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I soon realized that I was naked. A pair of hands were violating me. Everything in my body froze. My mind told me to run. Run, run, run, Starla, before the monster catches you.

His fingers were caressing my thighs, teasing my entrance. His lips were on my tits.

“Malakar?”

He groaned, but he didn’t stop. “I need you, bluebird.”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t deny him. I knew what happened when I denied him of this. Maybe I could enjoy it. I enjoyed it that one other time. All I had to do was be in the moment. Forget that he was my kidnapper, forget that he tormented me. Forget it all.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” I whispered.

His breath caught against my breast, hot and needy. I could feel the scrape of his stubble, the press of his mouth, too hungry to be gentle. The old panic flickered in my veins, but I made myself lie still. I could be good. I could be whatever he needed me to be.

His fingers dug into my thigh, forcing my legs wider. My body tensed, wanting to bolt, but I stayed. I let him arrange me—one knee bent, the other splayed open, like I was his doll. His toy. My skin prickled where his hands moved, leaving ghost trails of heat behind.

“Say you want me to touch you,” he whispered, his voice thick, shuddering. “Tell me you need it.”

A thousand things warred inside me. The urge to scream. The urge to bite. The old, battered hope that if I gave in, if I played along, it would be easier, softer, less like murder.

I swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to touch me, Malakar. Please.”

He shuddered, groaning, and his hand moved up, blunt fingers sliding through the wetness between my legs. He was rough, not careful, but I made myself arch into his touch. I forced a gasp, let my hips roll, pretending I wanted it.

My body betrayed me, heat pooling low in my gut. My thighs trembled, not entirely from fear. I closed my eyes, hating myself for it.

“That’s my good girl,” Malakar murmured, his voice hoarse with need. “You know how to behave.”

He moved his hand to my throat, thumb pressing just below my jaw. His other hand found the blindfold on the nightstand, the strip of black cloth he sometimes used to bind my wrists, or gag me, or cover my eyes.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, voice hard. I obeyed, eyes wide as he tied the cloth tight over my face, blocking out everything. Darkness swallowed me. My heart slammed against my ribs, panic rising, but I stayed still. Good girls stay still.

The bed dipped as he settled beside me. I felt his breath on my lips, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth, demanding entrance. I parted for him, letting him in, letting him own me.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded. I obeyed, and his fingers pressed past my lips. I sucked them, tongue moving slow, as if this was normal. As if there weren’t a monster in my bed.

“Such a quick learner,” he cooed, voice full of pride and poison. “You know how to please me, don’t you, bluebird?”

I nodded, lips still wrapped around his fingers. He twisted them, making me gag a little, then withdrew. The taste of him lingered.

He shifted lower, mouth hot on my stomach, tongue tracing circles around the scar where he’d carved his name. I flinched at the touch, but he only laughed.

“I marked you. You’ll never forget who owns you.” His tongue pressed hard into the wound, making me whimper.

His hands found my wrists, dragging them above my head. I heard the scrape of fabric pinning me in place. My heart started to race. I couldn’t move, couldn’t see, could only feel. The dread was rising from under my skin. The arousal was worse. Shameful. Sick.

“Good girl,” he crooned. “Now, listen. I want you to pretend you’re someone else. Someone innocent. Someone who loves me.” He chuckled, the sound curling in my ear. “I want you to beg for it. Tell me how much you need me to fuck you. Tell me how much you love being my good girl.”

My breath hitched. I didn’t want to say it. But I didn’t want to be punished more. I forced the words out, trembling.

“Please…please, Malakar. I need you. I want you. I love being your good girl.” The words sounded foreign, brittle, but he purred his approval.

His hand landed between my legs, fingers spreading me open, rubbing hard and fast. Too rough. It burned, a mix of pain and pleasure that made my hips jerk. I tried to pull away, but the ties held me in place.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re so wet, bluebird. You like this, don’t you?”

My cheeks burned with humiliation, but my body betrayed me again, heat building, wetness coating his fingers. He pressed two inside, stretching me wide, pumping hard. The sound of it echoed in my ears.

The blindfold enhanced all of my senses. I whimpered, twisting my wrists in the ties, but there was no escape.