Chapter 53: Kiss My Bruises
André lifted her tied hand, the silk cravat digging faintly into her delicate skin. His lips pressed against her knuckles, slow and lingering, as if he were kissing away pain he had caused himself. Each kiss was tender, reverent, deliberate. He traced his mouth along her bruised wrist, gentle like a lover making an apology. His breath was warm against her skin, his eyes burning with obsession masked as devotion. Every soft kiss carried a dangerous sweetness, like poison hidden in honey, promising both comfort and ruin.
Vivienne wanted to scream. What the fuck is he doing? Her mind was cursing, clawing, spitting. Just fuck me already. Enough with this soft bullshit. Stop kissing me like some pathetic romantic. This isn’t love. This is torture. God, he’s insane. He’s insane and I’m trapped. But her lips curved into the sweetest smile she could fake. Her lashes fluttered, her mouth opened in a soft sigh. She tilted her head, pretending to melt. She looked like a woman drunk on love, even though every nerve in her body wanted to punch him.
He moved closer, kissing her mouth softly, tenderly, like the world’s most foolish romantic. His lips brushed against hers, wet and slow, his tongue teasing just enough to make her gasp. Then his mouth wandered, sliding down to her jaw, then to her throat, kissing and sucking every inch of skin as if she were the most delicious fruit. Each kiss was slow, sucking lightly, savoring her taste. He kissed her collarbone, her shoulders, even the swell of her breasts, worshiping her body with the hunger of a starving man pretending to be gentle.
When he finally pushed into her, he did it like a saint who didn’t want to break her. He moved slowly, carefully, whispering, "I love you so much, I love you, Vivienne," over and over, each word spilling against her skin like a curse disguised as devotion. His thrusts began slow, deliberate, like he was trying to stretch out eternity with every movement. Vivienne trembled beneath him, her tied wrists aching, her breath catching in her throat. She cursed herself, hating her body for betraying her. She wanted to resist, to stay cold, to laugh in his face. But her body melted against him, arching and shivering with each gentle push. Her moans slipped out without permission, helpless, raw, real. She bit her lip, but then another cry escaped, soft and broken. She cursed herself again, tears of frustration pricking the corners of her eyes, yet her body still begged for more. "Harder," she whispered, surprising herself. "Go deeper... harder..." Her own voice betrayed her, desperate and shaking. Her thighs tightened around him, her body betraying her hatred, begging him for the very thing she swore she didn’t want.
He bent close, pressing his lips to her ear, whispering, "I love you so much, Vivienne. I love you. I can’t live without you." His voice cracked with dangerous sincerity, like he meant every word, like his soul was attached to hers. He whispered it again and again, his thrusts pushing deeper, his voice breaking into her until the words felt like chains binding her soul to his.
Her wrists ached, the rope digging into her flesh. Every move made her hands burn. But she threw her head back and moaned louder, pretending she loved it. She let her voice rise with his rhythm, moaning his name like a woman completely in love. "André," she cried out, her voice desperate, sweet, trembling. She hated herself, but her moans only grew louder.
André’s eyes burned as he looked at her. He saw through her completely, every fake moan, every forced sigh, every sweet smile. He knew she was pretending. He knew she was lying. And yet, he was addicted. Her lies were sweeter than truth. Her fake devotion was better than honest love. He wanted her resistance, her rebellion, her deceit. He wanted to consume it all. He kissed her hard, biting her lips, thrusting harder as if trying to eat her lies, to swallow every false word and every secret thought she dared hide from him.
He slowed again, breaking her carefully. His lips trailed down her throat, kissing her neck, tasting her collarbone. He moved lower, his mouth hot against her chest. He kissed the swell of her breasts, licking her skin with deliberate slowness. His tongue circled one nipple, sucking slowly, torturing her with gentle pulls. Then the other, his mouth wrapping around her, sucking deeply, making her arch despite herself. Each suck was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to pull every moan from her chest. He was still thrusting into her, harder now, but controlled, keeping rhythm while his mouth worked on her breasts. Her whole body shook, her legs quivering, her breaths broken. She should be falling apart by now, he thought. She should be nothing but melted submission. And yet, she still trembled with that dangerous spark in her eyes.
He kissed her harder, sucking on her nipples until her back arched wildly. He thrust deeper, harder, his body grinding into hers, his mouth never stopping. She gasped, moaning helplessly, her chest heaving. She was trembling from his touch, from his kisses, from his relentless pace. He thought she should have broken by now. She should have been destroyed by his devotion, his obsession, his madness. But when he looked at her face, he froze.
There it was. That mischievous smile. Sweet, soft, deadly. Her lips curved as if she were in love, as if she adored him, but her eyes glimmered with defiance. She was planning something. He knew it. "This bitch is fucking crazy," he thought, his chest shaking with laughter he didn’t let escape. She was wild, feral, dangerous. But she was his. He pressed deeper, harder, holding her wrists tighter. "My little thief," he thought, "there’s nothing you can do. You are mine. You are under my control. Every smile, every lie, every moan—it all belongs to me."
Vivienne closed her eyes briefly, her body still betraying her, still moaning, still trembling. Her mind sharpened into one clear, burning thought. I’ll show you how crazy I can be.