Page 47 of Vows of Silence

And the fact that he wasn’t even finding this difficult sent a different kind of fear through me. I might as well have been a child throwing a tantrum for all the effect I had on him.

A ragged sound tore from my throat as I shoved against his chest again. “You asshole!” I hissed, swinging with my other arm, knocking against his mask.

That made him move.

Fast.

One moment I was swinging at him, and the next my back hit the corner wall with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. His hands slammed against the stone on either side of my head, trapping me there without touching me, his body closeenough that I could feel the heat coming from him even through his suit.

I froze.

All I could see was the black of his suit, my eyes level with his chest. His darkness surrounded me, enveloped me, and the anger radiating off him had me hiccupping in fear.

And then the silver mask lowered, creeping towards me, bending lower and lower until it was level with my face.

I didn’t dare shut my eyes this time. I didn’t dare take my gaze away from him—I was terrified of what I might find waiting for me when I opened them again.

My chest rose and fell far too quickly as I breathed frantically through my nose. His arms remained braced around me, his leather fingers tapping against the wall as the nose of his mask touched my own. I cringed, trying to shrink back, hating the feeling of the cold silver against my skin.

I felt the movement before I saw it. The small, firm shake of his head.

No.

The movement was simple. Easy. And I understood the message loud and clear.

No. Stop it. Behave.

“Fuck you,” I whispered, hating that my voice betrayed me. Hating that it sounded so shaky and scared. He shook his head again, and through my fear, I heard the ragged puffs of his breath beneath the mask. Heard the groaning of the leather next to my ear as he clenched his fist.

I looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but black looking back at me.

I tried to turn my head, tried to escape the mask—and the man beneath it—but he pressed himself harder against me, the mask resting against my cheek.

“Please,” I practically whimpered, the anger long since gone, and replaced with nothing but mind-numbing terror.

He didn’t respond. Not with words, and not with actions. He remained against me, his breath fanning my face ever so slightly through the mask.

For long seconds we stood there. Until my body stopped shaking and the fear subsided. Until his breathing calmed down and became silent once more.

And then, and only then, did he pull back from my face, giving me space, allowing me to breathe again. His body was still against mine, one of his legs between my thighs, keeping me pinned against the wall.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice no longer shaking, but holding no strength.

Nothing.

No answer.

No explanation.

No mercy.

“Please,” I whispered, hating myself for the word as soon as it left me. “Just tell me what you want.”

His head tilted again, but this time the movement felt different. Less like warning. More curious.

Then one of his hands slowly lifted from the wall, and I stiffened instantly.

He paused, and once again brought his masked face close to my own, resting his forehead against mine.