Page 56 of Captive Ruin

I press my face into my arm. It’s all the escape he allows me. “Just get out. I’m not in the fucking mood.” I know he’ll probably punish me for that, but unlike him, I’m past caring.

His body presses firmly into my back, and his hand brushes the hair from my neck. It’s almost tender. “Tell me, Little Stray.”

“No. Get out.” All my rage, all my helplessness, all my frustration returns at once, focused on this man who won’t leave me alone. “Get out!” I’m screaming it now. “Get out, get out, get out!”

He doesn’t move; he doesn’t even speak. He lets me rail against him, screaming and struggling as much as my bound wrists will allow, until I tire myself and give up, because my arms and throat are sore and no one will ever come anyway.

The whole time, his hand rests softly on my neck, the ball of his thumb brushing back and forth against my nape. I don’t even realize until I’ve calmed enough for my anger to have become sobs, then for those to fade away in turn.

It might’ve been two minutes, it might’ve been ten. He hasn’t spoken the whole time, but his gentle, subtle caress is unceasing.

“Stop touching me like that,” I grind out.

“No, I like it.”

“I don’t.”

“I think you do.”

He’s right, damn it. I do.

But not from him. Anyone else, yes. Him? Never.

“I hate you,” I tell him. “You promised me Serranto wouldn’t bother me or my sister. You gave me your word.” I scoff. “It’s as useless as you are.”

I know I’m provoking him, but I can’t help it. I don’t care. I want him to suffer my contempt.

“I’ll address that tomorrow,” he replies, voice cold and lifeless once more. But his tone is far warmer when he speaks again. “It’s you that needs me right now. Sleep, Little Stray.”

I don’t need him. I’ll never need him.

And sleep? As though he won’t try to fuck me, or punish me?

His cock is still hard, pressed warm against me, but he makes no effort to move.

Instead, his thumb keeps stroking back and forth against my neck, over and over, so light it’s almost as if I’m imagining it. But I’m not.

“Will you leave?” I ask, resigned that he won’t, no matter what I say.

“No, don’t worry,” he replies softly. “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

So not what I meant. Yet strangely comforting.

No, not comforting. Just me being at the end of my rope. Unable to resist after all that’s happened.

“You didn’t keep me safe,” I mutter. “You said you would; you didn’t. Why should I believe you now?”

I’m not sure if I’m complaining or provoking, but Van Wyk doesn’t bite.

“Sleep,” he says instead, and places a kiss on my shoulder.

“I was asleep,” I say sullenly, jerking away. “Until you broke into my apartment and climbed into my bed.”

“I told you, I missed you. I didn’t expect to be gone for so long.”

“You didn’t have to come back at all.”

“Of course I did. I don’t want you escaping. You’re mine.”