My husband. He’s here. He’s alive. He’s coming for me.
The name acts like an electric shock to my system. My pussy clenches so violently, so tightly around Felix’s cock, that he lets out a strangled, choked-off groan of surprise. It’s an instinctive, primal reaction—my body recognising its true owner even through the haze of the drugs.
“Fuck,” Felix hisses, his fingers digging into my hips so hard his nails draw blood. “Wendy, what did you just do?”
“Peter…” I whisper, my voice finally finding its strength. I try to push up from the desk, my heart thundering with a new, terrifying hope. “He’s coming. He’s going to kill you.”
Felix’s face contorts. He looks down at me, the arrogance in his eyes flickering with the first shadow of real, jagged fear. He doesn’t pull out; he grips me tighter, his breath coming in ragged hitches as he listens to the muffled sound of distant gunfire echoing from the floor below.
“He won’t find you in one piece,” Felix growls, his voice turning lethal.
Felix doesn’t pull out. If anything, the news of Hook and Peter being in the house turns his fear into a manic, desperate kind of lust. He isn’t making love to me; he is trying to claim the territory before the invaders arrive.
He grabs my hair again, his knuckles white, and yanks my torso up from the desk until I’m forced into a back-breaking arch. He begins to ram into me with a rhythmic, bone-deep brutality that makes the mahogany desk groan and slide across the floor. Each thrust is a violent collision, his hips slapping against mine with a sound like wet leather. I’m screaming, my head lolling back, my eyes tracking the gold leaf on the ceiling as it blurs into a spinning vortex.
“You think he’s coming to save you?” Felix snarls into my ear, his breath hot and smelling of bitter chemicals. He slams home again, so hard I feel the impact in my teeth. “He’s coming for a corpse, Wendy. I’ll break you so thoroughly there won’t be enough of your soul left for him to recognise.”
“Peter!” I scream, the name a jagged prayer.
My body is a battlefield. My pussy is still clamped tight around him in a vice-grip of sheer terror and adrenaline, and everytime he forces his way in, it feels like I’m being split in two. The cocaine makes it impossible to pass out; it keeps me pinned to the centre of the agony, forcing me to feel every inch of the invasion.
Below us, a muffled boom vibrates through the floorboards—the sound of another door being erased.
Felix lets out a guttural, panicked sound. He pulls out of me with a wet pop that leaves me gasping on the wood, my legs shaking so violently I can’t stand. He doesn’t give me a chance to recover. He grabs my arm and yanks me off the desk. I hit the floor hard, my bare skin skidding across the rug, but he doesn’t stop. He drags me by the wrist, my body trailing behind him like a discarded doll.
“Get up!” he commands, his voice cracking.
“No! Let me go!” I claw at his hand, my nails digging into his skin, but the drugs have turned my muscles to water.
He reaches the massive, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and hits a hidden catch. With a low, mechanical hum, a section of the library swings inward, revealing the dark, narrow mouth of a service elevator. The air coming from the shaft is cold and smells of grease and damp stone.
He throws me inside. I collapse onto the metal floor, the cold biting into my back. Felix steps in after me, his shirt unbuttoned, his chest heaving. He hits the button for the basement, and the gate hisses shut just as the bedroom door at the end of the hall—the only thing between us and my husband—starts to splinter under the weight of a sledgehammer.
“One more time,” Felix whispers, his eyeswide and roaming over my naked, bruised form as the elevator begins its slow, jerking descent.
He drops to his knees between my legs, pinning my wrists above my head against the vibrating metal wall. He doesn’t use his hands. He just shoves himself back inside me while the elevator cable groans above us.
“I’m taking you to the dark, Wendy,” he breathes, his hips working with a frantic, rhythmic desperation. “And by the time they find the basement, you’ll be long gone.”
I sob into the darkness of the elevator, my head thumping against the wall with every thrust. I can hear the distant, fading sounds of the massacre above, the echo of Peter’s name being lost in the mechanical whine of the lift.
Wendy
The world is a blurring, vibrating cage.
The metal floor of the elevator is ice against my spine, the vibration of the cables humming through my skull like a swarm of angry hornets. Felix is a heavy, suffocating weight between my thighs, his movements jagged and frantic, a desperate attempt to reclaim a territory he’s already lost.
Through the white-hot static of the cocaine, a single word begins to pulse. It’s not a thought; it’s a heartbeat.
Peter.
The name is a mantra, a jagged piece of glass I’m clutching in the dark of my mind.Peter. Peter. Peter.I say it behind my teeth, tasting the copper of my bitten lip. The drug wants to sweep me away, to drown me in the gold-leaf luxury and the chemical numbness, but the sound of that name is a tether. It’s the smell of our kitchen. It’s the weight of his hand on the small of my back. It’s the only thing that’s real.
The elevator doors hiss shut, sealing out the soundsof the war upstairs. My stomach plummets as the lift jerks into motion, the sensation of falling making the nausea roll in my gut.
Felix lets out a manic, jagged laugh, his head lolling back as he thrusts into me one last time, pinning my wrists so hard against the vibrating metal I think the bone might snap.
“See, baby?” he pants, his eyes wide and glazed with a terrifying, bloated ego. “You see? They can burn the house down. They can kill every man I own. But you? You belong to me. You’re in my veins now. You’re in my walls. There is no Peter. There is only this. There is only me.”
