Lance Llewellyn | Pray for me

The forest was silent, save for the crunch of boots against damp soil and the faint groans of a man half-conscious. Lance Llewellyn stood over the open pit, sleeves rolled up, his tailored shirt spotless despite the dirt clinging to his men. The hole was deep enough. Perfect.

Two guards dragged the battered man forward, rope digging into his wrists, blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. They dropped him into the pit like discarded trash. The man’s muffled protests rose in panic as he realized what awaited him.

Lance adjusted the cuff of his shirt and crouched near the edge, his sharp gaze glowing faintly under the moonlight. A smile curved on his lips—cold, deliberate.

“You interfered with my shipments,”—he said calmly, voice smooth as silk but sharp enough to slice through air. —“That was your mistake. You thought you could outsmart me... now you’ll learn your lesson in the grave.”

The man’s muffled cries grew frantic. Lance tilted his head, enjoying the desperation.—“Breathe deep while you can. I want you to feel the earth close in, to know you’re being swallowed alive.”

Straightening, Lance flicked his wrist toward his men.—“Cover him.”

Shovels bit into dirt. Soil rained down over the man’s writhing body. His voice broke into inhuman screams that echoed against the trees before fading beneath the weight of earth.

Lance checked his watch, gold catching the moonlight. It was getting late. With a sigh of impatience, he waved a hand.—“Finish the job. Make sure he stays down.”

Without another glance, he turned and strode toward his waiting car, leather shoes spotless against the forest floor. Sliding into the back seat, he loosened his tie and leaned back, his smile softening into something disturbingly tender.

He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen, and the feed of the surveillance cameras lit up—her room, her figure captured in the glow of dim light. His thumb hovered over the screen, tracing her image.

“My sweet girl... I wonder if you’ve been good while I’m away.”

The car rolled down the dirt road, headlights cutting through the night, while behind him the sound of shovels filled the silence of the grave.

On the way back to the villa, the car slowed at the sight of a small patisserie glowing warmly against the night. Lance’s lips curved faintly—an indulgent thought slipping into his mind. He ordered the driver to stop.

Moments later, he walked out carrying a small box, a delicate pastry shaped like a swan inside. The elegance of it pleased him. He could already picture her face when he placed it before her.

“She’ll like this,”— he murmured to himself, running a thumb across the box.“Sweet... fragile... like her.”

By the time the car rolled through the wrought-iron gates of his estate, the forest was far behind. The guards stood straight as Lance stepped out, sharp and commanding in his tailored suit. He moved through the grand halls with the ease of a man who owned not only the house but every life inside it.

Finally, he reached her door. Two guards shifted instantly, opening it without a word. Lance entered, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

There she was. Sitting on the bed, quiet, still, her silence pressing heavy in the room.

Lance placed the bag carefully on the table, his smile curling dark and intimate.“I brought you this,”—he said smoothly, lifting the swan-shaped pastry halfway out of the box.—“It looked delicious... almost as delicious as you.”

For a moment he just stood there, watching her in silence, savoring her stillness as if it belonged to him. The longer she refused to speak, the sharper the hunger in his gaze became.

He moved closer, slow and deliberate, until he towered over her. His hand shot forward, pulling her against his chest with possessive ease. His breath brushed her ear, voice dropping to a whisper laced with hunger.

“Won’t you say anything?”—A pause, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.—“My love... your silence only makes me harder.”

Lance’s smile deepened as he leaned down, teeth catching the curve of her ear. He bit—just hard enough to make her flinch—before soothing the sting with the wet drag of his tongue. Her silence only sharpened the hunger in his chest.

His hand slid beneath her dress without hesitation, palm claiming the swell of her breast, fingers kneading possessively as his thumb brushed over her hardened peak. He chuckled darkly at the way her body trembled under his touch.

“Such a responsive body,”— he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "Are you sure you weren't born for me?"

The sharp crack of his palm against her ass tore a breathy sound from her lips, and he grinned at the shiver that rippled through her. With deliberate slowness, he let the cool steel of his pistol trace along the inside of her thigh, the threat of its weight making her pulse race.

“Easy, baby,” he whispered against her ear, savoring her fear and arousal tangled together.—“I couldn’t kill you... not yet.”

With a sudden push, he pressed her down against the mattress, caging her body with his own. His free hand pinned her wrists above her head as the barrel of the pistol slid higher, grazing along her damp underwear, the metal cold against heat.

Her breath hitched, her body trembling beneath him. His smile curved into something feral As he pulls her panties aside and pushes the tip of his gun into her tight canal, He bites his lower lip with a smile as he watches her tremble beneath him.

“Already shaking?” he mocked softly, Pushing the gun deeper. “This is only the beginning... I missed you while I was gone.”

His lips hovered over hers, his words spilling in a low, hungry murmur as the pistol lingered threateningly close.

“And now, I’m going to enjoy every second of having you back under me.”