Deviant: No Longer Human

"Ugh… Leave me!"

Wang Jiarong's desperate cry filled the room as she twisted on the bed, her head shaking violently as if sheer will alone could stop him. But Wang Xiao didn't care. His lips trailed across her face, her neck, her collarbone—hungry and devouring every inch he could reach.

Her top lay discarded, leaving her skin bare—smooth as silk, soft as clouds, carrying the faint, intoxicating sweetness of peach.

She was irresistible, a woman at the height of her beauty, trembling beneath him, her protests fueling his heat.

His lips hovered near her chest, his breath warm and ragged as his gaze fell on her breasts—plump, overflowing, teasing him like forbidden fruit.

"Haaaaa!"

With a low chuckle, he buried his face between them, inhaling deeply as though her scent alone could drive him mad.

Her screams rang in the background, sharp and desperate, but they only made his grin widen.

"So soft," he muttered, burying his face between them. "Goddamn… like they were made to fit my hands."

His hands moved instinctively, grasping her softness, squeezing and cupping the warm flesh as if it were his alone to take.

"Don't!" Jiarong's voice cracked, her breath ragged as she struggled beneath him. "Stop, stop touching me!"

Leaning down, his lips closed around her cherry-like nipple without hesitation, drawing a sharp gasp from Jiarong.

"Argh…" she groaned, her head snapping back instinctively.

Slurp.. slurp...

The wet, lewd sounds filled the air as he sucked greedily, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud while his tongue flicked over it. He alternated between gentle nibbles and hard, deliberate pulls, as though savoring the taste of her skin.

Jiarong's body trembled violently beneath him, her tear-filled eyes clenching shut as her face flushed scarlet. The heat radiating from her cheeks spread down her neck and chest, her breaths coming in shaky, erratic bursts.

Her lips quivered before she bit down hard, her voice caught between a muffled whimper and a sob.

She hated this—hated him.

Her hands pressed weakly against his shoulders, trembling with effort. Why can't I push him away?!

But Wang Xiao's grip only tightened. He was lost, like a man drunk on her scent, her warmth, her softness. His hands kneaded her breasts, fingers digging into the tender flesh as he pressed his face deeper, his hot breath fanning against her skin.

"Perfect," he murmured against her, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

Jiarong's nails dug into his shoulders, her mind screaming for escape even as her body betrayed her.

The tears streaming down her flushed cheeks shimmered faintly under the dim light, but Wang Xiao didn't pause, didn't hesitate.

He was too far gone.

Jiarong didn't want to hurt him—hell, she couldn't bring herself to—but this bastard left her no damn choice. Her nails dug into his back, scratching desperately.

"Struggling only makes you look sweeter, you know that, sis?" Wang Xiao let out a low chuckle, not even flinching. Her scratches weren't wounds—they were barely marks, like a kitten clawing at him.

Instead, he grabbed her wrists, yanking them away effortlessly. His lips pressed against the reddened skin, "You're just making me want you more, Keep going."

"!!"

Her panic spiked.

Twisting her body, she tried to slip free, but she barely got far before her foot slipped.

She yelped, but his hands were already there, grabbing her hips and pulling her back into him.

"Running? Not happening." His tone was sharp, amused, his breath hot on her skin as he pinned her back down.

With one firm motion, his fingers hooked into her shorts.

Tug.

They came loose, sliding down along with her panties in a single motion, exposing her entirely.

"Xiao Wang, stop!" she shrieked, her voice breaking into a desperate gasp as his lips dipped lower.

Smooch. Slrp.

He kissed her thighs, taking his time with the soft, thick flesh beneath his hands. His breath was scorching against her bare skin as he spread her legs apart, slowly, deliberately.

"Goddamn," he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger. "You were hiding all this from me? Just look at you…"

Her brain stuttered, screams forgotten as his lips brushed heat between her thighs.

Slck. Rub. Nibble.

Her back arched like a reflex, and before she could bite it back, a loud moan spilled from her lips.

"Fuck, Sis, you even sound good," he murmured against her, his tongue flicking over the sensitive petals of her womanhood. "Sweet, soft, wet… Do you even know what you're doing to me?"

Her thighs trembled in his grasp, her body giving in despite her mind screaming no.

Squish. Splurp.

The wet, obscene sounds filled the room as his lips and tongue worked against her, completely lost in the taste of her.

Gripping her thighs tighter, his fingers pressed into the soft flesh as he peppered kisses over them.

"Didn't think you'd be this good," he said, his voice trembling. "Makes me wonder what else you've been hiding."

His arousal was already rock hard, pressing against him as he continued, his breaths ragged, his mind clouded.

Wang Xiao stripped off his clothes in a frenzy, his bare body towering over her trembling form.

"Don't..."

Jiarong tried to push him away, her voice cracking with desperation, but he didn't stop.

He grabbed her hips, positioning his throbbing manhood right against her wet, pulsating entrance.

