Page 32 of Split

‘Would you like that, Eliza?’

A low moan tumbles from my lips, unbidden.

‘I’ll bet you scream beautifully, don’t you darling?’

A rush of euphoria surges through my body as I tumble over the edge of bliss, free-falling into a powerful, body-shaking orgasm. I continue rubbing circles around my clit as I ride it out, falling back against the tiled wall and panting raggedly as the icy water sluices over my skin.

The moment I come back down to earth, shame and disgust take hold as I realize there must be something seriously wrong with me.

Because I just got off on the thought of my tormentor.

And somehow, I already know it won’t be the last time I do.

15

Three of the past five nights, I’ve felt the shadow in my room. It lingers in the darkness, watching me silently as I bury myself underneath the covers and will it to leave.

This place is definitely haunted.

It’d be foolish to fear some imaginary evil when there’s a very real one lurking in the east wing, though. So, each time I wake up to the spine-prickling feeling of being watched, I force myself to remain calm, knowing it’ll pass soon. And when it finally does, I fall asleep to fantasies of escaping this place and being free for once in my godforsaken life.

Since that tense interaction in the hall, Roman and I have been passing like two ships in the night– but I should’ve known it’d be too good to be true for things to continue that way for long. At breakfast, Clara tells me that I’ll be having lunch withMister Volkovin the dining room, and my stomach sinks like a stone. Because the last time we had lunch together, he shoved his cock down my throat, and I’m terrified to think of what fresh hell awaits me this time.

There’s also something else that sparked within me when Clara informed me of my lunch plans. Something I refuse toacknowledge, because doing so would mean that I’m just as fucked in the head as my new husband is. A little rush of titillation; a surge of excitement.

I’m ashamed to admit I’ve continued touching myself to the thought of his rough handling in the hallway.

Is this when he finally delivers on those promises he made?

As soon as I step into the dining room and see that feral, unhinged look in his eyes, my suspicions are all but confirmed. The ghost of a smile crosses his lips as I step through the doorway and he pats his thigh, beckoning me with a flick of his head.

I suck in a deep breath, steeling my nerves as begin my march to certain doom.

The soft fabric of my red cashmere dress swishes around my upper thighs as I cross the room, and I don’t miss the hunger in Roman’s gaze as his eyes drop to tour my bare legs, growing in intensity as they rake their way up my form. Every instinct within me is screaming to turn and run, but I continue forward, resigning myself to whatever twisted game he’s about to play with me. For all I know, fleeing from my husband would only excite him. When he’s in one of his moods, he’s a predator and I’m the prey.

I think some part of me likes this game.

I come to a stop beside his chair, my heart beating a riot in my chest and my steps faltering. Then I remind myself of the role I’m supposed to be playing; my end goal of freeing myself from this prison. I begrudgingly move in closer and ease down onto his lap.

Roman immediately readjusts my position to his liking, his hand landing on my thigh and this thumb stroking my bare flesh. “I’ve missed you, pet,” he croons, nudging the hem of my dress up my thigh with each sweep of his thumb.

This is definitely feeling like some fucked-up Jekyll and Hyde situation. I’m not sure if I’m just building something up in my mind after poring over the pages of that book for the past couple days, but I swear Roman becomes an entirely different person like the flip of a switch. One minute, he’s cold and aloof, and the next, he’sthis; manic and unhinged.

Mister Hyde.

His hand moves from my thigh up the curve of my waist, and I find myself melting into his touch– chasing it, even. He cruises his palm up the swell of my breast, a flood of heat rushing to my core. As he trails the backs of his knuckles up the side of my throat, that desperate throb starts up between my thighs. While I shouldn’t want to be anywhere near this man, I’m so starved for touch that even the caress of the devil is too tempting to resist.

Roman slides his hand up to cup my cheek in his calloused palm, sweeping his thumb back and forth across my lower lip. “I just keep thinking about this mouth of yours,” he murmurs, the deep tone of his voice dripping with sin.

I press my thighs together tighter in a surge of rebellion. “Go fuck yourself,” I breathe.

He chuckles under his breath, green eyes glimmering with amusement. “Now why would I do that when I can fuckyou?”

I stare back at him defiantly, back ramrod straight and chin held high. Then four little words leave my lips almost on their own accord, sealing my damnation. “Just do it, then.”

Maybe I just want to get it over with so the dark cloud of apprehension will stop hanging over my head. Maybe some twisted part of me actually wants it, and that’s why I put on this dress and showed up here without complaint. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter– because fucking my husband is an inevitability, and those four words are all it takes for him to spring into action.

Roman’s eyes light up with deviant excitement as he effortlessly lifts me from his lap, dropping me down onto the table in front of him and rucking my dress up to my waist. His fingers curl into the waistband of my red lace panties and he yanks them down my legs in one smooth motion, balling them in a fist and bringing them up in front of my face.

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