Rough hands shove my dress higher, then his fingers hook around the strings of my panties, and he yanks them, the delicate fabric scraping over my thighs before pooling uselessly at my ankles.
“Up,” he snarls.
Before I can react, his arms lock around me, and he lifts me as if I weigh nothing, slamming my torso down onto the cold, hard dining table. My breasts crush against the polished wood, my cheek pressed flat to its surface.
He wrenches my knees apart, manoeuvring me into a humiliating, arched position on all fours with my spine bowed, ass presented and exposed under the dim light.
Spreading my cheeks his hot breath ghosts over my asshole, and it clenches tight. Shame crashes into me like a tidal wave of filth, drowning what little dignity I have left.
Then, his face buries against me, lapping greedily, the obscene slurp of his mouth against my hole.
But through the haze of the degradation, my frantic, wet eyes dart across the table, and there, within desperate reach, the thick, heavy wooden candlestick stands like a silent weapon in the center, its base solid and merciless.
When his tongue vanishes, a new pressure replaces it, and five thick fingers, bunched together, pushing persistently against my fluttering ring, the sting drowning any thought I had. He spits once, a warm glob that does nothing to ease the oncoming damage.
Pain detonates through me as he presses hard, splitting me open, and a strained scream leaves me. I jerk forward, but his big arm slams down over the middle of my back, locking me in place as his knuckles breach my burning hole.
Agony explodes through my pelvis, my entire body trembling from the shock and tension, feeling every vein, every ridge, and every brutal inch as his hand sinks deeper, impossibly widening me.
His wrist disappears, my asshole taking him in. Then part of his forearm. And I can feel the obscene bulge in my lower belly pressing against the table as the width burrows into my guts.
He twists his hand inside me, knuckles grinding against sensitive inner walls, opening and closing his fist like he’s exploring the limits of my destruction.
Then he begins to thrust with a growl in his throat, slow and unhurried at first, building into savage, arm-deep strokes that punch the breath from my lungs.
Wet, sucking sounds fill the room with every withdrawal and re-entry. And each time he pulls back, my ruined, red rim clings desperately to the widest part of his hand before he slams forward again, burying himself to the midpoint of his forearm causing my asshole to push out crimson froth around him.
Through my cries, my vision fractures, before suddenly, I’m dragged back into orbit. Back to him eating my ass. Back to me being silent. And I realize his fist hasn’t even entered me yet.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Not waiting a second longer for it to happen, my fingers graze the candlestick before finally latching around it.
In one fluid, scared-filled motion, born from pure survival, I scream, a primal sound that tears from the deepest depths of me. And with a quick twist, my arm swings with every ounce of broken fury I possess.
The heavy candlestick connects with the side of his skull in a sickeningCRACK, the wooden edge meeting bone. Blood erupts instantly, spraying hot across the table and my dress like a ruptured artery.
Everything slows as Law’s body tilts sideways before slamming onto the floor with a heavy, resounding thud that ripples through the room like the final beat of a dying heart.
My body vibrates with adrenaline, chest sawing in and out. Then, slowly, I lean forward, peering over the edge of the table through wide, wet eyes.
And there he lies… motionless.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
A dark pool of blood steadily spreads beneath his head, glistening under the chandelier light like spilled secrets finally set free.
I stare, waiting for him to move or to rise, and to punish me worse than ever before. Or possibly kill me. But he doesn’t. For a single icy moment, the monster has been silenced by my own trembling hands.
Get out. Get out,replays in my head, over and over, louder and louder.
In a faint daze, I wrench my wedding band down my finger, the huge diamond catching the light as I pull it free. I hop off the table and toss it onto the floor beside him, landing in his own blood.
Then I kick off my heels and, without a second glance at my now ex-husband, I dash toward the front door.
???
The moment I step outside, a fresh slap of chilly evening air and heavy rain hits my face. It’s still early, the sky a dark blue, while I run toward the towering gates, holding my long dress in my hands to keep it from dragging.
