Alpha's Cruel Addiction

Chapter 128  I Consider You A Donkey

Ophelia was grateful to see Janette down the hallways. Janette paced outside of the bedroom. At the sight of them, Janette hurried forward, bowing her head in greetings.

"Please run a hot bath for us if there are enough resources," Ophelia murmured before pulling Killorn into the room. He sat by her vanity, back facing the mirror and eyes drawn to her as she pulled out her nightgown and his sleeping trousers. She laid everything carefully upon the bed, feeling his attention trained to her at all times. The task must've been mundane to him, for he said nothing.

Soon, Janette came upstairs with other maids, and a bath was thoroughly prepared alongside all the necessary tools. "C-come, you could use the h-hot water," Ophelia stated, pulling him to his full height with a sheepish smile. He stood tall, his gaze piercing and emotionless. She didn't know what to do, as he was rarely silent.

Ophelia pulled off his shirt from her body and dropped her undergarments onto the floor, back turned as she descended into the water. Whether drawn by her bold antics or raw hunger, he obliged seconds after, kicking off his pants, shoes, and boots, then climbed inside. Ophelia's lips twitched at how quickly the water level rose with his giant frame. He seated himself by the corner of the tube, knees propped up, staring at her expectantly. There was only one place he'd allow her to be, and it was between his powerful thighs.

"B-bend your head, let me help you wash your hair," Ophelia instructed, picking up the towel and pouring a good amount of shampoo. Resting her weight on her knees, she timidly approached him. He snorted at her words, but clutched ahold of her hips, as she cleaned his head. Ophelia was mesmerized by how soft and silky his raven strands were. She was acutely aware of a throbbing tip pressed against her legs, but wisely chose to ignore it as she rinsed the soap from his scalp. Killorn latched his mouth upon her exposed, perk n*pples. She flinched, gasping as he leaned forward, teasingly wrapping his tongue upon the bead and drawing her lower.

"W-wait—" Killorn pulled back, resting his face against the valley of her breasts. Ophelia exhaled, her heart threatening to bounce out of her throat. She shakingly continued taking care of her husband. With his rough thumb, he drew sensual, slow circles on her hips, smirking against her skin when her legs trembled.

Even so, Ophelia was diligent. She used a new cloth and cleaned him from back to shoulder. She tried to hide the quiver of her lashes when she'd run the material over faint scars reminiscent of whippings. She tried to not cry at the sight of his old wounds, some too faded to be marks earned from battle. As her hand lowered, so did his advances towards her. He patiently allowed her to explore, to touch every sensitive subject on his sculpted form, forged with muscles honed by years of rigorous training and battle. She saw the healing wounds inflicted from the previous attack and exhaled.

"D-does it still hurt?" Ophelia mumbled.

"Not when you touch it," Killorn returned, pulling her down, the water now soapy with her efforts. His voice was tinged with a mixture of restraint and relief, as he tried not to unravel the haunted past. The scars left on his soul were irreparable, but he had healed with time. "Your presence is all I need, Ophelia, you are my sanctuary."

Ophelia's heart squeezed. Could she truly provide him that soft comfort? A safe space, where his pain could be acknowledged and accepted? In the soft glow of candlelight, Ophelia found herself drawn to him. His rugged features, typically etched with intimidation, were softened with assurance. She clasped her hands behind his neck, her fingertips trembling with tenderness. "Will you tell me about your childhood?" Ophelia whispered, resting her forehead over his.

"Whatever you wish to know."

"Everything," Ophelia stroked his jaw with her thumb. Time seemed to slow, their breaths mingling in the little space between them. She pressed her lips upon his, a gentle caress, delicate and curious of exploring his vulnerability. He released a low, guttural groan, squeezing her waist. His touch was soft, yet charged with a current that sent waves through her body.

The world melted away, leaving nothing, but the two of them. With each passing second, the kiss deepened as she began to learn. Their mouths moved in sync, discovering and savoring each sensation, her breath escaping in pants. The sensation was overwhelming to Ophelia once more, as pleasure found its way to her core. Bodies melted together, she sank into his lap.

