The thought burned like acid in his throat. He had slammed that bruise into her flesh. He had gripped her, hurt her, used her.

And now this boy—this nobody—was pressing his mouth to the very marks of her past hell and turning them into something sacred. Every gentle kiss, every soft suck, every warm breath was rewriting Jonathan’s violence into devotion.

Phei had not ushed to heal her... he had to erase all her hell with something godly as this pleasure... she would always remember her bedroom with this pleasure not what she endured in it.

Roxanne’s head fell back, lips parted in a silent, worshipful gasp she didn’t even hear herself make. Her body had found its salvation.

Without conscious thought, one of her hands slid down Phei’s chest, fingers splaying possessively yet trustingly over his heart—as if anchoring herself to the only being who could ever make her feel whole.

Her ass cheeks clenched and released in soft, rhythmic ripples, the slick from her cunt now dripping freely down the cleft, coating her tight little asshole in glossy shine as her hips subtly pushed back, offering that too in total, unaware surrender.

Another helpless squirt pulsed from her pussy, hot and messy, splattering Phei’s thigh with wet, audible streaks while her thighs quaked harder, knees weakening as if every last defense had melted away.

She let him have her.

Completely with no shy of any hesitation.

No guarded human restraint. Just raw, trembling trust—her body opening wider, wetter, more desperate with every reverent touch, because this was the touch she had been starving for since the dawn of her eternity.

Phei lingered, mouth sealed lovingly over the collarbone bruise, breathing slow and deep, letting his warmth sink into her battered flesh like sunlight melting centuries of ice.

Roxanne’s shoulders began to unwind in slow, shuddering increments.

Her body recognized its salvation before her mind could catch up.

Her grip softened from claws to palms, sliding around to press flat against his back, pulling him even closer as if she would die if he moved away.

Without realizing it, her hips had begun a slow, subconscious roll—tiny, needy circles that made her swollen pussy lips kiss and part with soft, wet sounds, offering her dripping cunt to him in total, unconscious trust.

Her heavy breasts brushed his cheeks with every heaving breath, nipples so hard they looked painful.

Then Phei moved lower. His lips traced a slow, damp, worshipful path down the valley between her breasts, pausing to breathe scorching air over the hollow of her throat. He settled on the large, diffuse handprint bruise swelling across the left swell of her breast—fingertip-shaped, still deeply purple at the center, the exact shape of hell she had to erase.

He didn’t just kiss it. He worshipped it like a supplicant at the altar of a goddess. Lips parted, his tongue swept a slow, wet circle around the entire perimeter of the bruise, mapping every edge of the violence with infinite gentleness.

Then he ventured inward, sucking the darkest center with the softest, most reverent pull—barely more than a breath—before soothing it with long, languid licks that dragged hot and wet across the swollen, hypersensitive skin.

Roxanne shattered completely. "HHHNNNG—! Aaaahhh—haaaah—! NNNGH—! Oh gods—yes—!" Her moans came raw and broken, loud and unrestrained now, each one vibrating through her chest in filthy, beautiful waves.

She had no idea her own thighs were spreading wider and wider on their own, knees trembling apart in pure subconscious surrender, presenting her soaked, starving pussy completely to the one who had finally come to save her.

Her entire body convulsed violently—back arching like a drawn bow, heavy breasts bouncing and slapping wetly against Phei’s cheeks with every heave.

Her thighs clamped together then spread even wider on pure instinct, hips rolling forward in desperate little circles as her puffy outer lips parted and closed with wet, obscene schlick-schlick sounds.

Her inner folds fluttered, clenching and releasing around nothing, already trying to milk a cock that wasn’t even inside her yet.

A sudden hot jet of squirt erupted from her pussy hitting her twitching clit first, arcing forcefully and splashing against Phei’s thigh with an audible splat, the clear fluid running down in glossy rivulets.

Her wet clit throbbed visibly, twitching and pulsing with every lick he gave her bruised breast.

Her hands flew to his hair, fingers twisting hard in the dark strands, yanking his mouth harder against her marked flesh while her other hand gripped his shoulder so tightly her nails drew blood through the fabric.

Her ass cheeks clenched and released in rhythmic again in little ripples, making the full, round globes jiggle and bounce softly.

Her body had already given itself over—hips subtly pushing forward, back arching deeper, pussy lips swelling even fuller and parting wider. Every muscle in her core was opening, softening, surrendering in total, reverent trust to the touch that had finally thawed the ice of eternity.

Jonathan’s torment twisted deeper, sharper, more unbearable with every second. She never made those sounds for me. She never shook like this. She never dripped like a broken faucet, never squirted just from a mouth on her bruises.

Every tender press of Phei’s lips was a knife twisting in Jonathan’s guts. Every moan Roxanne let out was proof that Jonathan had never once given her what her body was so clearly starving for.

He had taken. He had used. He had hurt.

He had left those bruises as marks of ownership, and now this boy was turning them into altars of pleasure, making Roxanne’s battered, dripping cunt gush and flutter and squirt in helpless worship.

The certainty crystallized in Jonathan’s marrow like shards of glass: He had never touched her like this. Not once. Not in all their years. Not when she was happy. Not when she was sad. Not when she was scared.

And now he was forced to watch—eyes pried open, mouth sealed shut—as another man mended every wound he had carved into her body with nothing but gentle, reverent kisses... while Roxanne clung to him, moaning like a goddess finally allowed to feel ecstasy, her bruised, swollen, soaking pussy weeping harder with every soft, worshipping lick.

It wasn’t the spikes in his groin. It wasn’t the ice sealing his mouth. The true horror of his punishment was this: Being forced to witness the love—and the pleasure—he had never bothered to give the woman he had broken for years.

And Roxanne, shuddering, dripping, moaning louder and louder with every reverent press of Phei’s mouth, was finally receiving it.

Her round ass jiggled harder as another powerful squirt burst from her cunt, spraying hot and messy across Phei’s leg while her inner walls visibly pulsed and fluttered in rhythmic, subconscious spasms—milking at emptiness once more and begging without words for the salvation only he could give.