Page 66 of Slaughter

“But I do. You’re a woman who spreads her legs for any man. Tell me, baby. Do you beg them to come like you do me?”

“Fucking stop!” she snaps.

I chuckle, and she fists her hands while her legs try to close. But I’m sitting between them, so I only shove them farther apart. She cries out in pain, and I pound into her deeper. Harder. She’s gasping for air, and her pussy tightens around my cock.

“Has this always been your fantasy? To be tied and fucked? To be used? Overpowered? Because I’ll gladly fulfill it for you, Bunny. All you gotta do is beg me for it.”

She comes as a cry is ripped from her parted lips. I feel it running down my cock and balls, but I don’t let up. I keep going, pounding into her while her body shakes uncontrollably. She lies there—her body pinned, hands cuffed—completely at my mercy. Just as I’ve dreamed of having her for the past eleven years.

I thrust forward one last time and find my own release.

PRESLEIGH

Finally!

He let me come. And I don’t even have the energy to decide if it was really because I had been good or if he wanted to mess with my mind. And at this moment, I don’t fucking care.

He removes himself from between my legs, and I pull them together and lower my ass to the bed.

I’m so sore. Every part of my body aches. Why had it felt like it’d been weeks since I’d been fucked and not four days? And why did every degrading thing he said to me make me wetter?

I hate that I like it.

I jump when I feel his hand on my lower back. He doesn’t say anything as he grabs my arms and then my wrists are freed from the cuffs.

I roll over and sit up slowly as I watch him walk into the closet with the cuffs dangling from his hand.

He exits the closet, still naked and looking like a God. I haven’t had the chance to see him fully naked. I try to avoid any contact with him when he fucks me. Plus, he’s usually behind me. Other times, he has either had his shirt on or just unzipped his pants.

He looks better than I remember. He’s no longer that tall, skinny kid. Now he’s all muscles and man. His broad shoulders are pulled back. His smooth chest defined as much as his stomach, and that V that makes women stupid. He makes me an idiot.

“Bathroom,” he orders before he turns and enters it.

I get a pain in my chest at the situation I find myself in. I’m going to die. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. He sealed my fate when he took me, so begging him won’t make a difference. In order to tell him my future, I have to reveal my past, and I refuse to do it. There are some things a woman needs to take to her grave, and I have a couple of those. So I stick to my plan. And when I’m free, I’ll run like hell. This time, I’ll be smarter about hiding. Not even my brother will know where I go once I’m free.

I walk into the bathroom and see he has already started the shower. He walks up to me and takes my left hand. He turns it over and starts undoing the tape on my wrist. The cut isn’t that big, and it didn’t even require stitches. I was told some kind of medical glue was used. The cut is about three inches from my hand. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had just got the damn thing and got out of there. Instead, when I stood, I slipped in the blood and fell, hitting my head.

Fucking figures.

“How does it feel?” he asks.

I stiffen and glare up at him, grinding my teeth. “Like you fucking care how I feel.”

He steps into me, his hard body pressing against mine, and I hate that my knees shake.

“You’re here because I care.”

I snort. “Don’t fill me full of bullshit, Avery. I’m twenty-eight, not twelve.”

I’m baiting him, trying to get him mad at me. This pretending to care is new. As if he is saving me from someone who would treat me worse than he does. I prefer the part where he has me cuffed and coming rather than the intimate looks and caring words.

I’m so fucked up!

He lets go of my chin, and his hand cups my face. His thumb gently rubs my skin like a lover’s caress. I refuse to flinch.

I wait for him to say something, but instead, he drops his hand and then grabs my arm and pulls me into the shower. We stay silent, and he washes me, not giving me any other choice. After the shower, we get out and dry off. He excuses himself with an order to meet him in the dining room for breakfast in twenty.

It’s awkward. I eat silently while he types away on his phone most of the time. I have a hard time even keeping my eyes open because I’m so tired. That orgasm did me in. And it felt like I was only asleep for ten minutes when he woke me up. So worn out. And I’m craving a fucking drink. Or a hit.

---