Alpha's Cruel Addiction

Killorn finally glanced down at her loveliness. Her slender shoulders resembled a swan, her skin as smooth as cream, and her lovely breasts raised with each breath. Ophelia was nothing less than a goddess, and he was a willing worshiper.

"Let me kiss you, Ophelia," Killorn requested through a hoarse voice thick with desire, his eyes filled with intense heat.

Truthfully, Killorn didn't need to ask for permission. She was still his wife. They were married before a holy church and said their vows, even if she looked like she was dragged to the altar screaming and kicking. He refused to break the sacred vows exchanged between them.

"Just a kiss," Killorn muttered, but his tone was much gruffer and darker. "I will be gentle."

"P-please treat me kindly," Ophelia mumbled, her heart lurching out of her chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. That was all she could hear—the sound of blood rushing in her ears. She was nervous, for it'd be her first kiss.

Ophelia slowly reached for him and he caught her with his other hand. He said it was a kiss, but she blinked and was on her back.

The mattress underneath them was soft and felt nothing like the nightmare from earlier in the night.

Killorn peered at her. She was a sight to behold. Her golden hair was sprawled before him, her eyes soft and tender, and her ample chest rose with each breath. Just her face alone was addictive, her expression alluring, and he was anguished by not seeing her for two years.

They hadn't done anything yet, but Killorn was already hard and persistent.

"You are everything I ever need and want, Ophelia." His voice was hoarse, revealing a hunger that frightened her. It was impossible not to be driven to insanity when a wife was as lovely as Ophelia.

Ophelia's mind went slack. His proximity, his words, his intense stare, she couldn't think properly. When he bent his head, his breath cooly washed over her face, smelling of spearmint.

"Just a kiss o-or…?" Ophelia couldn't even hear her own voice.

Her heart spiked unnaturally, pounding against her chest. She wanted nothing more but to connect their lips, but was worried she'd find herself desiring more. What would he say to that? Her husband was a dangerous man with the desires of a beast. Could she satisfy him? Could she give him what he needed? What he wanted?

Before Ophelia could get lost in her daydream, Killorn pressed his lips to her forehead. She froze, her eyes growing wide.

"O-oh…" Ophelia's mind went blank. She felt mushy and sappy on the inside, her stomach fluttering. Heat spread throughout her entire body. Her eyes watered again at the overwhelming emotion. No one had ever done that for her.

Ophelia thought he wanted something besides that. His mouth lingered on her forehead, soft and warm, but it seared an imprint inside of her forever.

Ophelia felt all of her anxiety melt away. She let out a shaky breath, clutching his upper arms for relief. Closing her eyes, she could feel words said between them without being spoken.

The simple connection felt more than a kiss.

"W-will you stay with me?" Ophelia weakly asked, in fear that he'd leave her.

"Why?" Killorn shot back. His expression was bitter and cruel, her heart shattering on the spot. Her eyes widened and she couldn't find anything to tell him.

"I-I have nothing to offer you," Ophelia admitted, her throat tightening. She felt small and wished to dig a hole to be buried in and never seen alive.

Killorn pulled away. "Ophelia, that wasn't what I meant."

Ophelia was hurt by his rejection. Her lower lips trembled and she tried her best to not show her pain. Her chest prickled as if thorns grew out of her skin. He was both furious and disappointed by her. What could she say or do to fix her mistakes?

"Will you help me undress?" Ophelia finally mumbled, causing his head to snap towards her. There was one thing she could give him for now. It was the only thing she could think of.

"You—" Killorn cut himself off. Without warning, Ophelia took off her dress.

His breath hitched. He glanced down and saw her thighs pressed intimately together. She was his to touch. His to pleasure. She was in nothing, but a thin frock that showed her bare skin and undergarments that showed off her slender thighs.

"Come here." Killorn grabbed the hem of her chemise and helped it over her arms. Then, he lowered her underwear. She was dripping. He nearly marked her right then and there.

Ophelia shivered against the exposed air, her skin pebbled with goosebumps. She covered her breasts and tried to hide her lower region.

Suddenly, he roughly gripped her wrists.

"Do not force yourself." Killorn's behavior was as astounding as snow in summer, his breath cool as mint, but his voice rigid as jagged rocks. He realized what she was doing and it was working.

"If you don't want to, put on your clothes right now," he hoarsely said, his eyes growing dimmer by the second.

Everything Killorn ever wanted was right in front of him. The girl that he could only watch from afar, the silver hair he could only admire, but never touch. He yearned for every inch of her. She was within reach now, but he had to remind her of the consequences. Once he began, he didn't plan to stop. No. He refused to.

"I want to," Ophelia whispered slowly and deliberately, so she didn't stutter.

Ophelia understood no matter what she did, he would never be pleased by her action. He reassured her with his words, but their story was bound to be a short and heartbreaking one. She could already feel it.

The day Killorn laid eyes on her at the wedding, Ophelia knew she'd only burden him.

Killorn was as splendid as the dazzling sun with the power to clear the skies. He was as enchanting as the full moon she'd kneel and pray to. He shined with a brilliance that no one could hide. Masculine and rough, he was every little boy's hero. A man that was destined to have many, for no-one could ever deny him.

Even if it was a passing moment, even if their marriage would be brief, Ophelia wanted to remember. There would not be a single moment in her life that she wouldn't think of him.

"I am willing," Ophelia continued, despite the tremble of her heart and his fearsome glower. She stretched her arms up to him and linked her hands behind his neck. He stiffened, despite her light touch.

"Ophelia," he groaned. "You do not have to force yourself. Get up."

"I'm not being forced." Ophelia's lips trembled.

"You look like you're held at knife-point."

"P-please," Ophelia repeated, peering helplessly at him. She didn't know what she was begging for. His forgiveness to wed another? His affection? His piercing warmth?

"Ophelia," he warned in a raspy voice that sent shivers down her spine. "I can barely hold myself back. If you want to leave, I suggest you do it now. When we start, I won't stop."

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