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But I need to wash off the blood that I can feel dried on my back and the cum that drips out of my ass.
His ignored hand spanks my ass as I pass.
“Don’t be disrespectful, Lara. This is happening. You have all night to accept it.”
I’m crying again, not that I ever really stopped.
Michael joins me in the small shower stall but makes sure his body doesn’t touch mine.
How had tonight gone so wrong? It was supposed to be just a silly party. A night to have fun.
Happy fucking Halloween.
His fingers scrub and scrub. His hands turning me this way and that. I don’t fight him because I want nothing more than this night to be washed away.
I glance down at the plug hole. The water is rose red, almost pink as it swirls down the drain. Michael didn’t have blood on him since his clothes protected his skin.
My shoulders shake.
Me, the blood is coming off me. Seeing it is so much worse.
Forceful hands tilt my head back, one under my chin, the other holding the back of my head steady as he moves me back under the spray.
The water quickly washes away my tears. Together they mix, leaving me along with any remaining fight.
I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally.
I let Michael maneuver me some more, willing to just let him take charge. By the time he’s done, I have my hands braced against the tiled wall, my body folded at the hips, my legs shoulder width apart, ready to accept him for the second time tonight.
With a scream, I take him into my body, knowing that he’s right.
I am his.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Michael
I leave the bathroom tired but satisfied.
The cleaning solution stings my nose, but I’m used to it.
Lara stumbles slightly as she steps into the bedroom, her whole face scrunching up in the most adorable way.
The room is clean and sterile, the body gone. Buried, I’m sure.
The bed is made, new bedding and a blanket where the old bloodied sheets and quilt had been.
Steadying her, I take Lara over to her bed as Daniel climbs back through the second-floor window like he’s not a six-foot-seven giant of a man whose shoulders barely fit through the frame.
I raise a brow to check we’re all good. His maskmoves, and I laugh, knowing he’s giving me a raised-brow look as if to saydoes this look like my first time? His arm reaches out, passing me some rope.
Lara sits on the edge of her mattress, her head shooting up when the rope touches her wrist. “No, no. I’ll be good,” she promises, frantically trying to move farther onto the bed, but she doesn’t get far.
Catching her under the knee, I tug her back to the edge, looping the rope around her wrists quickly.
I wish I could trust her word, but I saw her face earlier. She meant it about calling the cops. She’s not getting a moment without me for the foreseeable future. Not until I’m convinced that she’s all in.
I tie her to the headboard with enough length that she can turn and lower her arms in her sleep. I want her secure, not uncomfortable.
