Page 10 of Twisted

“Fuck off,” she hissed, forcing her ass up in a quick jerk, trying to thrash herself free from his weight. He just chuckled, pinning her hard enough that the bones of her hips felt like they were cutting through the springs on the edge of the bed.

“I’ve got some time, baby doll. You’ll tell me where you’re hidin’ it.”

Her eyes sprang open wide at his words, one of his hands slipping between her and the mattress, fumbling with the brass button of her jeans. She bucked and yelped and cried, but she didn’t plead. Not yet. She knew her limits, knew what she could endure, and though she was close to that cliff’s edge, she could survive a little more.

But, there was the matter of her past, of the familiarity of such a situation, the matter of her knee-jerk reaction to a trigger of her trauma. She felt her careful control slipping, sliding through her fingertips like water, but this man—this monster—he was there to catch it all. He pulled away, a cool draft reminding her body of how warm he was when pressed so tightly against her. Using both hands, he hooked his thumbs into her belt loops and yanked, ridding her lower half of her clothing. She sobbed all the harder. Her cries were met with another dark chuckle.

“You’re such a mystery, my Maisie girl,” he said, his voice almost cooing—possessive in a way that made her heart flutter in the prison of her chest. She swallowed down her tears and quieted. She was afraid; scared of pain, humiliation, torture, of her carefully constructed plan failing because of him and his knowledge. But there was something else, something that made her feel like she wanted to vomit. Something in his dominating, dangerous nature was calling to her, her body reacting and rebelling against her mind as his rough hands squeezed her ass cheeks together, a sound of deep appreciation exiting his lips in a growl.

Carter had never touched her in such a passionate, primal way. Carter had never made such an uncontrollable sound of awe and euphoria at the sight of her bared to him. Even on their wedding night, Carter had fucked her for his own fleeting pleasure and passed out, leaving Maisie alone and confused.

His hands on her ass, the way this monster squeezed her together—it made a delicious pressure build between her thighs, right at the crest. Free of her jeans, her hardened little nub was able to rub against the tough cord of the edge of the mattress. And the way he was working her ass after just hitting her hard enough to make her see stars was making that pressure build at an alarming rate.

She blinked a few times, his words settling in, her cheeks flaming when she remembered she’d worn a pair of bright yellow panties with little daisies all over them. She might have looked fierce on the outside, but on the inside she was still there, a young woman forced to grow into adulthood before she was ready. She wanted to watch princess movies, eat ice cream for breakfast, run barefoot through the fields of flowers in the springtime. She was a walking contradiction, and this man could see it reflected in her choice of undergarments, this she knew by his words.

He wedged his knee between her thighs, one hand pressing down between her shoulder blades, the other gripping a palmful of her round rump. Her struggles were fruitless and useless now. She sagged with a defeated whimper, her heart thumping hard enough that it shook her. She needed to lie—it was her last chance. She needed to stick to her story and convince him to leave or she knew she’d end up dead.

“You’re gonna answer my questions, my Maisie girl. ’S a game I like to call truth. You lie, I’ll know, and it’ll hurt. You tell the truth, I reward ya.”

“Fuck off!” she growled like a cornered cat. “My parents will be home soon and you’ll be fucked!”

Clucking his tongue, he pressed harder between her shoulder blades.

“That was a lie, and not even a convincin’ one.”

His hand left her butt cheek, and she panicked, body going rigid. He was a man of his word, his open palm slamming against her ass in the exact same spot as before. She jolted and cried out, rising up onto her toes like an untrained ballerina bent under his crushing will. The sting, the pain—it was white hot, blinding. Not a deep muscle type of ache from being hit with a closed fist, but somehow this was worse, her skin flaming and throbbing with its own heartbeat, burning like he’d branded his very own handprint into her flesh.

He raised his knee further, up and up until it connected with her hot, throbbing sex. The pain, the humiliation, his dominance, the fear—it all mingled together in her psyche in a sick and twisted way, making her body react and rebel against her mind. There was something about him carrying through on his threats that made her wither beneath him and ache to submit.

She was fucked up. She knew it. She knew from the years of abuse she endured from every man in her life aside from her blessed father. She knew there was some reason for her body to react in such a way, to yearn for a release that was not his to give and not hers to want. She knew she craved to be dominated by a man she could respect, and though he was there to hurt her, she already felt that reverence toward him for finally being a man of his word. However fucked up his game was, he’d been upfront and honest with her about his retribution, and that was more than anyone else had ever been able to give her.

She needed a shrink to untangle the mess of her mind, but at this rate, he would fuck her and kill her before she ever had the chance to make that appointment.

“Where ya hidin’ the hard drive, baby doll?”

She gritted her teeth in fury as hot tears raced down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, asshole!”

He clucked his tongue again and threw in a dark chuckle as well this time.

“My little Maisie girl. You’re not doin’ too well at this game.”

She glared at her darkened duvet, hopelessness creeping over her as her body began to lose its strength little by little. He reared back again, and she tensed, trying in vain to escape his wrath, but he doubled his punishment this time with a loud crack of skin on skin, causing her to curl her calves up against his legs in an attempt to cover her stinging butt and shield herself from more of that biting, harsh pain.

He made a satisfied noise at the back of his throat, and his knee disappeared for a moment. Shivering and blubbering, she lay perfectly still, lest he find some reason to strike her again. But in the wake of his knee’s absence, she knew he could feel—if not see—her clear arousal. It didn’t take him long to commentate. Didn’t take Maisie long to know he could see the effect this was all having on her.

He chuckled again, leaning across her back so his lips were at her ear, just brushing the shell. His warm breath fanned over her tear stained cheek, cooling the fiery trail of her hopelessness, the scent of mint and tobacco somehow calming her. She shivered in response to his nearness, to his unrelenting masculinity.

“Baby doll, quit distractin’ me from why I came here,” he cooed, his voice rugged but somehow giddy. Her stomach plummeted. She was in too deep, now; he was going to use her own arousal against her.

Staying leaned over her back, his large hand dove between her body and the bed, wrapping his long fingers around the band of her undies. She let out another whimper, hating how pathetic she sounded, even to herself. She thrashed against his hold, jerked her head in an attempt to catch him off guard—but it was all useless.

In one swift motion, he wrenched the thin, flimsy fabric apart, holding it in his fist like a victor.

“You can give me as many souvenirs as you want,” he growled, nipping at her ear. Her lips trembled. This was it, the final act; she knew what was next, and so she did what she knew to do. She gave up. Sagged into the bed with a mournful sob, hating that this was what her life had become; a woman accused by her abusers for the very things they did to her time and again. A pure victim, an innocent being forced to do evil to save her own life. She supposed it had caught up with her, but imagining her God as so vengeful toward her made her sick. She would never deserve any of this, and she clung to that like a lifeboat in the Atlantic ocean.

He was off her for a split second, just long enough to flip her over. She cried out, struggling as her bound wrists were crushed painfully beneath her back, contorted in a way that was leaving her weak, her limbs numb. But at the same time, she finally caught a true look at the man dominating her, and it made fire flame through her, racing to her very core where heat and wetness began to mingle and pool.

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