To have someone strong, handsome, and brutal do such acts with her… it not only fueled her lust, but also her pride and envy.
This was a treatment that was reserved for her and her alone!
Adam continued this slow, sensual exploration; licking a hot path up the column of her neck, nipping gently at her earlobe, before turning her head to capture her lips in a deep kiss that was devoid of violence, filled only with a shocking, passionate hunger.
Lyra was utterly defenseless.
Her body, which had been accustomed to tense for impact, to expect a brutal fucking, instead melted under this unexpected onslaught of tenderness.
"Mhhmmm?"
A soft, broken whimper escaped her, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and pleasure.
Her mind, so used to calculating survival and defiance, went blissfully, wonderfully blank.
There was only sensation.
The heat of his chest against her back.
The skilled, knowing movements of his hands, one now drifting lower, past her clenched and her supple thighs, to find her already wet and aching folds. The other continued its delicious torture on her breast.
She could feel him: the hard, thick length of his erection pressing insistently against the valley of her ass, a blunt, hot promise of what was to come.
It was a testament to his desire for her, and it sent a fresh wave of dizzying heat through her.
His fingers played her body like a delicate instrument.
They stroked her clit with a precision that made her thighs tremble, dipped inside her slit, before retreating to trace teasing, possessive circles around the tight, forbidden pucker of her anus.
The combination of sensations was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that built up with an unbearable intensity.
She was losing herself, her hips beginning to move against his hand of their own accord, chasing the feeling, relishing in his touch.
Their bodies a concoction of heat and passion.
"Uhhnnggg!"
The climax was nothing like the violent, pain-laced releases of before.
Her body used to the so physically brutalized climaxes, that the softness of her climax came as a startle to her.
It washed over her gently, yet with a strength that stole her breath.
It was a deep, rolling wave of pure ecstasy that made her arch against him, a silent cry on her lips as her body convulsed around his fingers, her core clenching rhythmically around nothing, desperate to be filled.
In the throbbing, sensitive aftermath of her climax, she lay boneless and panting in his arms, as he held her close; their lips and tongues exploring each other, their unique horns gently rubbing against one another.
The air was thick with the scent of their passion, of sweet sweat, and her arousal.
Adam nuzzled to her ear, his breath hot against her skin, his voice, a low and intimate, vibrating through her very bones, whispered a single, devastating question.
"Did you miss me?"
The words, so simple, so arrogantly possessive, shattered the last of her defenses.
"… Sigh~" Lyra, the vengeful elf, the proud newborn devil, could only let out a shuddering, breathy sigh.
She turned her head slightly, her silver-mercury eyes, now soft and dazed with pleasure, meeting his burning gaze.
There were no words of defiance left.
Instead, she captured his lips in a desperate, hungry, passionate kiss; her body pressing back against his in a silent, unmistakable answer.
She had not just missed him; in that moment, she couldn't imagine existing without this terrifying, intoxicating pleasure, of his possession.
The intellectual resistance, the ghost of her former self that clung to notions of violation, trauma, and revenge had been utterly annihilated: for him at least.
For he was an exception.
When Adam's mouth and his tongue intertwined with hers, Lyra did not stiffen or turn away.
She melted.
"Mmhhmmm~"
A low moan was captured by his lips as she rubbed against him, her body arching to meet the hard, sexy muscles of his chest.
The kiss was not just a submission; it was a claiming of her own, a desperate, hungry acceptance of an addiction she no longer had any desire to fight.
She was acutely aware of the psychological terms, the mortal concepts that flitted at the edges of her consciousness like gnats.
Imprinting.
Stockholm syndrome.
They were pathetic, mortal words for a mortal experience; utterly inadequate to describe the profound, soul-deep reconfiguration happening within her.
She was being remade.
If this was a sickness, she craved the fever.
If it was a chain, she worshipped the binds.
She didn't know the devilish term for it, branding, but even if she had, it wouldn't have mattered.
The specifics were irrelevant.
The reality was an all-consuming fire in her blood, a desperate, clawing need that had become the core of her existence.
This intoxicating drug hadn't been sipped; it had been brutally forced down her throat, a torrent of overwhelming power and sensation that had drowned her old self.
More aptly, it had been hammered into the very core of her being, shoved ruthlessly into her virgin cunt until it ruptured not just her body, but her will and soul; leaving a void that was now being filled with a terrifying, glorious connection.
This was the dark, primal courtship of hell: a violent seizure of power and flesh, where the strongest took, and the conquered, if they were wise, learned to rewrite their very desires to crave the hand that had shattered them.
So long as the spark of survival remained, the victim's spirit would twist itself into a new shape, finding a perverse ecstasy in its own subjugation.
Only by having strength and experience could one fight off an unfair branding, a parasitic infection.
Though Adam's branding was of good terms, and his infection was symbiotic, beneficial even. For all she received, from her perspective, she had to give nothing.
Adam taking her body now seemed like a reward or luxury.
That was why Lyra, her spirit forged in the fires of a previous life's helplessness, was falling faster and harder than most.
She was inexperienced in both lives, while the branding, in hells terms, was of a good quality, or equality. It gave her authority, protection, and pleasure; which was more than she could have hoped for.
Lost in the heat of his kiss, she pressed herself back against him, her movements winding and deliberate.
The lush, round curves of her ass molded against the rock-hard, intimidating girth of his cock; the naked flesh of their bodies creating heat and sweat from the friction.
She could feel the potent, throbbing erection of him against her sensitive flesh, against the valley of her buttocks.
She ground against him, a slow, circular undulation of her hips that was both an invitation and a demand, her body speaking a language of raw need that her voice had only just begun to learn.
Her sleek, black tail wrapped around his waist as if she were afraid that he would pull away.
"Hah~ haa~"
When she finally broke the kiss, a bridge of saliva connected their lips, while her silver-mercury eyes were glazed, her breath coming in soft, ragged pants.
Just as Adam was intoxicated with her beauty, Lyra was attracted to his handsomeness. Her eyes lustfully appreciated his handsome face, to his defined muscles, and even to the size and girth of the cock that brought her so much pleasure.
Finally, a single, devastating sentence escaped her beautiful, kiss-swollen lips; whispered against his mouth in a tone that was both gentle and commanding, laced with a hidden, vulnerable worry that he might refuse her.
"I want you to fuck me."
The games were over.
The strategies, the pride, the hesitant negotiations of power; she cast them all aside.
Her desire was a pure, simple, and direct.
She disliked the demonesses vying for his attention.
She disliked feeling challenged.
But this need for him, for the feeling of his massive girth stretching her impossibly wide, for the breathtaking fullness that walked the edge between pain and pleasure; this was what she wanted.
Her desires and dislikes were clear as day.
And in her new world, carved from conquest and dark desire, she saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
To be true to oneself, that was the devils way.