Page 38 of Locke

Twelve

Kali

It started with a vicious slap across his face. I remembered putting every ounce of my power into that slap. It was so hard, my hand was numb and pulsing. His cheek went impossibly red, and it looked so abnormal against his pale face. With that jaw locked, and those blue veins protruding up his throat, he looked like a demon come to life as his dark eyes peered into mine without one ounce of pain.

“From out of pain, beauty,” he whispered just then, and fuck, it felt all wrong to say such a thing when there was a palm print of my hand on his face.

I stepped back, determined to fight to my last breath. I spun around and began to run to the door, but I felt him behind me. His arm wrapped around my waist and then I was lifted into the air. I screamed as I twisted around in his grip. His hand fisted into my hair, forcing my head still as he turned us around, gritting out, “Is that all you have to give? I want your fight, little one. Give me more.”

He threw me on the dirty bed. Vision spinning from the hard land, I crawled away, kicking at his face as he climbed in after me. He growled with approval as I landed another kick against his shoulder.

Looking back, I knew he was doing this on purpose. Allowing the strikes. Giving me that fight I itched for. Because if he truly wanted to, he could have subdued me in two seconds flat and done what he wanted.

But that wasn’t the song we were dancing to.

The mattress dipped further as his giant form followed after me. My heart burst as his hands gripped my waist and then I was flipped around like a ragdoll. My hands were already closed into fists as I swung at him, kicking like crazy, screaming like I was going to my death—and maybe I was because his large hand found my throat in an instant, and he squeezed it so hard, I felt the pressure build behind my eyes as I bucked my hips. And all I saw in that instant was this gigantic man holding me down, his broad shoulders glistening from the cold water, his dark eyes peering right into my own with true grit determination.

He spread my legs wide, uncaring of the kicks I was throwing his way. He did it so effortlessly, using his power to force me still beneath him, until I was fighting for breath, my tears sliding down my face. His giant body covered my front as he pressed his chest flush against mine, looking into my eyes the entire time as the life slowly bled from them. I felt his hard cock between my legs, nudging at my drenched pussy but not spearing into me like I expected.

“Let go,” he urged in a whisper, his gaze filled with awe as he watched me. “Come on, woman, let go.”

My kicks slowed as I peered into his eyes, seeing in that moment the fear, the desire, the pain reflected back at me. Oh, my god, there was so much wrath and hurt and want—sick, delirious want, and it was coming from me.

There was something so fundamentally heartbreaking about that.

About learning how depraved you could be.

How much lack of control I truly had over my body because my brain was divorcing from my being, allowing only my bare instincts to respond.

And it wanted this badly.

To be confined beneath this man.

At his mercy.

His plaything to fuck and choke and use.

“Cut from the same cloth,” he breathed out, mirroring my thoughts. His grip eased on my throat, allowing me a lungful of air. He dropped his face down but not to kiss me, but to swipe his tongue along my tear-streaked cheeks. “Where the fuck have you been, little lion?”

The tears slid endlessly down my face as I croaked, “Invisible.”

He shook his head slowly. “Not anymore.”

I studied his face, waiting for his awe to morph into the demonic monster I thought he was, but he looked completely riveted. His hands slowly explored my body. His fingers dug into my hips and then slid up to wrap around my breast. My eyes glazed back at his possessive touch. My body responded to his violation, and I wanted it stolen. I wanted him to take it from me because there was no way in hell I was surrendering.

Let the man fight to fucking have me for once.

I needed to feel needed.

“We’re fighting then,” he murmured, sensing my thoughts.

“I don’t surrender,” I said, voice cracking. “I never will.”

“Tell me,” he suddenly urged, curiously. “Who are you truly fighting?”

His question took me off guard. I felt that dreaded emotion build behind my eyelids. My vision stung and blurred. I hissed, “You.”

But I could taste my lie, and he could hear it, too.

---