Page 64

His hand grips the bottom of my chin, tilting me just enough to see the desire in his eyes. "Tell me. Your wants. Your desires. Tell me how you touch yourself when you think no one's around."

An invisible chain wraps hard around my throat, squeezing tight and stopping any words from slipping past. The beat of silence is heavier than anything I've ever known. The pressure on my chest weighing down, like an anchor steadying a ship.

"Better yet…" He licks his bottom lip. "Show me."

"No…" My face crumbles as he moves into the single chair in the corner. He sits down, leg hanging over the other and his fingers pressed against his chin. He doesn't say another word, he doesn't need to. His eyes show every threat.

Closing my eyes, I suck in a breath. But all I taste is his aftershave that fills the room. Everything in this life is tainted by him, even the air I breathe.

"Open your fucking legs and touch your cunt," he growls from the corner, impatiently.

My legs shake as I slowly separate them, my hands hovering in the air as every inch of my mouth dries up. I don't hide the sobs. If he wants my shame, he can take my tears, too.

My fingers rest against my entrance as my eyes close. Pretend you're not here. Pretend you're at home, alone. In your bed. Pretend his eyes aren't devouring every inch of your skin. Pretend you want this, you choose this. I try to talk myself through this, but even the quiet sound of the voice in my head offers no comfort. I don't think any voice could.

Slowly, I slide a finger inside myself. I hate it. I hate that it feels good. I hate that he knows it, too. I keep the rhythm slow, not wanting to push my body into something more.

"Fuck, you're dripping. Your cunt is so pretty." His voice is low with desire. His words making me wish it had been me at the end of his dagger. "This is how I want you, Amora. Your legs spread and pussy dripping. You're so ready for my cock, aren't you? So eager for it. I can see it—fuck, I can smell it."

Vomit slowly crawls up my windpipe and into my throat, the sour acid burning against my tonsils, but I swallow it down.

"Enough." He dismisses me with a flick of the wrist and moves towards the bed. "Crawl to me."

I move without a fight, my body complying as his suit jacket opens once more. Showing me his pretty little toy he likes to slaughter women with. The carpet scratches against my palms and my knees as I crawl to him. My head hangs in shame. I can't believe this is my life. I can't believe how far I've fallen.

I stop just short of him. His smile so wide the whites of his teeth show. He's loving this. My shame, my degradation. The curve in his suit trousers shows how hard he is at the sight of me at his feet.

He bends, crouching to eye level. His hand cups my cheek in a way that would make a girl swoon, but to me, it makes my skin crawl.

"Tell me you're mine," he whispers softly.

I can't. I won't. But I have to. My eyes are wide, glassed over with tears that haven't stopped spilling since the day started. My lips part, teeth grazing my bottom lip as I try and bite it back.

"I'm yours."

The triumph on his face speaks louder than anything he could have said. His hands move, gripping my upper arms as he drags me to my feet and into his arms.

"Please…" I let the sad, pathetic, desperate plea slip from my mouth, but it doesn't stop him. He forces his lips against mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth as he kisses me. Hard, hungry. Every inch of his desire spills into my mouth. I grab at his arms, trying to force him away. His hands move to my head, pulling me into him, holding me in place. I can't run, there's nowhere to go. I already tried.

He keeps his mouth on mine as he lays me on the bed, towering over me. His erect cock digs in between my thighs as he rubs himself against my wetness. His free hand fumbles with his jacket pocket as he searches for something I don't want to name. Even if I already know what he's looking for.

I close my eyes. Please, let this be over soon. Please. The cool metal touches the skin of my thigh, making me jolt, confirming what I already knew. He doesn't say anything as he drags the dagger across my flesh. Careful, precise. Just enough pressure that I can feel it without splitting the skin.

"I always knew this would be sensational, but having you here, like this, all to myself? I didn't know⁠—"

"Please don't do this, I'm sorry," I cut him off, a mistake I wish I didn't bother with. It's a pathetic attempt, but it's all I have. I won't survive this. I won't. His cock twitches as my tears stream down my face and onto the skin of my breasts.

His other hand reaches for the dirty fabric of my dress; I try to push him away, but it's no use. I hear the grumble of a laugh in his throat as he pulls his hand back, slapping me hard across the face, causing me to jolt to the side. My head is dizzy, and the room spins from the force.

"Interrupt me again, and I'll fuck you with the same blade I'll kill you with." He pushes the blade between my legs, handle side first, pressing against my sex, just enough to almost enter me. I bite down hard as my breathing almost stops.

I swallow as tears slip from my eyes, dampening my cheeks. My mind is already trying to close down. Everything inside is begging to just give up. To close my eyes and go to a place where this isn't happening. I want to give in, to do what my mind is pleading with me to do, but he starts to slowly rub the handle over my clit, pressing down hard enough that it makes my body jerk. He rubs slow, circular motions which force me to bite down on my tongue to stop me from making a sound that betrays every part of me.

I hate it. Hate that he's forcing me to feel something I don't want to feel. I try to move, but his hand grips my thigh, holding me in place. His other remains between my legs, the circular motions speeding up against my clit, sending a wave of heat through my body, my lips parting. My breath quickens the more he massages the cold handle against me.

"Please…" I say through a strangled moan. And for the smallest second, I don't know if it's for him to stop or for him to carry on. That breaks me more than the act itself.

"Look at my little pet, squirming and writhing on my bed, dripping wet and needing more." His voice drips with arousal as he pulls the knife away. My teeth find the inside of my cheek, the only thing stopping the sound that wants to follow it out.