The Captive Widow

The man loomed over her like a mountain.

Isabella Roscente felt a visceral disgust toward him.

Even after he had licked her clitoris for over ten minutes, she remained dry and unaroused.

At her entrance, there was no trace of her own moisture, only his saliva.

Using that meager wetness, he pulled down his pants, lifted one of her legs, aligned his erection with her slit, and forced himself inside her.

The lack of lubrication made it excruciatingly painful for Isabella.

She furrowed her brows tightly, her beautiful face contorted in silent agony.

"Does it hurt?" The man reached out to touch her cheek.

Isabella turned her face away, avoiding his touch.

Her revulsion was palpable.

He chuckled softly, seemingly accustomed to her resistance.

He slowly withdrew a portion of his length, then gradually pushed back in.

After repeating this several times, he observed her reaction.

Compared to her previous stubborn aversion, Isabella's expression had changed.

A flush of desire colored her cheeks, and her body grew soft and warm.

She clenched her fists, desperately trying to suppress any sound.

He chuckled again, lowered his head, and kissed her lips, red as peach blossoms.

"Don't hold back. Let me hear you."

Regardless of whether she heeded his words or continued her futile struggle against her own body's instincts, he held her firmly and began thrusting into her with deep, powerful strokes.

Oh, so good.

So tight, so slick. Her inner walls clenched his thick shaft perfectly.

It felt so incredible he could die right there on top of this woman.

At thirty years old, and having given birth before, she was tighter than a virgin.

This woman was a natural-born temptress, created just for him to fuck and to possess.

The long violation finally ended.

As was his habit, he released his thick, white semen deep inside her.

Then, he placed a pillow beneath her hips, increasing the chances of conception.

He wanted her to bear his child.

"If you like children, then have one for me. Stop thinking about your son. He is doing just fine. The more you dwell on him, the worse things might become for him." He had told her this once.

Later, he decided that having this woman carry a child of his bloodline would be a good thing.

So, from then on, he always finished inside her.

Lying flat on the bed, her hair disheveled, her naked body covered in love bites, she remained in whatever position he had left her.

Her eyes, vacant and lifeless, stared at the white ceiling.

She seemed to be lost in thought, or perhaps too exhausted to think at all.

The man covered her with the duvet, kissed her cheek, and left.

A moment later, she threw off the covers, got up, and rushed into the bathroom.

She knelt on the floor, leaning over the toilet bowl, and vomited violently.

She felt sick.

The thought of his sperm swimming inside her filled her with utter disgust.

She stood up, grabbed the showerhead, and crouched down again.

Spreading her legs, she expressionlessly began digging her fingers into her vagina, reaching as deep as she could.

She scrubbed and rinsed, trying to wash every trace of him out.

She absolutely did not want to bear his child.

He was a demon. Her enemy.

She would not carry his child.

She had a child. Her son. Her Jacob...

Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her stunning face like broken pearls.

She was imprisoned here by that man.

The door wasn't locked. There were no guards outside.

If she wanted to leave, she could simply walk out.

Yet, she never dared to step beyond the threshold.

Because he held Jacob.

She had resisted before.

Believing her beauty was the cause of her torment, attracting the wrong kind of attention, she once grabbed a knife intending to disfigure herself.

He stopped her in a rage.

He said, "If you cut your face, an identical scar will appear on Jacob's face. Go ahead, try it."

She didn't dare test his words.

She had also begged him.

She knelt on the floor, weeping and pleading for him to release her and her son.

Holding a glass of red wine, he looked down at her kneeling, crying form.

"Blame yourself for being the one woman I couldn't obtain through normal means."

It had been nearly a year.

The Sullivan estate was vast.

Apart from the nights he returned to force himself on her, she spent her days alone in this castle-like prison.

She used this time, over and over, to piece together what had happened.

Daniel's death was too sudden.

The police said he accidentally wandered into a gang shootout and was killed by a stray bullet.

But Daniel was a grown man. Why would he approach a firefight instead of running away?

There were no surveillance cameras at the scene. No one knew what truly happened.

Not long after Daniel's funeral, Alexander Sullivan had his men abduct her and bring her here.