And while I find it absolutely insane that I’m in this position, I don’t hesitate to nod greedily against his hand. His grip now acts as some kind of screwed up form of pleasure and I find myself reaching behind me to hold onto his thighs, knowing that my release is approaching quickly.
“That’s right, Livie. You want this, don’t you?” His words slither over my skin in heated waves of pleasure as he moves the barrel up and down. Then he lifts the gun up and angles the muzzle right over my clit.
I want to scream. To thrash against him in fury and tell him how much I fucking hate him for doing this to me, because I want it. I want whatever it is he is doing to me bad enough that I refuse to tell him to stop. That’s when I realize that my body might not actually be betraying me, rather I’m just too stubborn to admit how fucked up I am for craving this kind of pleasure.
Another moan escapes me, willingly or not, I can’t even tell anymore. I’m too far deep, drowning in the frenzy of how wrong this is, how good it feels, and how much I fucking hate myself for it. And before I know it,my body tenses and my pussy starts to clench around nothing but utter disgust in myself as my orgasm starts to crest and-
“Sorry, Reckless. Times up.”
Right as I attempt to close my eyes to give in to my sick needs, the gun leaves my skin, my mouth is finally free and the warmth of his body caging me in all just disappears.
I turn to face him, but there’s no sign of him. He’s gone.
My body is tight with need as fury courses through my veins. My teeth are now chattering as a thunder of chills rolls over my skin, likely caused by the icy water that has been pouring over me this whole time. But I had his warmth to keep the cold from fully stampeding, warmth that I despised and reveled in all the same.
That fucking asshole.
I angrily turn off the water, nearly tearing the faucet out of the wall before swiping at the hanging towel to wrap around my shamefully weak body. When I step out of the bathroom, I see that the front door is wide open; a chilling breeze barreling inside.
I stomp over to slam the door shut, noticing that the snow has dumped in over the last half hour, covering the ground and finally sticking as it builds in thick mounds. Anger swarms every nerve ending in my body, fusing with my bones and replacing every single fucking nice feeling I’ve ever had about Trace Kavanaugh. That asshole knew what he was doing. He never planned to let me have that release. He just wanted to bend me, break me, humiliate me. And I fucking folded.
Ilet out scream, not caring who might hear me. I’m such a fucking idiot. Why did I succumb to his stupid game?
A gun? I was really about to come on a fucking gun?Maybe I am afearslut, or whatever the hell he called me.
I race back to the bathroom, needing to rid myself of whatever sickness is tainting me right now. My body is shaking; frozen from the cold water, embarrassed that I wasthisclose to coming undone at the hands of an apparent monster and angry that I let him fucking toy with me like that.
How can he do that to me? What could be a good enough reason for him to taunt me like that? Is he really that far down the path of vulturine desires? What happened to him to turn him into some kind of sadistic prick who thinks he can treat people this way?
My chest starts to tighten, feeling like the caverns inside me are caving in and my bones are crumbling as a lump forms in my throat. Tears start to fall . . . or at least I think. It feels like I’m crying. I think I want to. I worked so hard to forget losing him and now, he’s flipping me inside out with the force of a tornado. So yeah, I want to cry, to feel anything other than this burning hatred and ridiculous shame of what I nearly just did.
But I know that what I really feel is nothing. Nothing and everything all at the same time and it’s twisting me the fuck up.
I gasp for air, falling back to the wall but watching myself in the mirror when I realize I’m about to have an actual panic attack. I lean back up, still holding thetowel to my chest as I reach for the pills, remembering I have them still.
But they’re gone.
No. My rings are here and the pills were right next to them. I look around frantically, trying to locate them. Maybe they fell on the ground or maybe…
Trace.
No.
Why the hell would he take those pills?
I want to scream, to hit something, to hithim. But I have to try and calm myself down. He doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing that I am a mess because of him. I am stronger than this and I can’t let him win.
I lift myself up, and run the faucet. I take a deep breath and let the cold water puddle in my palms before lifting them to splash over my face. Granted, I am still freezing from the icy shower I was subjected to for far too long but I need something to calm my nerves. Once I feel settled enough internally, I head for a change of clothes hoping that the comfort of my cotton pajamas will rid the remnants of fury that I can still feel burning in my veins, but it’s a useless hope.
It was a mistake coming up here this weekend. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m stuck here. And I refuse to cower because Trace decided that he’s got some kind of grudge to level out on me.
I head over to my bed but before climbing in, I decide to plug my phone into the charger, granted the thing won’t fucking work anyway. But in case I do get a signal, it’s better to keep a full charge. I reach for the charger that I stashed in the bedside drawer earlier and I gasp when I see a note placed inside.
A note that was not therebefore.
I pick it up, cautious but curious. The paper feels like razors against the pads of my fingers. My heartbeat sounds damn near like it’s echoing in the room around me. But I unfold it anyway and read what it says.
I know what you did.
