Page 58 of Run Rabbit Run

The air vanishes.

The panic returns, swirling with the heat in my groin, creating a dizzying cocktail of terror and lust.

He slides into me in one smooth, possessive thrust.

I scream, but the sound is muffled by the pressure on my windpipe.

He doesn't move fast.

He moves with a slow, agonizing depth, filling me completely.

Every thrust is a reminder of my captivity, a physical manifestation of the lock on the door.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice vibrating in my ear. "Look at how perfectly you fit around me."

I try to push him away, my hands fluttering against his broad chest, but he doesn't budge.

He's a wall of muscle, an immovable force.

He begins to pick up the pace, his movements becoming more rhythmic, more demanding.

I can feel my orgasm building, a tidal wave that I'm trying to hold back with everything I have.

I don't want this release.

I don't want to give him the victory of my pleasure.

But as he drives deeper, hitting my cervix, the pleasure becomes an assault.

He senses the shift, the moment my body prepares to break.

He squeezes my throat harder, plunging me into a state of oxygen-deprived delirium.

The air is gone.

The panic peaks.

The lack of air turns the pleasure into something sharp, something violent.

And then, he hits the spot one last time, his voice whispering right into my ear.

"Good girl. Give it to me."

The orgasm hits me hard, a violent, involuntary spasm that racks my entire frame.

I scream into the silence of the room, but the sound is strangled by his grip.

It isn't pleasure.

It's a violation of my own autonomy, a forced surrender that leaves me feeling hollowed out.

I feel my insides clench around him in desperate, rhythmic pulses, a biological betrayal that makes me want to weep.

As the waves subside, I lie there, shaking and drenched in sweat.

Ezra withdraws from me, his movements as calm and methodical as when he began.

He looks down at me, his blue eyes as cold and flat as the windowpane.