Page 31 of Look What You Made Me Do

“I was touching myself before you broke in.”

Gah! Why did I just say that? I don’t need to give this guy a visual of me masturbating. Goddamn, I’m an idiot.

He pulls his fingers out of my pussy briefly to stroke my clit. “No,” he says. “This sweet honey is for me.” Then he pushes his fingers back into me, and instinctively, I rise onto my tiptoes, my head tilting back against his chest.

“It’s not for you,” I say, my voice quivering under the force of his invasion. “I don’t even fucking know you.”

Removing his hand from my panties, he shoves me forward, and I stumble, using the refrigerator to catch myself. Spinning, I lift my hands, so I can protect myself if I have to. I know, withoutquestion, if this guy wanted to snap me in two, he could do it easily.

His hand juts out, and he grabs me by the throat, pushing me against the refrigerator, and lifting me back up onto the tips of my toes. I can breathe, but barely, and panic immediately sets in. I claw at his gloved hand, my head spinning, struggling to draw what little air I can into my lungs.

He holds me like that for a few seconds, then leans in. “Everything about you isfor me,” he growls. “When you breathe, it’sfor me.When you cry out, it’sfor me.When you come—It’s. For. Me.”

I just nod, but the movement is restricted by his hand around my throat. And oddly, I’m more angry than scared, though fear and panic are definitely still in the mix.

But I’ve always been defiant, even as a kid. Sometimes I would do shit just to prove I could, despite the consequences. It’s why Gabriel and I fought so much, actually. I was always doing shit that pissed him off, but the more he told menotto do something, the more I did it, simply to defy him.

It must only be seconds, but it feels like years before he finally releases my throat, and I fall, sagging against the cold metal refrigerator. My hands fly to my throat, and I pull air into my lungs so quickly, I start to cough.

Once I’ve caught my breath, I straighten and glare at his shadow. If he’s going to kill me, then he's going to kill me. I might as well get a few licks in before he takes me out…

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Ghost

I’m beginningto enjoy rough play before fucking. It gets my blood going, and seeing the fear in Wyn’s eyes, when they catch in the light, makes my cock hard.

But her defiance is a fucking problem. It always has been. And I’ve been kind. Kinder than she deserves. I’ve been watching her for weeks, from afar, secretly seething at the casual way she’s been whoring herself, dancing at clubs, flaunting herself. I mean, damn, she nearly fucked Kai the other night.

The grieving girlfriend.

Fucking cunt.

It’s time I snuff that flicker of defiance in her eyes.

It’s time I force her to submit. That shit islongpast due.

Her breathing is labored as she glares at me. She’s waiting for me to make the next move. Either that, or she’s planning her attack. She’s just spicy enough to try something like that. But little does she know, it’s the fight I crave.

“Get on the bed,” I say harshly, careful to disguise my voice.

She just continues to stare at me, not moving, her lips pressed together in a frown. I step forward, and she flinches like she’s expecting me to grab her. I will if I have to, but I’d rather not, because once I touch her, I’m fucking her, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop that. My self-control around her has been non-fucking-existent lately.

“On the bed,” I command. “Or it’s one blow every time I have to say it.”

There’s a second of silence. “One blow? What does that mean?”

“Fuck around and find out,” I answer, flexing my hands at my sides. I’m desperate to touch her, and holding myself back is like trying to hold back the tide.

Fuuuck.

In the end, she decidesnotto fuck around. She moves to the bed, crawling onto the mattress, but instead of lying down, she sits up on her knees, facing me. There’s a streetlight right outside her window and the amber glow shines in through a crack in her curtains, illuminating one side of her face.

Goddamn, she’s beautiful.

She looks up at me wide-eyed, her pink lips parted, her thick blond hair cascading in waves around her shoulders, messy and perfect. She’s not wearing any makeup, so I can see the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She looks better this way. Natural. Like she just stepped off the beach.

I flick my chin at her. “Take the shirt off.”

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