As I focused on the sensation of her tightness, I failed to notice what was happening until my pants became wet. I looked up at her and saw that she seemed to be holding her breath. Fear flickered in her eyes, and I realized she must have thought I wanted to harm her. She probably assumed I was angry about what just happened, but the truth was far from that. She wasn't even supposed to know that I enjoyed it so much.

No woman I'd ever been in a relationship with had ever done that, though I was curious to see what it would be like. Would she do it again if I stimulated her again? I wanted to test if I was right, but the look on her face told me she'd want to be anywhere but here.

She felt guilty about what had transpired, so as soon as our eyes met, she looked away in shame.

I was tempted to make her go through the process again, but I knew that only I would find pleasure in it, and I wanted her to enjoy it as well.

Her submissive demeanor had caught me off guard, although she couldn't resist teasing me now and then. Being around her felt different compared to other women; I found myself at ease in her presence.

I had always been afraid of being rejected by women, so I had never dared to engage in this kind of sexual interaction before. But with her, it felt different. I realized this the moment she disobeyed my request not to touch the knives and instead reached for them with a mischievous glint in her eye.

She surely treated Blaze the same way, and I'm certain they've been intimate multiple times already. It makes me question why I can act so friendly towards her as if nothing has happened between them. I pull out of her, losing all desire to continue our sexual encounter. I shouldn't have let thoughts of Blaze enter my mind...

Now was the perfect opportunity to test her limits with this type of torment. I quickly zipped up my pants and strolled over to the box on the bed, selecting another item from it. Her fear hadn't lessened in the slightest; if anything, it only intensified as time passed without a word from me. I tried to recall if I had ever encountered a woman who was both terrified of me and simultaneously urged me on. 

No one came to mind.

I reached into the box and retrieved a wooden rod, roughly the width of a finger and as long as my arm. As I approached her, I noticed her face was draining color and her breathing was becoming more rapid. Clearly, she recognized what I was holding.

My hand traced over her backside, and she squirmed restlessly, pleading for forgiveness. The clamps on her tongue prevented her from speaking, but I could read the desperation in her eyes. Maybe this was my chance to release all of my pent-up anger without any major consequences. It wasn't right to cause her pain, but it was either that or something far worse. Without hesitating, I prodded her rear with the stick, eliciting a scream that sent a rush of arousal through me once again.

I couldn't help but feel satisfied as I saw the results of my actions, applying another stroke with precision. The sounds of her tears and screams were background noise to me now. Taking a moment to admire my handiwork, I ran my fingers over the marks I'd made before continuing. However, as I raised my hand for another strike, I noticed her body stiffening from the previous blows, and I paused for a moment to observe her reaction.

I had a feeling she was bracing herself for the next strike, but I didn't want to let her think she had the upper hand. So instead, I began kissing her hips, hoping to distract and relax her. But even when I focused on stimulating her clit, she remained tense and unresponsive.

The third strike came without warning, the sound of the stick hitting her skin reverberating off the walls. This time, she remained silent, and I strained to hear any sign of her breathing. As she fought to hold back tears, I couldn't help but watch in silence.

"Scarlett?" I tossed the stick onto the bed and turned to face her, watching for any sign of a response. I studied her reflection in the mirror, but she remained expressionless except for an occasional blink.

In a matter of minutes, everything seemed to have gone into chaos. Why wasn't she responding to me? I circled around her and stopped right in front, gently removing the clip from her tongue and wiping off the spit that had dribbled down her chin. Her eyes were glossy and filled with sorrow.

"Would you like to get down?" She nodded slightly, indicating yes.

Following her instructions, I remained silent as she sat in front of me on the bed. I carefully untied each rope, letting them fall to the floor. My fingers traced over the imprints they had left on her skin. I found them intriguing, but my mind was too preoccupied to focus on them at that moment.

