“I wanted to fuck her, but I couldn’t,” Ollie informed, his voice stiff and without emotion. “I physically couldn’t because I’m a slave to you.” A single finger slid through my sex, and I shivered. Ollie dropped his head over my shoulder, drawing in a breath. I tried to turn to look at him, but he withdrew his hand and pressed my face against the door again, pinning me in place.
Confusion seized me blind.
His palm returned to me, dragging through my dripping wet center, not focusing on pleasing me, but every movement he made was for himself—and again, I did nothing to stop him. I embraced him; the closeness of him, his touch, his ragged breath spilling over my skin. I embraced it all.
Fingers pushed inside me—stretching me, thrusting into me, fucking me.
“Tell me to stop,” Ollie warned, his voice broken and troubled as he pumped in and out. When I didn’t answer, he pulled me back against him before gripping the back of my neck with his other hand. He thrust into me harder—hungrier, and more demanding. “Dammit, Mia. Stop me!”
“No!” I screamed.
He released his grip from my wrist, and in a moment when I thought something snapped inside him, his cock emerged from his pants, grinding and rubbing between my crack—hard, solid, and untamed. Ollie embodied a wave of fury, clenching my hipbones, and dragging me from the door before slamming me against the desk.
Still, I wasn’t scared, only worried for him … because this wasn’t him. He’d never manhandled me. He’d never pushed me. He’d never fucked me. And everything screaming inside me knew it was exactly what he was about to do. For the first time, Ollie was going to fuck me. Before I had the chance to turn and face him, Ollie wrapped his fingers in my bun and pressed my face down.
As if I lost all will to move, I morphed into whatever he needed because I didn’t want to say no. This time, I was his punching bag. With my chest pressed against the—now cleared—desk, legs spread wide, and my bottom in the air, I felt his fingers pull me apart as his swollen cock drove inside me. I chewed my lip to fight a sound from escaping until blood drew and crept into my mouth as he continued his revenge on me.
Over and over, he pounded into me with a fist in my knotted hair, yanking my head back.
Over and over, his familiar pelvis slammed into me in an unfamiliar way as my eyes stayed fixed on the mattress where we used to make love.
Over and over, fingers digging, leaving marks deeper than the skin, until warm semen pumped inside me from his pulsing weapon.
Then everything stopped.
Silence.
Stillness.
He stayed pinned, deep inside me. His entire body trembled as he gasped for a steady breath. Time passed slow—too slow—as we both froze in the moment still connected. I never saw his face because he refused to let me see him like this. It was as if he faced me, he wouldn’t have been able to go through with it, yet it still broke him because his body shook in regret.
Finally, he pulled out, and the warm liquid dripped down my thigh, but I still couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I gripped my eyelids shut, turning my teeth to the inside of my cheek.
Seconds passed, and the sound of my door closing behind him was the only indication his unsettling retribution was over.
The small hand lingered over the three as I waited for Ethan to come through the door. He should have been here by now. The one night I desperately needed to not feel alone, I was. I remembered the days when all I’d wanted was to be alone. I’d never needed anyone until I fell victim to love.
I wasn’t angry with Ollie for what he did, if anything, he showed me a part of him, and I finally understood. Like a blanket, he wrapped me up in the hell—the place he couldn’t break free from—to give me a morsel of the torture he faced daily. Each word he’d uttered, I’d felt the struggle inside him. Each time he’d gripped me tighter, it had been an unsaid cry for help. Each breath had been a scream. Every thrust had been a beg for mercy, and the only person who truly took the beating had been him.
I’d felt it.
Like a ghost walking the planes of the earth aimlessly, lost and confused, unheard and unseen, I’d felt Ollie’s internal pain. And it was that same feeling that kept my eyes open in the slow passing hours of the night.
My eyes stayed open, heavy yet fighting, locked on the door across the room until the sun came up blazing through the window. The only sound was the rattling of the vent. My mind spun like a frantic racing hamster on a wheel. Round and round. The visit from my father. Ollie. The glass in my mattress. Ollie. The dead cat. Ollie. Focusing turned into an impossible action I couldn’t grasp.
Then the unlocking of the wing sounded, reminding me I haven’t gotten a lick of sleep.
Usually, I would have jumped out of bed at the sound. I would have—should have—collected my belongings and head to the community bathroom before everyone else. But it was Saturday.
Saturday’s used to be spent in the library with Ollie. Then they used to be spent with Zeke in the group therapy room on the piano. But now I didn’t want to leave my bed as I lie awake, naked, and drained from my short trip to Ollie’s hell.
My eyelids felt like two elephants were sitting on them, and I’d only closed them for, what felt like, a second when a pounding at my door had them snap back open to the clock above.
Nine.
Two hours came and gone in the blink of an eye.
I’d fallen asleep.
