This has me pulling my fingers from her center. I smirk as I run them over her lips.
Curling her mouth in disgust, she fights beneath me, but I pin her to the floor harder.
“You can fight me all you want, pretty poison. I want nothing more than to see your fire.”
12
Greer
He’s fucking insane!
Watching him fuck me while I had no clue what was happening should’ve been sick. It’s a fucked up game he’s been playing, with me as the main character, all while I was unaware.
What I thought I could hide was the fact of how turned on I was watching it, like I was detached and ignoring the fact that I was the one starring in the sick little porno he made.
My body is aching from all the adrenaline coursing through it, and the way I fell when I tried to get away from him earlier.
He helped me off the floor and deposited me into what I assume is his bedroom. It smells like him, but it’s so bare. I looked around for anything I could find about him and came up empty. I tried all the windows, but they were all nailed shut.
He and Bear took off outside, him in a huff, and I was too scared to leave the room, so after looking at myself in the mirror, still buzzing from everywhere he touched me, I showered and got into bedclothes.
When he walks back into the room, I’m braiding my long, dark hair for bed so it doesn’t get tangled while I sleep.
He growls at me, striding over and yanking the braid away. “No.”
I hiss as my scalp tugs from the force. “What do you mean, no? It’s my hair.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Excuse me?” It’s bad enough this man has stalked me for two years, kidnapped me, cut me off from everything, fucked me while I was drugged, but now he thinks he owns every part of me?
Fuck him.
Once the braid is entirely undone, he carefully fingers through my hair. I ignore the way it feels to have him touching me again when I’m still in a state of fight or flight.
Leaning into my space, he forces me to slant back on the bed to avoid his intoxicating proximity. I can’t remain level-headed while he forces me to feel… things.
Of course, my body already knows him, so it responds as it does. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself to make sense of the throbbing between my thighs currently.
“You’re mine. That means every part of you is mine, down to each and every hair.”
That shouldn’t sound hot, right?
I killed him—well, nearly killed him.
He’s drugged and molested me.
He’s stalked me.
He’s the reason for every fear etched into my psyche that I’ll never be able to escape.
He’s also the reason I’m growing wet all over again, and I can’t ignore that fact because he won’t let me.
“The sooner you figure that out, the easier this will be.”
“And what exactly isthis?” I ask.
There’s a lethal edge to him that’s palpable, and I don’t want to push the envelope, but I also don’t want to lie back and take his bullshit.