I took a seat next to her and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. Suddenly, she burst into tears. I held onto her tighter, gently running my fingers through her hair. All I could do was hold her until she stopped crying. She looked up at me with tear-stained cheeks, and I leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose before pressing my lips against her forehead. We stayed in that embrace for a while, hugging each other tightly.

"How about you use the bathroom while I clean up the mess?", I suggested, running my trembling fingers through her hair once more. "After that, we can take a bath together," I added, hoping to soothe both of us.

I could feel my anger rising, directed inward at myself for being too forceful with her. But I knew I needed to keep it in check; snapping at her would only make things worse.

I assisted her as she struggled to the bathroom, her legs weak and unstable from being bound for so long. I quickly gathered the necessary toiletries and cleaned up the mess on the floor. All that was left was to toss my pants in the laundry and take a much-needed bath.

I tapped on the door, and she whispered for me to come in. She was propped against the bathroom counter, droplets of water falling from her beard onto her chest. Most likely, she was trying to catch her breath. I gazed at her, observing as she started rubbing her hands together again, just like she did last night at the club.

"Do you want to talk about it?', I asked her and to my surprise, she nodded yes.

Perhaps Kristopher had a point, and the likelihood of prying any details about her past from her increased if I treated her kindly and didn't push too hard. Even if I didn't uncover any significant information, it was important to help alleviate her current state of distress.

In the past, I had seen this behavior in other women who had been victims of rape. They would retreat into themselves and shut out the world, hoping to erase the traumatic experience. I desperately wanted to believe that I didn't do that to her. People could say whatever they wanted about me, but I knew I had never forced myself on a woman. I didn't want to lose the last remaining positive aspect of my character.

"First, go and start filling the bathtub with water. Then, take a look in the cupboards and see if there's anything we can add to make it more relaxing," I suggested with a knowing smile. "Liz always likes to stock up on all sorts of bath products."

She hesitated for a moment, and as I approached her, she appeared to want to retreat but was stopped by the sink behind her.

I reached for some tissues that I had stashed nearby and dampened them before gently wiping away the dried blood on her neck.

"It's just a surface wound. It should heal quickly without leaving a scar." I reassured her.

I spun her around and examined the wounds my blade had left on her. They weren't deep, but a few hours ago I nearly lost control, and I wanted to plunge the knife into her.

"Does it hurt?", I asked, pressing on it lightly.

"Yes, a little bit", she responded, waiting patiently to see what I'd do next.

"I'll handle it once we finish our bath," I whispered, kissing her shoulder and wrapping my arms around her. "I'll grab us some drinks from the bar downstairs, and then we can chat while we unwind, alright?" I added.

She seemed to relish this type of affection more than anything else. What had caused her to be so starved of such a basic emotion?

After I turned my back to her and left the bathroom, I heard the sound of running water. I made my way downstairs to the living room bar, where I quickly grabbed two stemmed glasses and a bottle of wine.

Despite my initial plans to take her out, it seemed like we would end up ordering food from Ashley instead. As I grabbed a bottle opener and made my way towards the stairs, I couldn't help but appreciate how much warmer and livelier the place felt with her here. I had been spending the majority of my time away from home, mostly just stopping by to shower and do laundry. But having her here changed everything—the emptiness and coldness that used to fill this space were gone—the same emptiness and coldness that used to fill me.

As I entered the bathroom, I spotted her sitting on the edge of the tub, delicately weaving her hair into a thick braid as she gazed out the window. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, casting a warm glow over her and enveloping her in a shimmering golden light.

Her auburn hair glowed in the light, resembling flames dancing around her head. I stood quietly in the doorway of the bathroom, admiring her beauty. Now that the initial excitement of sleeping with her had faded, I could truly appreciate the sight of her naked body up close.

Her freckles, which I couldn't get enough of, were sprinkled not just on her face but also across her chest. It almost seemed like they formed a constellation if you connected them together.