"Stop—UGH!"

Her scream tore through the room as she mustered one final push against his chest, but it was useless. He caught her shoulders with both hands, yanked her forward, and crushed his lips against hers.

"Mmmghhh!~"

The kiss was hard, bruising, leaving her swollen lips even more tender.

And then—he pushed forward.

"Ahh—!"

The friction of his length sliding against her slick folds sent shockwaves through them both.

The heat, the tightness—it was maddening.

Wang Xiao groaned, his voice low and satisfied. "You're tight, warm… like you were made for me."

For Jiarong, it felt like her world was splitting apart.

"Ugh… it hurts… stop!" she whimpered, her voice breaking into sobs.

Her body buckled beneath him, her thighs trembling as he buried himself deeper. Everything was happening too fast—her mind spun like she was still drunk from the party.

She couldn't see anything but darkness, couldn't speak through the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Pakh! Pakh! Pakh!

Yet, her body betrayed her, clenching around him as his thrusts drove her over the edge.

The night blurred into a haze of hoarse cries and muffled moans.

She felt him again and again, emptying himself deep inside her.

His thick length plunged into her over and over, stretching her tight walls until she went numb.

Every thrust spilled more of his hot essence into her, filling her to the brim.

At some point, he flipped her onto all fours.

"Don't move. Let me make you mine completely," he growled, grabbing her hair and pulling her back as his hips slammed into her.

Pak! Pak! Pak!

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, intensified only by her muffled cries and his ragged groans. He didn't stop, not even when he pulled her up from the bed, wrapping his arms around her trembling body as he took her on the floor.

It was a whirlwind—vague and hazy.

By the time Jiarong stirred awake, her head pounding, the faintest traces of dawn spilled into the room.

She blinked, disoriented, her body heavy and aching. Wang Xiao lay beside her, sound asleep, as if nothing had happened.

Her breath hitched.

Panic clawed at her chest as she flung the sheets off herself.

Her eyes widened.

The marks… they were still there.

Her thighs were smeared with dried traces of virgin blood from her torn hymen, her skin swollen, tender, and damp.

The faint stickiness of his seed still trickled from her, warm and wet.

Her lips trembled as reality crashed over her.

It happened.

She stared at the bed. The sheets told the story she didn't want to believe—blood stains streaked across the crumpled fabric.

Her heart pounded. Her hands shot to her temples as a sharp pain surged through her head, fragments of the night flashing in her memory.

She staggered to her feet, her knees wobbling beneath her.

"… no…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her legs carried her toward the door, unsteady and desperate.

She needed air.

Just as she reached for the handle, her breath hitched again.

The room—it reeked.

A suffocating, cloying smell of sweat and heat clung to the air, choking her senses.

She flung the door open and stumbled out, gasping for breath.

Her heart pounded, her thoughts a chaotic mess.

And still, her trembling hands couldn't wipe away the memory of his touch.

________

"Hm?"

Outside, the living room lights flickered faintly, casting soft shadows against the walls. It was seven o'clock, but winter's darkness covered the house, the mist outside the frosted windows cloaking everything in a cold, haunting silence.

On the couch, Qian Ruixin sat stiffly, her hands gripping the hem of her dress tightly.

She hadn't slept a wink—not after the cries and moans that had pierced through the walls all night.

Her face was pale, her body trembling slightly as she recalled the sounds.

Was I like that too? Did I scream the same way?

The thought made her stomach churn, but she pushed it aside.

Now wasn't the time for such thoughts.

Half an hour had passed since the sounds had finally stopped. She had prepared a hot towel, setting it neatly on the table for Wang Jiarong.

Surely, after everything, she would need it.

Ruixin wanted to help, to check on her, but hesitation held her back.

What if Jiarong wasn't awake yet? What if she didn't want to be seen?

Her anxious thoughts shattered as the door to the bedroom suddenly swung open.

BAM!

"Jiarong—"

The name barely escaped her lips before her voice froze, her breath catching in her throat at the sight before her.

Wang Jiarong stood in the doorway—or what was left of her. Her long, dark hair was damp, clinging to her delicate, porcelain—like milky white skin, framing a face that was pale and hollow, her red, swollen eyes rimmed with tears.

Her trembling legs barely supported her, each step unsteady and weak, leaving faint smudges of blood and moisture on the floor. Her body—completely bare—was a stunning mix of beauty and ruin.

Her large, pale breasts rose and fell with her ragged breaths, the soft mounds marred by faint bruises and red marks.

Her swollen, rosy nipples stood out, a clean evidence to the long assault they had endured.

Her soft, curvaceous thighs bore faint smears of dried blood trailing down toward the glistening remnants of his essence, still leaking from her trembling core with every step.

Despite the marks and the exhaustion etched into her body, there was an undeniable beauty about her—a tragic, broken beauty that made her look like a shattered masterpiece.

"Rui…"