Ophelia woke slowly, her body heavy and aching in ways she had never experienced before.
Every muscle protested as she shifted under the soft, luxurious sheets.
Her legs felt shaky and weak, and between her thighs, a deep, throbbing soreness radiated with every tiny movement the constant reminder of how roughly Tristan had taken her the night before.
She couldn’t even remember how she had ended up in bed.
The last hazy memory was of collapsing against his chest on the dining table, utterly spent, her body still wrapped around his.
She must have fallen asleep right there on him.
Too exhausted to open her eyes, too tired to do anything but surrender to the darkness.
Now, tucked neatly into the large bed with the covers pulled up to her chest, she blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the penthouse windows.
She glanced around the room.
Tristan was nowhere to be seen.
A strange mix of relief and emptiness settled in her chest.
Is this what I have to accept now? she thought, staring at the ceiling.
Because of my father’s mistakes… because I had no other choice?
Letting him use me like that—rough, demanding, until I can barely move the next day?
The soreness between her legs pulsed again, a filthy echo of pleasure and pain that made her cheeks flush even as fresh fear flickered through her.
Before she could spiral further, the familiar ringtone of her phone cut through the quiet.
She reached weakly for the nightstand, grateful Tristan had placed it there.
Her arm felt like lead, but she managed to bring the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” Her voice came out hoarse and tired.
“Ophelia, my sweet girl,” her father’s warm, concerned voice filled the line.
“Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”
A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips despite everything.
“Morning, Dad. I… I slept okay. How are you? Are you eating properly? Taking your medicine and not stressing about the issue?”
“I am managing,” he replied gently, the affection clear in his tone.
“But more importantly, how are you? I have been worried sick about you since all this mess started. You sound exhausted, honey.”
“I am fine, Dad. Really,” she lied softly, wincing as she tried to sit up straighter.
“Just a long week. What about you?”
“I am holding up. But listen… let’s talk. In person.”
Ophelia’s heart skipped.
“Father… What’s wrong? Is there any other problem? Are there…”
“Of course not, sweetheart,” he interrupted kindly.
“I just want us to talk physically. Face to face. I miss my daughter.”
“Alright…” she breathed out, relieved.
“When?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday, I think it would be the best day to spend the weekend with my baby.” Ophelia smiled at this.
She exhaled in gratitude.
It was the weekend.
There was no way she could have dragged herself to City Medical Center today, not with her body feeling like this.
Just then, the bedroom door opened.
Tristan stepped in, one earbud still in his ear, looking freshly returned from the gym.
His dark hair was slightly damp with sweat, his grey tank top clung to his sculpted chest and shoulders, and his athletic shorts showed off powerful legs.
The sight of him in muscular, commanding shape made her stomach tighten.
“You are awake,” he noted, pulling the earpod out as he approached the bed.
Ophelia managed to push herself into a sitting position, the sheet slipping slightly down her bare chest.
“Good morning,” she greeted softly, her voice still weak.
Tristan’s sharp eyes scanned her.
“Bath?”
She shook her head quickly.
“Not… not right now.”
He strolled closer, stopping at the edge of the bed.
“Why? Are you sore?”
Ophelia didn’t answer, pressing her lips together.
She was scared of him this morning, yes of how easily he could overwhelm her again, even though a traitorous part of her had enjoyed every rough second last night.
Before she could find words, Tristan leaned down and captured her lips in a firm kiss.
Her eyes widened, she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet but he didn’t seem to care at all.
The kiss was deep but surprisingly controlled, his tongue brushing hers before he pulled back.
His hand moved down, sliding along her thigh under the sheet.
Ophelia instinctively clamped her legs shut.
“Hey…” Tristan smirked, that arrogant tilt to his mouth returning.
“I am not a sex freak. You should relax a bit.”
“I only wanted to make you feel better,” he added, voice low.
“And besides, you should get used to it since you are mine now.”
She tensed as his hand returned, this time cupping her sore, sensitive mound gently.
Her whole body jolted at the contact, a soft gasp escaping her.
Before she could protest further, Tristan slid his arms under her and lifted her effortlessly from the bed, carrying her toward the luxurious bathroom as if she weighed nothing.
He set her down carefully beside the large bathtub and began filling it with warm water.
“Have a bath,” he said.
Once the tub was ready, he helped her in.
Tristan knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves.
“What can I do to help reduce the soreness?” he asked, grey eyes watching her intently.
Ophelia shook her head.
“It’s… it’s cold with the water, but…”
“I want to be the one to cool it,” he interrupted firmly.
His large, warm hands slipped into the water and began slowly massaging her thighs, working the tense, aching muscles with surprising skill.
Ophelia sighed, leaning her head back against the tub edge.
It felt incredible.
The tension in her legs started to melt under his touch.
Seeing how much she liked it, Tristan gently lifted one of her legs out of the water, resting it along the wide edge of the tub.
His fingers moved higher, tracing lightly over her inner thigh before brushing against her swollen folds.
Ophelia moaned softly, her breath catching.
“Shh… just relax,” he murmured, his touch feather-light at first, stroking her slick, sensitive skin.
He played with her folds carefully circling her clit with slow, teasing pressure, then gliding down to soothe the sore entrance without pushing inside.
“That’s it. Let me take care of you.”
Her moans grew breathier, filling the steamy bathroom.
“Tristan… ahh…” She gripped the edges of the tub, hips twitching weakly as pleasure mixed with the lingering ache.
He kept the pace gentle but insistent, his thumb rubbing firm circles over her clit while two fingers stroked along her folds, easing the soreness even as he built her toward another peak.
Ophelia’s breathing turned ragged, chest heaving.
“It feels… so good… I can’t…”
He continued until she was panting, nearly out of breath, her body trembling on the edge.
Finally, he eased off, letting her come down slowly.
“Any difference?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Ophelia nodded, still breathless, a shy smile breaking through her exhaustion.
“Yes… much better.”
Tristan’s expression softened.
He grabbed a soft sponge and began bathing her with proper, gentle strokes over her arms, her back, her breasts, and down her legs.
The care in his movements contrasted sharply with the brutal way he had claimed her the night before.
For a moment, in the warm, quiet bathroom, Ophelia almost forgot the twisted nature of their arrangement.
He helped her out, dried her with a thick towel, and carried her back to the bed, wrapping her in a fresh robe.
“Rest more,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“You are going to need your strength.”
Ophelia only nodded her head slowly.
“Also I made breakfast…and I have some meetings so I will leave you alone… make sure you eat them when you wake up.”
Ophelia only closed her eyes, the soreness still present but dulled, her body humming with a strange mix of exhaustion, relief, and lingering heat.