Her hands glided effortlessly through her hair, causing her nipples to become even more erect with each motion. I admired her piercings and tattoos, but I couldn't imagine she was the type of person who chose them for herself. Maybe she did it for someone else or because she wanted to be someone else entirely. However, I decided against speculating and told myself I would ask her about it when the opportunity arose.

My gaze traveled down to her stomach, where I noticed the same delicate white lines that adorned her hips and thighs. Personally, I found them beautiful, but I knew better than to express that to her. The last time I mentioned another woman's stretch marks, it didn't end well.

She showed no hesitation in remaining naked and didn't make any effort to hide herself when I walked into the bathroom earlier.

It would have been a waste if she had bothered to put on clothes. She looked just as stunning without them. I've been with women who appeared perfect when clothed, but once they were unclothed and we were intimate, there was nothing remarkable about them or their performance.

Some were so used that they couldn't even muster a moan.

I couldn't take my eyes off of her, but she suddenly turned her head and caught me staring at her. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and at that moment, I understood how she must have felt when I caught her looking at me while I was making coffee.

I left the wine bottle and glasses on the counter by the sink. Then, I grabbed a small glass coffee table from the bedroom and brought it into the bathroom, placing it next to the tub. Her eyes followed me as I placed the bottle and glasses on the table, opened the bottle, and poured the wine into each glass.

As I was about to undo my pants, she walked up to me and took care of it herself. She unbuttoned them, then unzipped the zipper, causing my pants to slip off. She then ran her fingers through the fabric of my boxers.

My arousal had faded, but her touch on my manhood reignited the longing to be inside her once more. She kissed me tentatively, as if afraid of losing me.

I responded eagerly, kissing her back and slipping my tongue into her mouth. She let out a soft moan, gently squeezing my testicles as we continued to kiss.

She rose up on her toes and started kissing my neck. It was the kind of feeling that sent tingles down my spine. She moved downward, tracing a trail over my pecs and abdomen, finally stopping just above the elastic band of my boxers. She teasingly pulled them off at a snail's pace, but I could tell she was having fun, so I didn't want to interrupt her flow.

She kneeled before me, taking my soft shaft in her hand and moving it up and down agonizingly slowly. Her tongue traced a path along my length before she delicately sucked on the tip.

Liz was the only other woman who had seen my penis at this point, but it seemed that Scarlett had now joined her. I was self-conscious about the size of my penis and preferred for women to only see it when it was erect during intimate moments.

She kept going at my cock at a slow, sensual pace. Now and then, she would glance up at me and switch to stroking it instead. Each time her tongue flicked against my skin, my legs trembled uncontrollably. I had given up on getting any sexual action from her, at least not for the time being, but it seemed she had other plans.

She paused for a moment before resuming her oral exploration of my cock, gliding her tongue all over it. She then moved on to my testicles, gently cupping them in her mouth and sucking on them with care.

The current experience felt much more satisfying than the first, especially since she was now completely sober.

She took me in her mouth again, going deeper than before and feeling the tightness of her throat around me. As someone who typically enjoys fast and rough sex, she was making me reconsider my preferences. The slow pace allowed for a thousand times more pleasure.

The pleasure I received from the woman I was with was multiplied by a thousand when she reciprocated the same level of pleasure. However, she seemed to be enjoying it even more than me, and I felt the need to make up for that. It was tempting to take control and push myself further into her mouth, but no one had ever performed oral sex on me like that before.

I couldn't stop watching her; every little movement and gesture caught my attention. I found myself fixated on her pink, glistening lips, just like I had on those nights when I couldn't resist the urge to pleasure myself while imagining her. Out of all the women in my life, Scarlett and Liz were the only ones who sparked these intense desires within me. I couldn't explain why my brain chose them as its targets for this activity, but it seemed to have its own criteria that I didn't fully understand.

"Scarlett..." I moaned her name, feeling myself getting closer and closer to my climax.

I wasn't sure where I wanted to cum more—on her face? on her tits?... or maybe in her mouth?...

