Page 33 of Captive Ruin

How can he know that? He can’t, he’s guessing. It’s to my shame that he’s absolutely one hundred percent correct.

But that changes nothing, I tell myself. I decide, not him, not my body, not the way my hips twitch involuntarily at his touch.

“And I have been gentle,” he adds, and pushes his finger back inside me. “Would you prefer I wasn’t?”

How am I supposed to think when he’s penetrating me? When he’s just made me come? I can’t shut him out of my head or my body.

Maybe he has been gentle—by his standards. He spanked me a hell of a lot harder on the terrace, and he didn’t twist my arm up behind my back or crush my throat. He hasn’t hurt me, not really, and I know he could’ve. He’s stroked my ass and kissed the back of my neck like it means something to him.

But the question of whether I like it is simple. I hate it, and I hate him.

“Since when have you cared what I want or don’t want?” I say bitterly. And that’s the point, right there.

He chuckles, like my response genuinely amuses him. “Everything I’ve done is what you want. So in denial, my Little Stray.”

I’m so lost in my anger that it takes a moment for his words to land.

“Stray?” I echo, bewildered.

“Yes, stray. You wandered somewhere you shouldn’t and got claimed.”

Claimed? Fuck.

“You can’t claim me.” I struggle on his lap, but his finger doesn’t stop moving inside me, back and forth, teasing and slow and so distracting.

“I can, I have. You can’t escape me, Little Stray.”

“You don’t understand no,” I hiss, “do you understand never?” I writhe my hips in an attempt to pull away. It’s not very effective and doesn’t seem to bother him.

“Do you want more punishments? I could be persuaded.” His finger slides from within me and his hand comes down on my ass, harder than before.

I freeze, the breath knocked from me. That hurt. He’s not playing, this time.

Shit. Was he playing before?

“No…” I gasp out.

“Are you going to behave, my Little Stray? Last chance.”

I close my eyes, resistance crumbling. What’s the point, when all he’ll do is punish me harder, then keep asking? “…Yes…”

“Good girl.” His grip on me loosens. “You may sit up.”

I’m not his good girl. I’ll never be his good girl. This isn’t submission, it’s practicality.

And I realize I’ve had that very thought before, on the terrace.

He lifts my shoulders like I weigh nothing to him, drawing me back until I’m kneeling beside him, face flushed in embarrassment at how I must look.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, running his gaze over me. “I can’t wait any longer. I need to be inside you.”

Nine

Amelia

He walks me into the bedroom, his hand gripping my arm.

“Can you at least take these off?” I ask, pulling at the cuffs on my wrist.