Page 30 of The Rust in Her Hair

"Crispin." I manage to say his name, but it comes out weak, my voice shaking. "Please, don’t–"

His hands grip my thighs, forcing them apart with brutal strength.

Panic erupts inside me, hot and blinding, a primal terror that makes my heart hammer against my ribs like it's trying to break free.

This can’t be happening.

"I wanted this to be different," he growls, his voice low and menacing as he shifts his weight, pinning me more effectively. "I wanted our first time to be tender, something you'd remember with fondness. But you had to ruin it. Didn’t you?" His eyes flash with anger. "Now I have to do what I have to do."

I thrash beneath him, my hands flying up to hit his chest, his face, anything I can reach. My fists connect with solid muscle, but he doesn't even flinch, doesn't acknowledge my desperate struggle at all.

He just shifts forward, positioning himself between my legs, his hips pressing into mine, holding me open.

He’s so big and heavy, rendering my struggles useless.

"Stop fighting," he growls, his voice low and menacing. His hands shoot out, capturing my wrists in one powerful grip. He forces them over my head, pressing them into the velvet cushion with enough pressure to make my bones ache.

Not sure what to do, I go still for a second, and that’s when I feel the hard line of his cock through his trousers, pressing against my hip.

I try to squeeze my legs shut, to force him away, but he's wedged between them and he doesn’t budge. His thighs press against mine, holding me open, vulnerable.

His free hand moves down, sliding between my legs. I hold my breath, my whole body tensing as his fingers graze my pussy through the thin fabric of my underwear.

The touch is light, almost exploratory, and it sends a sudden rush of nausea through me so violently I taste bile at the back of my throat.

Every instinct screams at me to kick, to bite, to do anything to stop this invasion. I try the best I can to pull my hands free, but his grip only bears down harder, grinding the bones of my wrists together.

"Fuck, you smell good," Crispin growls softly as his fingers trace the shape of me through the damp fabric.

I can feel the slickness starting to gather there—a humiliating betrayal of my own body that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with terror.

Crispin leans down, his breath hot against my neck. His lips press against my skin, and I have to fight the urge to shudder. He starts kissing my neck, slow and deliberate, his tongue darting out to lick a trail up to my ear. The wet warmth of his mouth makes my stomach turn, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.

"Warm vanilla cream and toasted almonds," he whispers. "Such an intoxicating scent."

My throat tightens as he nips the skin right behind my ear, and a deep, primal disgust washes over me, making me want to claw my own skin off.

"No," I mumble as I keep trying to move, pulling my arms free, but they don’t even move an inch.

"I can feel how much you want me," he moans, then his fingers force their way past the edge of my panties, going right for the slick seam of my pussy.

My stomach twists into knots, and I heave once.

But Crispin doesn’t seem to notice. He simply hums against my skin—a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through my entire body. He sucks at the sensitive skin of my neck, leaving a hickey for everyone to see, a sick brand of his ownership.

The wet heat of his mouth combined with the clumsy feel of his fingers pressing against my clit makes bile rise in my throat.

Pulling in a deep breath, I swallow it down, then close my eyes.

And then something terrifying happens…

The fight drains out of me, the panic recedes, and a strange calm settles over me.

My mind goes quiet, my muscles relax, and I feel myself becoming pliant beneath him.

It's as if a switch has been flipped somewhere deep inside me, overriding my terror with a chilling stillness. I'm no longer struggling, no longer fighting. My body has surrendered completely, accepting the inevitable with a resignation that feels both like a betrayal and a strange kind of survival mechanism.

I can feel his weight on me, his hands on me, his mouth on my neck, but it's all happening to someone else, to a body that no longer belongs to me.