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." I growled, closing my eyes and dropping my head back as I worked my way deep into her throat. I wrapped my hand in her hair, thrusting as hard as I could, feeling my legs give way. My mind was scattered all over the place, feeling like a teenager getting his dick sucked for the first time.

I let go when she seemed to run out of air, then looked at her, beads of sweat dripping down my temples. I had no words to say to her, just stroked her cheek. She looked straight into my eyes and opened her mouth, showing me that she had swallowed it all.

I wasn't going to let her slip through my fingers anymore.

----- ♡ -----

Leaning against the edge of the tub, I closed my eyes as she rested her back against my chest. Her right hand was resting on my knee as she smoked with her left. Neither of us had spoken since our previous encounter, but we found comfort in each other's company.

My body was drained of adrenaline and I could feel myself getting drowsier with my eyes closed. The previous night, I couldn't even shut one eye for a second, and the night before that I had terrifying nightmares that kept me from sleeping at all.

I sensed her distancing herself from me, most likely leaning over to extinguish her cigarette. Opening my eyes, I gazed at her as she took the glass of wine from the coffee table.

"How are you doing?" I asked, softly kneading her shoulders. Her body had relaxed completely, but that didn't mean her mind was free of worries.

She placed her glass delicately back on the table and leaned into me, gazing out the window at the sprawling city in the distance. I wrapped my arms around her, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek before resting my chin on her shoulder.

I couldn't help but admire her as she sat in the water, her knees barely visible beneath the glowing pink light of the LED lights I had specifically requested when I redecorated the house. I wanted to remember every detail of this moment between us, fearing that once the day ended, we would go back to ignoring each other and avoiding any discussion of what happened on the boat that night.

I didn't want to admit my mistake either, and she was probably waiting for an apology from me. Apologies held little significance in my mind. People said sorry for the smallest things, if they even said it at all.

Apologizing was something I never did, and I had no idea how to even attempt it. The thought of simply throwing around the word "sorry" to placate someone frustrated me. I've observed people on public transportation, carelessly bumping into others or causing disruptions, and their automatic response is to say "sorry." Rarely do they actually stop and acknowledge the person they affected, making a genuine apology with words like "I'm sorry" or "please forgive me."

Scarlett's voice caused me to come to a halt, and I redirected my attention towards her.

"Hmm?", I questioned.

"I apologize for my behavior earlier," she murmured, snuggling closer into my embrace. "I didn't intend to ruin your good time," she added.

I was taken aback by her response, especially considering the thoughts I had just been having. I could imagine it wasn't easy working for Blaze's father, and she always had to maintain a certain level of formality, but I still appreciated her for who she was.

Especially with my cock in her mouth.

I scold myself internally, then plant a kiss on her neck as I contemplate how to convey that she had not impacted my mood at all. If I had explicitly told her not to worry, it would have backfired.

"I liked what you did", I finally told her. "Do you think you can do that again?"

She hesitated, as if trying to figure out if I was talking about the act of squirting or her sudden panic attack.

"I'm not entirely sure. It was my first time experiencing something like that. I had read about it online before, but I never actually tried to see if it would work for me.", she responded with uncertainty.

It was a relief to hear her voice once more. I eagerly anticipated the moment when she would curse at me again - that would be a sign of her full recovery.

"Did you like it?", I asked her.

Scarlett nodded, causing a few giggles to escape from me. She seemed embarrassed to discuss it, but before I could reassure her and say that there was nothing to be ashamed of in what happened between us earlier, she spoke up first.

"Squirting isn't the only thing I've apologized for", she said quickly, seeming to want to get over it. "I was also referring to how I acted when I saw you with that stick".

"I promise I won't use it again", I said, kissing her on the cheek once more after seeing her trembling lips. "That goes for the other things that you did not enjoy as well".

"Cain... I...", she began to stammer, trying to find the right words. I hugged her tighter, hoping to give her courage.

