His fingers slip lower, dragging through my wetness. “You don’thaveto do anything. Just let me make you feel good. Let me ruin you all over again.”
The kiss he plants on my skin burns worse than the wound stitched tight in my back. I hate him. Hate him so much I could scream. And still, my hips grind down against his hand, chasing the slow, steady drag of his fingers.
“That’s it. I can feel you getting wetter for me, kitten. My filthy little mess.”
A broken whimper slips out of me before I can stop it, and shame scorches through my veins.
His pace slows. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
“No. I can’t?—”
His other hand leaves my stomach. I hear the slick sound of his fist around his cock as the head of his length nudges my spine.
“You feel that? That’s me. Hard for you. Thinking about that tight little pussy choking on me. Open your fucking eyes, or I’ll stop. Leave you right here, aching, dripping, begging for me to finish what I started. Is that what you want?”
I shake my head. My eyes flutter open, dragging up to the mirror. To him.
“Good girl.” His hand moves faster between my thighs, faster over his cock, and the slick rhythm of it fills the room, fills my head until there’s nothing left but him and his filthy words.
“Please,” I breathe, hating the desperation in my voice. “Please?—”
“Please what, kitten? Say it. Tell me you want to come for me.”
“I’m so close.”
“I know.” His thumb presses hard on my clit, his pace brutal and perfect all at once. “I know exactly what makes you come.”
When his thick finger pushes inside me, curling deep, the pleasure is blinding. My knees buckle, but his arm holds me steady as he fucks me with his hand, his other pumping his cock harder. Bringing my hand to my mouth, I try to stifle my moans.
I meet his eyes in the mirror—those dark, bottomless blues—just as his teeth sink into my neck. A grunt vibrates through my spine as I break apart, grinding down on his hand while hot, thick ropes of his release spill against my ass.
He doesn’t stop. Another finger slips inside, stretching me, as his palm rubs relentless circles against my clit. My body convulses, and the shame twists into something sharp and electric.
His mouth ghosts my ear. “So fucking pretty when you come for me.”
I hate that I love the way his fingers feel inside me.
I hate the high burning through my veins.
I hate the part of me that doesn’t want him to stop.
His words make my stomach twist, make my skin crawl. I should be fighting him. Killing him. But instead, I’m shaking, panting, moaning as he fingers me.
When the high finally ends, reality crashes over me.
“Let me go.” I shove his arm away, refusing to look at the streaks of his cum glistening on my skin. I don’t want to see it.Don’t want to see me. I don’t understand it. I don’t want to. I hate him.
I yank the bathroom door open and stumble out, the cold air of the bunker slamming into my sweat-damp skin. My hands shake as I pull my shirt down, hiding the mess he left on me.
I drop to the floor in the far corner of the main room, curling in on myself. I just want to disappear. His footsteps echo down the hall. I press my forehead to my knees, but I can feel his presence before I see him. A small bottle of sleeping pills lands near my feet.
“Take it,” Priest says.
I don’t look up. I don’t want to meet his eyes.
My fingers tremble as I reach for it. I shouldn’t. God, I shouldn’t. But I’m too tired to fight. Too disgusted with myself to argue.
The pill goes down dry, bitter on my tongue.
