t want me inside you?”

I couldn’t answer. I wanted to shake my head, scream he had no right to touch me—but a lump choked my throat. My body betrayed me, traitorous heat pooling low.

“How about you touch my c**k instead?” Desperation roughened his voice, raw and edged.

My eyes dropped. Even in the dim light, I made out the thick bronze shaft straining from his pants, glistening at the tip like a sinful invitation to wrap my fingers around it, to taste.

He sighed heavily. I glanced up—flames roared hotter in his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

I couldn’t believe it as his hand fisted his c**k, stroking slowly at first, then building rhythm. He thumbed his head, smearing pre-c*m that caught the faint light, my throat drying with sandpaper.

“You sure you don’t want to help?” he taunted, voice a velvet lure.

I snorted. “You didn’t help me earlier. Handle it alone.”

“Ohh. Didn’t know you were waiting for me,” he teased, unleashing a guttural groan as his strokes quickened, hips thrusting into his grip.

My palm itched to shove him down, to milk that sword and lap the pearls beading from the tip. I wanted to push him away—or pull him closer? Sanity screamed retreat, but it had abandoned me long ago.

Killian’s head fell back, strokes turning savage—f*****g his hand with brutal need. I swallowed hard, knuckling white on the sheets, fighting the urge to reach for him. His strokes blurred into frenzy, muscles corded under his skin, until a guttural roar ripped from his throat. He aimed his c**k right at me—my eyes flew wide as ropes of hot, white c*m splattered across my skin. One thick bead landed at the corner of my mouth, salty and forbidden. Before I could stop myself, my tongue darted out, swiping it away, savoring the forbidden tang like a secret sin.

Our eyes locked. He’d seen it all—the lick, the swallow. Shame should have burned me alive, but instead, a reckless boldness surged, fueling my stare-down with him, unblinking, unyielding.

Killian shoved me flat on the bed, his body crashing over mine like a storm breaking. His mouth claimed me in a searing kiss, ravenous and punishing—each brush against my stitched lip drawing sharp gasps of pain-laced pleasure from deep in my chest. His hand slithered down my body, invading the slick heat between my thighs. I couldn’t deny it: I was soaked, pulsing for him, my traitorous p***y clenching around nothing.

“I’ll wait for the day you crawl into my bed yourself, Estella,” he rasped against my lips, voice gravel and promise. “Just like our first meeting, when you didn’t know me yet. You’ll come to me, beg me to ram into you again—bury every inch on top of you until you break.”

He pulled away slowly, deliberately, as if nothing had happened—as if he hadn’t just unraveled us both. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the shadowed room.

But why did it feel like he was still here? Why did the ghost of his hand linger on my throbbing p***y, branding me with heat that refused to fade?