"You're a demon," I whisper, my struggles slowly ceasing, my muscles going completely slack in the wet sand.
"I am your demon," he murmurs, his chest heaving as he feels the fight finally drain out of me.
He releases my wrists. He doesn't wait for me to agree. He slides his right arm entirely under my back and his left arm under my knees, groaning in agony as he lifts me completely out of the surf.
He carries me back up the beach. The walk is slow, his limp pronounced, his breathing a jagged, rattling sound. I do not fight him. I rest my head against his uninjured shoulder, entirely numb, completely broken by the absolute finality of my captivity. There is no escape. The cage has no walls, but the bars are forged from blood, trauma, and a twisted, inescapable love.
He carries me into the villa, bypassing the living room, heading straight for the cavernous master bedroom.
He tosses me onto the center of the massive, low-profile bed. I bounce slightly on the pristine white linens, my wet, sandy shirt clinging entirely to my skin.
Thayer stands at the edge of the mattress. He is dripping wet, bleeding, and entirely consumed by a dark, feral need to completely reassert his dominance over my fractured mind.
"Take the shirt off," he commands, his voice dropping into a demonic, guttural register that leaves absolutely no room for negotiation.
I stare up at him, tears leaking silently from the corners of my eyes. "Thayer, please."
"Take it off, Sybil," he repeats, stepping forward until his knees press against the edge of the bed. "Or I will tear it from your body myself."
My hands shake violently, but the absolute, terrifying authority in his eyes compels my complete obedience. I reach down, gripping the wet hem of the black shirt. I pull it over my head, discarding it onto the floor. I am completely naked, shivering violently in the air-conditioned room, covered in sand and the remnants of my own shattered reality.
Thayer strips his ruined, wet trousers off with one hand. He is completely bare, massive and terrifyingly aroused. The thick, hard ridge of his length stands completely erect, entirely unaffected by the pain or the blood loss. He operates entirely on adrenaline and the primal, obsessive need to claim his territory.
He climbs onto the bed, crawling over me like a dark, heavy shadow. He pins my wrists to the mattress above my head with his right hand, completely securing me beneath his massive frame.
"You hate me," he whispers, his face hovering mere inches from mine, his dark eyes completely devouring my tear-stained features.
"Yes," I breathe, my voice trembling.
"You think I am a monster."
"You are."
"Good," he growls, his lips brushing brutally against mine. "Then let the monster show you exactly who you belong to."
He doesn't offer me gentle preparation. He doesn't worship me. This is not the adoring, praise-filled intimacy of the bath.This is a violent, aggressive subjugation designed to completely eradicate the rebellious thoughts from my brain.
He spreads my thighs with his knee, positioning himself entirely at my entrance. He drives his hips forward, burying himself completely inside me with one ruthless, devastating thrust.
A sharp, ragged scream tears from my throat. The pain of the unyielding entry is instantly eclipsed by the heavy, scalding wave of absolute, terrifying fullness. My internal muscles violently clamp down around him, betraying my anger, instantly welcoming the massive intrusion.
Thayer groans, a harsh, guttural sound of pure, dark satisfaction as he feels my body immediately surrender to his size.
He begins to move. The rhythm is punishing, entirely aggressive. He pulls back almost completely before slamming his hips down, driving himself to the hilt over and over again. The wet, heavy slap of his body against mine echoes loudly in the vast room. Every thrust drives me deeper into the mattress, the sheer friction igniting a blinding, white-hot fire in the center of my body that completely burns away my grief.
"Look at me," he demands, his grip on my wrists tightening brutally.
I force my eyes open, staring up into the face of my mother's killer.
"You want me," he snarls, his thumb sliding down to press heavily against the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs, perfectly matching the brutal, driving pace of his hips. "Your mind hates me, but your body is completely desperate for me. Tell me the truth, Sybil."
"No," I sob, twisting my head from side to side, fighting the overwhelming, agonizing pleasure building rapidly in my core. "Stop. Please."
"Tell me you want it," he commands, increasing the speed, completely unraveling my nervous system. "Tell me you belong to the monster."
I can't fight it. The trauma bond is absolute. The physical sensation completely overrides my morality. The blinding, terrifying climax hits me with the force of a hurricane.
"I want you!" I scream, the volume entirely unrestrained, my vision whiting out completely. "I belong to you! Only you!"
