“Fuck you.”
He smiles. “Tell me you feel everything you did when we first met.”
I do.
“I don’t.”
“Hm.”
He sets the knife on the table beside my head, the soft clink absurdly gentle after everything else.
“Let’s see if my touch changes your mind.”
I close my eyes without meaning to.
My body aches—hot, tight, desperate—for more.
He follows the same path the knife did, letting his fingertips trail down my skin in place of steel.
This time, when my body shudders, he doesn’t move away. Two fingers rest deliberately over the fabric covering my slit, warm where the knife was cold.
My breathing grows heavier, and I need him to keep going.
I slightly bring my body into his touch, needing more pressure on my skin.
“Tell me you want me to keep going, princess.”
I don’t answer, struggling not to beg him for more as I buck my hips at the pure nearness of him.
“Tell me you want me.” He pushes again.
I want you.
I want you so badly it disgusts me.
“I don’t want you,” I whisper, breathless and unconvincing.
I wait for him to keep pushing.
To break me open.
To take everything he wants while I’m chained down and furious and trembling.
Instead—my arm drops.
The cuff opens.
My eyes fly wide.
He’s… letting me go.
Silently, he walks around the bed, freeing my ankles next. I push up onto my elbows, completely thrown off balance—inside and out.
He doesn’t look at me as he takes off his black shirt and hands it over.
His voice is quiet in a way that feels like another kind of violence. “Goodnight, Aurelia.”
He turns off the light, and darkness swallows the room whole.