There were unspoken secrets in the kiss, a silent understanding. A whisper of longing perhaps, or was it reassurance they weren't alone anymore? Their mouths molded together, a perfect fit, as if the universe crafted their souls solely to meet each other.

As their mouths parted away, they remained locked, suspended in time, the kiss lingering. Bewitched in a moment of breathless connection, Ophelia met his gaze and saw her reflection tucked upon the folds of gold. The eyes were the window to the soul, and she saw herself within it. "The water is getting cold, my sweet wife." Killorn lifted her with ease, carrying her like a princess. She held onto his shoulders and swallowed as he dressed her. His motion was fluid and precise, careful not to tug anything too hard or hurt her with his strength.

After dressing himself, Killorn pulled her under the heavy covers of their blankets. He laid down, staring up at the ceiling, palm stroking the side of her body, whilst she laid her face on his chest. Her eyelids grew heavy with each passing second. "My father used to beat me." n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Ophelia raised her head. Killorn was already watching her. He always was.

"And my mother whenever she'd try to defend me," Killorn stated. "Or, just for breathing."

Ophelia's heart squeezed. "He'd lock her in their bedroom, where her screams would echo from midnight to dawn, and I'd be outside, banging at their doors begging him for mercy and to take it out on me instead," Killorn echoed. "Eventually, she shut down. She was just a shell, lacking all emotions and responses."

Ophelia didn't dare to speak. She buried herself against him, hugging him tightly, face pressed into his neck. His chest rumbled as he spoke, his arms weaving around her body with great need.

"It was as if she was dead, yet alive," Killorn gritted, his hand tangled in her hair. He ran his fingers through her silver locks out of habit. "I couldn't blame her for it. The less she reacted, the less she got punished. He then took his anger out on my siblings, but I was the oldest. I let myself take a beating in their place." Ophelia was dizzy. She pictured little Killorn, young and defenseless. Unable to shield himself or his mother. Unable to do anything, but take it all in.

"He was a Duke by title, but penniless and powerless. He was the Alpha, and no one dared to challenge him. No one dared to intervene. And I didn't blame them, it was the Wolf's Sovereignty." Killorn pressed his mouth to her head. "My mother died when I was very young of an illness no one knew about. My father sent me off to war expeditions when I was only thirteen."

Ophelia's throat closed. "When I returned, more than a decade had passed," Killorn continued. "I returned to find Maribelle battered and bruised, just days before I married you. The morning after we consummated the marriage, I was summoned back home where I killed him with my bare hands. I spared my siblings." Ophelia didn't know what to say. Siblings…? She always thought it was Maribelle.

"In the past two years before I returned to you, I slaughtered everyone that stood in my way to become Alpha… and that included my sickly younger brother who challenged me for the position. I spared him mercy, and he lured me to a cliff in an attempt to kill me, but slipped and fell to his death instead," Killorn released a bitter laugh.

No wonder Ophelia never heard even a whisper of Killorn's other sibling. "I wiped him from history, no one really knew much of him, except the ghost of a boy who always lived in the deepest part of the dukedom. My father was ashamed that he had such a weak and sick son, of all things," Killorn concluded. "Now, here I stand, with no other family, except you and Maribelle."

"Y-you consider me family?" Ophelia echoed, pulling back to reveal a slight smile.

"No, I consider you a donkey," Killorrn snorted, rolling his eyes at her foolish question. "You are my wife, what else would you be, but my family?" Ophelia couldn't help the small grin that split her face. "A-and we can expand it," she whispered. "W-with many children that'd run around t-the house, preferably with your f-features and laughter."

Killorn chuckled at her excitement, the ways her eyes danced like the stars as she envisioned the mini versions of him wrecking chaos in the hallways. When he thought of his future, all he could see was her, no one else. Just her alone would suffice. "Then, we should get to making them," Killorn mused, curling a finger under her chin and bringing her closer. "A-aren't you tired?" Ophelia reasoned. "F-from all of the fighting a-and you barely healed—"

"I have enough energy to tire you out all night long, Ophelia. Now, get onto your knees, my sweet wife."