“Did you put a–”
I didn’t get to finish the question. In the next breath, his presence engulfed me, his massive frame eclipsing the space between us.
His fingers clamped around my throat, shoving me back against the door with a force that sent a shock wave through my spine.
Pain cackled through me, sharp and electric.
“Now, listen to me and listen good.” His words were a blade slicing through my resolve, gruff and layered with something wicked, always wicked. And his voice was hot, reeking with dominance as it ghosted over my skin.
“You are going to get out of this car, go to the room, strip, and then wait.” His fingers flexed around my neck, a reminder that my life was just a fragile pulse beneath the weight of his hand.
“Nod if you understand, Elizabeth.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, the pounding loud in the car’s suffocating silence.
I nodded, but his hand lingered on my neck before he finally let go, hesitantly, though, as if he was contemplating just pressing harder and ending it all at once.
I scrambled for the door handle, opening it with shaky fingers and stumbling out.
My legs felt weak and wobbly as if I had taken too many shots of something potent. And the whisper of wind against my skin was a cruel reminder of how unsteady I was.
My eyes itched and I knew. I just knew the tears were coming.
The living room was too quiet when I entered, too familiar, suffocating me in memories. I sniffled, wiping a stray tear with the back of my palm, then shrugged off my jacket, tossing it onto the couch. I kicked off my silver flats and began to head into the room.
In the room, I sat at the edge of the bed, hands clenched on my lap as my thoughts spiralled, my chest heaving, tightening, while the tears came in lazy, slow drops.
I didn’t know what he was going to do to me. I just knew I didn’t want it, knew I would fight but fail miserably. I had never won in this fights before.
The door suddenly swung open and I startled to my feet, my heart slamming against my ribs as I staggered backwards.
He stood there, silent and unreadable as the dim lighting cast a shadow over his face, deepening the darkness in his eyes. And there was a way he looked at me–jaw clenched, gaze sharp, letting me know he didn’t like what he was seeing.
“Odd.” His tone was a low, deliberate threat, a crackling whip in the air. “I could swear I told you what to do when you get here. And I remember you nodding in understanding.”
He shut the door slowly behind him, his back resting on it, hands tucked inside his pockets.
“I-” I started, my voice barely above a whisper. “We were just talking. I wasn’t going to do anything with him.”
“Five seconds.”
My stomach dropped.
“Get rid of those clothes,” he ordered, moving toward the bottle of wine on the coffee table. “Five seconds or the punishment doubles.”
Punishment?
My pulse stuttered. What did he mean by that?
I didn’t want to find out what the punishment would entail, or what it would look like when doubled. Yet I yanked the tank top over my head, my fingers trembling as I pushed down my cargo pants, then my panties.
His eyes ran over my body, heat licking every part they touched. Then his gaze stopped on my arm, flickering between the two, jaw feathering. For a split second, I almost panicked,dreading this being the day he would tell me to take my arm warmers off.
I could let him freely trace the lines on my back, let him press his finger into it as if measuring the depth. But my arms, they were my secret, my shame. They already felt the whisper of my slow descent into madness. No one needed to know that I was this broken.
Because broken girls didn’t get love.
A breath of relief left me when his gaze finally shifted from my arm to another place.