"My mother used to beat me with a stick like that when I was little", she said in a breath, then sighed as if a stone had been lifted from her heart.

My eyes fixated on her fingers, moving and forming different shapes on my knee. I struggled to believe that what she had just said was true.

Was she claiming that her mother had physically harmed her? It seemed unimaginable for a mother to do such a thing. But what if it was just an exaggeration, a distorted memory from her childhood? I could sense her heart racing, indicating that she could either be lying or telling the truth.

Scarlett's pov

While my mom was taking a shower, I snuck into my parents' room and made my way over to my sister's crib. I held onto two of the wooden bars with my hands and peered through them. From this vantage point, I could see her leaning back and waving her hands in the air, transfixed by the fluttering butterflies above her.

Her one-piece pajamas caught my eye with its charming pink color and delicate white flowers. Mom had just bought it a few days ago when she dragged me along for a shopping trip, at the insistence of dad. I was terrified that day, truly frightened. I couldn't shake the feeling that she would abandon me and disappear, but thankfully, she didn't.

I couldn't stop staring at my sister, curious as to why my mother never allowed me to be alone with her. My dad, on the other hand, didn't have any restrictions. I would always sit next to him on the couch when he played with Hazel or fed her.

Occasionally, he would ask me to grab the talcum powder he had forgotten so that we could change her diapers together. It was our special time when Mom wasn't around, even though Dad seemed like a different version of himself in those moments.

Hazel turned to me, her face lighting up with a smile. I reached my hand through the wooden bars and she eagerly took hold of my finger. She was absolutely adorable. I couldn't help but imagine all the fun we would have together when she grew bigger and we could play or have conversations.

Would she share my interests and hobbies? Would my mom allow us to hang out? I overheard her talking about moving again, but when I asked her about it, she brushed me off and said it wasn't something I needed to worry about at my age.

"Would you like to see something adorable?" I whispered to her, extending my hand through the wooden bars and focusing on using my powers to create more butterflies.

Hazel's laughter filled the air as she watched the fireflies dance. I focused all my energy on keeping them from fading away. It had only been a year since I gained these abilities, and despite my father training me rigorously, I still struggled to control them.

Even though my mother was against it, my father would secretly teach me how to handle them and even let me use them, defying her orders.

My mother would be gone for two hours every day, leaving my father to train me during that time. It didn't matter if he was at work; he would make sure to come home and spend those two hours with me, which were always the most joyful part of the day.

A few times, he would drop me off at Inferno Knight's house, my dad's closest friend and fellow superhero training partner. My dad had mentioned that Inferno Knight had two sons with the same powers as us, but I had never met them. They were older than me; maybe that's why.

In addition, they were still in training to follow in their father's footsteps as heroes, so their schedule was jam-packed. My father informed me that they had to complete all of their schoolwork immediately upon arriving home, followed by practice and studying. They never seemed to have a moment to spare, which is why my father kept asking if I truly wanted to become a hero like them.

I did, but my mother didn't.

Every week, I would visit the Myers household for my training sessions, and each time, I would always end up leaving with a full stomach. However, everything took a sudden turn when their house was engulfed in flames. My father and Inferno Knight were both occupied on the other side of town, dealing with other criminal activities.

They were both too late.

Deep in contemplation, I didn't realize that the shower had turned off until it was too late. Hastily putting out my creative sparks, I scrambled to retreat and exit the room. Just as I was about to escape my parents' bedroom and let out a sigh of relief, my mother grabbed me by the hair and pulled me back.

I had been too slow.

"What are you doing here?'", she asked me like I was a stranger

"I wanted to see my sister...", I said softly, not wanting to make her more angry.

"Why?", she snapped at me. She didn't wait for a response and immediately began examining my hands. As expected, they were noticeably warmer than usual.

She caught me.

"When will you ever understand that no one uses their powers in this household?", she questioned as she was pulling me harder by my ponytails.

The pain was nearly unbearable, and I struggled to keep the tears at bay.

