Thump.His hips hit mine with the force of a car crash.Thump.Again.Thump.
"Structure!" he gasps, his voice ragged. "Find the rhythm, Elodie. Count the beats."
I try. God, I try.One, two, three, four.But the rhythm is chaotic. It is fast. Hard. Relentless. He is pounding into me, driving me into the mattress, taking everything I have and demanding more.
My hands find his shoulders. I dig my nails in. I want to hurt him. I want to leave marks on him like he left on me. I rake my nails down his back. I feel skin break. Alaric hisses, but he doesn't stop. If anything, he goes harder. He loves the pain. He feeds on it.
He leans down, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss. He tastes like my own blood. He bites my lip, sucking on it, swallowing my cries. His hand moves between our bodies. He finds the bundle of nerves he tortured in the music room. This time, he doesn't tease. He rubs. Hard. Fast. Matches the rhythm of his thrusts.
"Come for me," he growls into my mouth. "Come on my cock. Do it."
It builds instantly. The pressure. The heat. The terror. It spirals in my belly, a dark, heavy coil tightening and tightening. "Alaric... I can't... it's too much..."
"You can," he commands. "Let go. Let go of the perfect girl. Let her die."
He hits a spot deep inside me—a sweet, sharp bruise that makes my vision go black. He grinds his thumb against my clit. And I shatter.
It rips through me like a scream. My body clamps down around him, milking him, pulsating in violent spasms. I cry out, a raw, guttural sound that belongs to an animal, not a human. I am shaking apart. I am dying.
Alaric groans. Feeling my release, feeling my walls tighten around him like a vice, he loses his control. The metronome breaks. He stops thinking.
He drives into me three, four more times—fast, desperate, brutal strokes. Then he stiffens. He buries his face in my neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle. He pours himself into me. Hot. Endless. Scalding.
He groans my name."Elodie."It sounds like a prayer. It sounds like a curse.
We stay like that for a long time. Him collapsed on top of me, crushing me into the mattress. Me staring up at the canopy of the bed, chest heaving, tears drying on my cheeks. The room smells of sex and blood. The silence returns. But it is not the empty silence of the hallway. It is the heavy, satisfied silence of the aftermath.
My legs are trembling. My insides feel rearranged. I feel used. I feel soreness blooming between my thighs. But... For the first time in eight months... the noise in my head has stopped. The anxiety. The perfectionism. The voice of my father. They are gone. Obliterated by the chaos.
Alaric lifts his head. He looks wrecked. His hair is wild. His lips are swollen. There is a smear of blood on his cheek—mine or his, I don't know. He looks at me with a terrifying intensity.
"You're still here," he whispers, as if he expected me to disintegrate.
"I'm still here," I rasp.
He rolls off me, but he doesn't go far. He pulls me into his side, wrapping his arms around me like a vice. He traps my leg with his. He runs his hand down my body, from my neck to my hip, claiming the territory he just conquered.
"You did well," he murmurs. "You took it all."
"You hurt me," I say quietly. It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact.
"I know," he says. He kisses the bruise on my shoulder. "Pain is proof of life, Elodie. And tonight, you are very, very alive."
He reaches for the sheet and pulls it up, covering our nakedness. "Sleep," he commands. "Tomorrow, we start Phase Two."
"Phase Two?" I ask, my eyes heavy, exhaustion pulling me under.
"Phase Two," he agrees. "Now that I've broken the vessel... I have to fill it with something new."
I close my eyes. I should be afraid. I should be plotting my escape. But as I drift off, wrapped in the arms of the monster who just ravaged me, I realize the scariest truth of all. I don't want to leave. The cage is the only place where I feel real.
[SCENE BREAK - MORNING AFTER]
Light stabs at my eyelids. I wake up alone. The space beside me is cold. The sheets are rumpled, stained with small spots of blood and other fluids. The memories of last night hit me instantly. The dinner. The rage. The sex.The Ruin.
I sit up, pulling the sheet to my chin. My body aches. Every muscle feels stretched, used. My inner thighs are tender. I look at the bedside table. There is a tray. Coffee. Aspirin. A glass of water. And a note.
I reach for the note. It is written on heavy, cream-colored cardstock in sharp, angular handwriting.
