Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 101988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
I deliberated fighting.
I imagined so many scenarios of kicking his legs out from under him and killing him with a heavy fall. I pictured grabbing the showerhead and ramming it down his throat. I entertained myself with visions of strangling him with the towel or bludgeoning him to death with the soap dispenser.
But all of that took strength and speed.
And he already had me on my knees.
And, out there, lurked a hundred more like him.
And every single one of them would gladly trade places to hurt me.
What was worse?
Being fucked by a man who’d already been inside me or fucked by someone new?
What would break me less?
Being taken by a man who’d never lied or the one who made me hope?
With a despairing sigh, I stopped straining against his hand and tipped forward.
I gripped the slippery tile. My knees grateful for the towel’s cushioning.
Heavy water pummelled between my shoulder blades, slightly too hot, prickles of heated pain.
My dripping hair hung around my face, and I refused to look behind me.
Refused to see how hard he was.
How desperate he was to fuck me.
Grabbing another towel, the wet slap of it sent a flush of goosebumps and terror.
The shudder of him falling to his knees behind me made me beg to be anywhere else.
His fingers found me again, testing my readiness, granting me at least some consideration to prepare me.
That’s for him, you idiot.
Fucking something wet and hot was one thing.
Fucking something dry and frigid was entirely another.
I choked on a sudden sob.
Frigid.
Sam had used that word.
I’d thought his accusation was the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Now, I’d give anything to go back to that nightclub and thank my stupid ex. Thank him for name-calling and setting me free. Thank him for showing me that it wasn’t the end of the world to be told your sexual prowess was worse than a blow-up doll because I would’ve given anything, literally anything, to never have sex again.
Henri’s fingers withdrew and landed slippery on my hip.
He caressed me like he had in the past.
Before, I’d stupidly associated those little swirls with our own version of Morse code.
A silent little message just for me.
His fingers said…stay calm.
I’ve got you.
We’ll survive…together.
But now?
What a mockery.
What a goddamn lie.
My head dropped as deeper sorrow twisted my heart.
But I didn’t cry.
I would never cry again.
Not for him.
Not for them.
And definitely not for me.
I shivered as he ran his thumbs over my hipbones one last time, then reared up and pressed his thighs to the back of mine.
My ears strained for his voice.
For him to tell me to obey and play along and it will all be over soon.
Poisonous words sat on my tongue to reply.
To tell him to jump off a cliff and die, only…
He stayed quiet.
Just a breathy little groan as he notched his crown inside me and paused.
His fingers gripped my hips, his knees spread mine a little more.
The broadness of his cock sent messages of conquest throughout my entire body. He hadn’t even filled me, yet he’d conquered me just by holding me in place, knotting us together like animals, dragging out the moment of suspense. Not giving me peace, not penetrating or pleasuring or putting me out of my tangled, terrible misery.
I waited.
I waited just like I’d waited for help to come.
And when I didn’t think I could wait any longer, he pressed a kiss to the beads of my spine and—
Thrust.
All the way in.
Thick and hard, long and dominating.
I cried out.
I gagged on a scream.
He growled as he seated himself ever so deep inside me.
He folded over my back, wrapped his arm around my chest, and palmed my swinging breasts. His hand clutched far, far too tight.
His teeth sank into my shoulder as if to scar me with ownership, and then…he rode me.
He didn’t have sex with me.
He rutted.
He turned off his humanity and mated me like a monster.
And all I could do was brace.
Brace against his pounding. His punishment. His pulsing, maddening thrusts.
I hated that the small fire he’d kindled grew brighter and brighter flames.
I hated that my hips started matching his, slapping us together with wet sucks from the shower and loud claps from our skin.
I hated that his teeth started to feel good.
The way he pinched my nipples felt good.
The way he drove again and again felt oh so fucking good.
And I had a choice.
A single choice in that single sinful moment.
Come and claim this forced sex as mine.
Or let him come and think he ruled me.
As darkness wisped over my sanity and despair cancelled out my dignity, I made that choice.
I changed beneath him.
I felt the sick mutation as I became someone I didn’t recognise.
No way out.
No way free.
So…I had to find my own freedom.
Peter was right.
The trick to existing in this place was embracing the very thing used to shackle us.