"You wanted to set her on fire, didn't you? You wanted revenge because she's better than you, didn't you?!" she continued to yell, accusing me of something I never even thought about, while her right hand was continuously slapping me.

Tears streamed down my face as I pleaded with her to stop hitting me, but she remained relentless.

She raised her voice again and shoved me with all her might, screaming for me to never lay a hand on my sister again. I stumbled backward and crashed into my parents' dresser, my back colliding with the cold iron handles. The pain was overwhelming, causing me to cry even harder. I should have left their room, but running and hiding under my bed would have been pointless; she would have found me eventually, and it would only make things worse.

I felt relieved that I was able to escape relatively quickly, but my relief was short-lived when she reappeared in the room, holding a thick stick. Without saying a word, she advanced towards me and started kicking my legs and hands with force. My tears were streaming down my face again as I begged her to stop. No matter how much I tried to defend myself, her hits only became faster and harder.

With a firm grip on my hair, she forced me to stand and spun me around, facing away from her. She delivered a few more strikes to my backside, causing me to bite down on my lip to stifle any noise. We couldn't risk anyone outside the apartment knowing what was happening inside these walls.

No one was supposed to know what she was doing to me. No one was supposed to know that Olivia Woods, the most wanted villain in the entire USA, never actually solved her mental problems as she promised.

Not even my dad.

Cain's pov

My eyes remained fixed on her wet knees, but my vision was clouded with red. The taste of metal filled my mouth, and I could feel the veins in my head pulsating. How could a mother do such a thing to her own child? It was beyond my comprehension.

What would motivate someone to endure nine months of pregnancy for this? Why go through 274 days, some much worse than others, only to despise the child you carried? Why endure hours of labor and excruciating pains, just to then inflict brutality on your offspring?

I held her tightly and felt her trembling against me. It must have been difficult for her to share this with me, especially after seeing how she reacted earlier. If I hadn't witnessed it myself, I might have thought she was lying. It was hard for me to accept that women like her mother existed, and I would often dismiss cases similar to hers. I couldn't help but feel guilty about my narrow-mindedness. In my mind, a mother could never behave in such a way.

Listening to her story brought back memories of my mother, who always put me first and worked tirelessly until the very end. I never knew if my mother had intentionally gotten pregnant with me or not, but her mother definitely did plan for her to have a child. So why didn't she act like that?

Scarlett's mother had a husband who adored her and provided for the family. They probably lived in a comfortable home with plenty of food in the fridge. Her mother didn't have to worry about anything besides taking care of Scarlett and her younger sister.

I held her in my arms, unsure of what to say. No words could ease the pain she was going through. It finally made sense why she didn't have her mother's number saved in her phone. As much as I longed for my own mother's number, it was probably for the best that Scarlett had no contact with hers.

I couldn't understand why her mother would act like this. Maybe she had previously struggled with postpartum depression and didn't receive proper treatment. I had many unanswered questions about her life after she shared this experience with me, but I didn't want to pressure her into revealing more.

I couldn't help but feel guilty for bringing up that memory. I had no idea about what she had gone through, but it still made me uneasy to know that I had triggered such a painful recollection.

"I'm sorry I put you through that again", I said, kissing the top of her head.

She leaned over to the glass coffee table beside the bathtub and set down her almost empty wine glass before turning towards me. Her lips were still cold from the wine as she started kissing me, with slow and deep passion. However, I couldn't fully savor the moment.

Her once sweet kisses were now filled with sadness, conveying her need for comfort. I could take charge and dominate the situation, but it didn't feel like the right thing to do at this moment. I knew a way to make her feel better, but I wanted our relationship to be more than just physical intimacy, even though that's all we had experienced thus far.

Perhaps our relationship would shift after she heard my story. But I knew I had to open up about my past, and that was going to be difficult. When she asked me if I had ever taken a life, I simply replied "yes," but the truth was far more complicated than that.