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Then he just leans back and there I am. Soaking wet and completely naked, being held up. Forced against him. Come to think of it, there’s no reason that his hyper-logical cool-under-pressure brain could not have thought of getting me a towel first. I don’t get much time to think on it before he adjusts his grip, a hand underneath each cheek. Almost parting me. There are definitely safer grips than that, this man wants to grip my ass. With my forehead on his chest I smirk.

Cautiously we depart the shower and cross the tiled bathroom floor as he carries me into the bedroom. It’s one of those moments that lasts seconds, but imprints itself in your sensory experience forever. We’ve not done anything wrong, yet, but this is probably the most intimate experience of my life. I let myself just melt into him as he carries me to the bed. Then he pauses. For a few seconds that I could live in for eternity.

He starts to lower me, and I feel him. Heavens above do I feel him. He pulses as he lowers me, his body reverberates and I know he isn’t struggling holding me up. I hit the bed with my back and don’t take my eyes off of him, pulling him in with my legs wrapped around him. My arms still entangled.

Fuck it, I don’t care. Just do it. I could beg him. I’m breathless, and for once, speechless. He reaches up, taking a wrist in each hand as I writhe against him. He pushes my wrists into the bed, the mattress giving way to his weight until his forehead is almost on mine. I gasp as he pushes himself up, placing one hand on my breastbone pinning me down. I arch my back against the heel of his palm as it makes its way to my pelvis.

He pushes down until it hurts just enough to steal my breath. His eyes devour every inch of me, like he’s savouring me. Then in a hushed whisper.

“You don’t want this”

“…please…” I don’t even know where that came from, I’ve never asked. I’ve never had to. I need him so much right now, my insides are aching in flames.

And he walks away. Leaving me to revel in my shame. For the first time since he got here, truly lonely. He stops at the doorway and looks back at me for more than a few seconds, and disappears.

I just lie there. The feeling of absolute shame and filth rushing through my veins. The air is cold with betrayal. I was ready to betray Dan, my body betrayed me, and so did Nik. What the fuck was that, I don’t want to? The cold swirl becomes an icy rage. What the fuck even was that? I don’t want to? You fucking righteous prick.

Why don’t you want me? I roll over and bury my face into my pillow, and I let the tears flow. Tonight, and every night before it. How can my “no” never mean a fucking thing, and now my “yes” doesn’t either?

I cry every feeling I’ve ever had into Reddy Bear, until my chest aches from hyperventilation and my stomach twinges from holding back my puke.

Nine

Nik

“Please” nearly fucking got me. She felt so fucking good under my hand. Next time. Next time her “please” won’t be “please fuck me”; she’ll beg. She’ll give herself to me, and only me. I can still smell her on me. I can feel her heat. Feel her pussy pulsing for me. Feel her body rub past my cock. Her wrists pinned down.

I will not share her. Not tonight. Not ever.

She’s too fucking precious for that cunt, Dan. When she flinches for me it’ll be because she knows how good I’ll make it hurt. She’ll crave me like I crave her. It’s not desire, it’s fucking need. She needs me, and I need to have her, all of her, all to myself. She’ll know pain, but not like she’s had before. She’ll know it as the knife-edge I live on, where pleasure crosses into something else. Accompanied by reverence and obsession.

I cannot fathom Dan. Does he not understand what he holds in his possession? To harm her, to break her spirit, to encage her. When she’s mine she will never fear another man. Never feel another’s touch.

When she’s mine, other men will fear her. The distributor of retribution.

I wonder how she hasn’t noticed me watching her sleep at night? Hovering over her bed. Letting her get closer to me, letting her guard down whilst I hover above her willing myself into her dreams. Her soul is mine, I can feel it, she settles when I sit next to her as she sleeps. Sleeps sounder for me being there. Watching out for her.

Something in her sleep disturbs her nightly. She tosses and turns without me there, groaning and talking in her sleep. Waking in cold sweats and tears. Crying and uttering words like Daddy and no and it tortures my soul.

The first time I heard her I snuck to her room. From one fractured soul to another I could feel her pain, I could sense it. That’s when everything clicked, it made sense to me. The universe had drawn two of its most tortured children together in deliberate unholy union. In their suffering to find refuge and solace, shelter and perhaps even salvation. My soul realised in that moment that the only divine purpose, the greatest good it could ever hope to achieve, was to bind itself to her, protecting her from the evils of the world which she could not possibly deserve.

Her soul, I’m certain, feels my servitude and protection. That is why she settles so well in my presence, because she knows without words, before she can articulate it, that I am here to save her.

Now I just need her to realise, in her own time, the fate that has been drawn for us. She’s almost there, hovering at my heel almost all day. She follows wherever I go, and I keep her in my sight at all times. She’s learned precisely fuck all watching me cook, except how good I am with knives. How precise, how intentional, how dangerous.

But now, damage control. She’s probably never been told “no” before, and I can’t have her running. As much as I’d love to hunt her. She has nowhere to run. And she could never hide, not from me.

Ten

Young Sawyer (Age 13)

“Why the fuck have you bought that? Are you trying to be a slut like your mum?” Daddy spits at me, his words burning into my soul. I try so hard not to cry. I know he likes it more when I cry.

I can’t argue back with him. But I know she wasn’t a slut. She was a single mum who made money the only way she could.

The back of his hand stings my face, making me drop my shopping bag on the floor.

“It’s just a bra, Daddy…” I don’t know why I can’t buy underwear that I like. He’s just being controlling. Does he have to be like this? I hate him.