Page 12 of The Hand that Frays

“Stupid girl,” he shouts, and I snap to attention, my eyes locking onto his.

“Sir?” I ask.

“Did you hear what I said to you?”

I hastily nod. “I did, sir.”

His answering grin fills me with white-hot heat. I love to push the envelope with him; I’ll admit that. But what I love most is being his good girl.

The one he praises after he degrades. The one who gets rewards for crawling on her bloody knees to him. The one who kills for him on command.

My fascination with being his stupid girl has no rhyme or reason. Even the brightest psychologists wouldn’t be able to riddle out our love.

It’s wild and hot—obsessive and ravaging.

Sometimes, it feels downright illegal.

Well, most of it is.

“Come here,” he says, and I use his knees to lift myself off the floor. Crawling over him, I straddle his body.

I’m still fully clothed in my leggings and sweatshirt I had on before Neo went berserk and cuffed me to the shower curtain rod.

“Are you going to be my good girl?”

I nod. “I am.”

He lets his cock go, working to stay partially sitting as his rippled abs tighten and flex as his hands grab the waistline of my leggings and rip them clean down the middle.

My bare pussy comes in contact with the cold air of the room, and I hiss.

He cups it with one hand. “If you don’t behave while we’re gone, Lyla, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Where are we going?” I breathe, even though my brain already knows where we’re headed.

Something about that news report had triggered my madman, and the Neo I became obsessed with back in the asylum emerged and reared his psychotic head.

“We’re going on our honeymoon.”

I don’t have time to reply.

He flips me over, lining himself up before he thrusts inside me in one fluid movement.

“Neo!”

“We can’t go on a honeymoon, Neo. We’re not married,” I whisper into his ear as he drops over me. His weight presses into me, nearly taking my breath away while he fucks me hard and fast.

“Your soul has been married to mine since the day you were born, stupid girl,” he whispers, his lips crashing down on mine in a frenzy.

I sigh as I seep into him, letting him fuck away all the worry and ache in my muscles.

I thought he was going to leave me here earlier. I cried until I nearly made myself sick, thinking he wasn’t coming back for me.

That the other shoe had finally dropped.

Something I’m always worried about with him. He likely worries the same thing about me.

We’re both known to act erratically when prodded; it’s what makes us…us.

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