The door above me opens, and his footsteps sound on the stairs. I swallow hard, forcing my sarcasm down. He walks right up to where I’m sitting, cocking his head and just... staring. I stand up on shaky legs, not willing to be below him.
Demon has his hands behind his back, and when he brings them forward, I see he’s holding another white garment. Shoving it at me, he makes a sound of delight and smiles. I fight back a shiver, looking down at what I’m holding.
Oh, hell no.
It's a wedding dress.
Nope, fuck this. Revulsion brings vomit up my throat, and I gulp to keep it at bay.
“What is this for?” I ask, trying for a neutral tone.
“Our wedding, of course. Are you ready to be mine for all time?”
God no. This is not happening.
“Um, when? Do I get time to prepare?” I ask, eyes wide.
Demon slaps me, rage in his eyes. “This is on my timeline. I say when, not you.”
I can’t help the snark that rises. “You are unbelievable. What the hell even is your name?” I’m tired of calling him Demon. He doesn’t deserve such a powerful title.
Demon pushes me and I land on my back. He climbs on top of me, pinning me in place with his body.
I gulp air, trying to push myself backward away from him. There's nowhere for me to go. These shackles have me at his mercy.
He gets so close to my face, a slight breeze would bring his lips to mine. “Maxim, Little Bird. You are my suka, not theirs.”
I freeze. That's Russian. I recognize it from some of my Russian guys.
“Are you Russian, Maxim?” I tentatively ask.
Maxim grins. “Bratva, my darling. Impressive guess.”
That's not coincidence. Fuck.
“What do you want? Get off me!” I demand.
That was the wrong thing to say.
Maxim presses his lips to mine, hard, using teeth to pry my mouth open. I gag as he shoves his tongue inside. He pins me tighter with his legs, freeing one hand to trail down my body. He paws at my breasts through the scrap of a nightgown, then trails down to lift the bottom up to my hips.
Please... not again. No more rape!
Tears fall unbidden from my eyes, and I plead as I yank my mouth from his, “Please don’t do this, Maxim. Please!”
Maxim doesn’t respond, continuing his assault. He pries my legs open further, reaching underneath to grab my pussy. I slam my eyes shut, trying to block him out. His finger trails through my center, and he gets mad at my dryness.
“Why aren’t you wet for your husband to be?” Maxim growls low.
“You’re forcing yourself on me—again. Maybe on our wedding night it will be a different story,” I have to spit that last part out, the vileness of the words shaking me to my core.
I must play along to survive.
To my amazement, Maxim gets off me and stands up. I look away from the prominent bulge in his pants.
Instead of leaving though, he saunters over to one of the silver metal tables holding torture instruments. He picks up a few things, making a sound of approval when he finds what he’s looking for.
He carries it over, and smiles. “We can use this to signify our union as being eternal.”
