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Ily gave her one back.
With tight fists, she stopped before Victor.
She didn’t speak. She merely stood there…brilliant and brave, serene and submissive.
“You’re learning, my pet.” Grabbing her by the shoulders, Victor spun her around and pushed her against the cross.
She grunted as her back slammed against the hard wood.
I saw red.
I drowned in black.
I stalked forward, ready to tear his motherfucking head off.
And…stopped myself with agonising self-control.
Play along.
Distract him.
Do your part.
“Oh, I apologise, Ilyana. Did that hurt?” Victor smirked.
Keeping all her hate hidden, Ily bowed her head. “No, Sir V.”
He chuckled. “I have to say, I’m liking this improved version of you.” Pawing at the sash of her black dressing gown, he spread it wide and revealed her perfect body. She didn’t look at me as he tore it off her shoulders, leaving her bare.
He cupped one of her breasts, grazing his thumb over a nipple.
My restraint snapped. “Victor.”
“Yes, I know. Yours.” Letting her breast go, he grabbed her wrist and slammed it above her head.
Guilt and grief and godawful fury churned toxic in my stomach.
With a happy huff, Victor fastened her golden cuff onto a hook, then repeated the process with her right arm. Once both hands were trapped above her head, he toed the leather buckles dangling near her ankles. “It’s up to you how tightly she’s bound. Personally? I just confine the wrists. It’s easier to do this.” Grabbing her by the hips, he flipped her around. She moaned as her cheek and breasts wedged against the cross, her wrists criss-crossing with the hook twisting on its length of chain above.
Tears shot to my eyes.
Followed by the hottest, sickest gush of lust.
Fuck, I grew hard.
Achingly hard.
With a heady groan, Victor ran his hand down her waist and cupped her ass.
“Victor,” I snarled.
God, what was this doing to her?
Being touched by the man who raped her last night?
Having me stand by and allow him?
Jesus Christ.
