Page 31 of The Catalyst

I kick out my leg and almost connect with his stomach, but he grabs it. I try my best to escape his grasp, but it's useless. I learned weeks ago that my strength is no match for his.

“Let me go!” I roar at him with fury, and he just smirks.

“Not a chance.” Then, he flips me over. I’m disoriented for a moment. It happened so fast that I didn’t even realize he was pushing my arms toward his headboard until a metal click vibrated against my wrist. I tug, knowing exactly what he’s doing, but it's useless. He forces the other wrist to meet the restrained one and snaps the other handcuff around it.

I bellow a frustrated noise, and he pulls my head back by my hair.

“You’re not going anywhere until I say you can, and I haven’t properly punished you yet, baby.”

I swear, if I weren’t handcuffed to his bed, I would maul him like a bear. I absolutely hate this part of him, the way he thinks I belong to him. I don't belong to anyone but myself. I'm not his property. He can't treat me like this.

“I’m not your baby, and I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the one who rejected whatever this is…publicly. That’s the most disrespectful thing you’ve ever done, and I’ll never forgive you for humiliating me like that.” I fight the tears wanting to fall down my face, but with all the fight in the world, I can’t deny the ache in my chest.

He hurt me and he’s not even acknowledging it.

“Anything else to say for yourself?”

I swear, the balls on this jerk…

“Yeah, you have a tiny dick.”

Maybe that was pushing it. His dick is the furthest thing from tiny, besides Oliver's dick. Nigel has nothing on that beast.

“And you’re a lousy lay.” Now, I feel better. We both know I’m lying, but that doesn’t stop the sliver of satisfaction I get from the catch in his breathing. Is he wondering if that’s true? If so, he deserves the stab at his massive ego.

“How about you stop lying? That’s how you got yourself in this position in the first place.”

“I didn’t lie about anything!”

Then, my jeans are harshly tugged down my waist as I fight it. The color drains from my face. Please, tell me he's not going to try to do what I think he is.

No, no, no. I don't fucking consent.

“Yes, you did.”

Then, with my jeans around my knees, Nigel rips off my panties, running his fingers up and down my slit.

“So wet already, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“Not wet. Just your jizz,” I rasp, trying with everything in me to pull my hands out of the handcuffs even if I have to rip layers of skin and muscle. "Stop it! I don't want this or you."

“Oh, really? Well, let’s have a taste test,” he mutters, and I panic, but not until I look in the mirror behind the headboard and watch Nigel suck a mixture of his release and my arousal from earlier off his fingers while simultaneously pushing down his shorts to reveal his dick.

I scream for help, for someone to save me from what he has intended to do to me. I've told him to stop. I've told him I don't want to have sex with him.

I'm in the one place in this town where everyone should be safe and yet this is the location that was chosen for me to join the list of one-in-six women. I trusted Nigel and I shouldn't have.

* * *

I hug my chest,facing the door leading out of Nigel's room, silent tears falling down my face. He passed out no more than five minutes ago. He removed the cuffs, made me take a shower, probably to remove the evidence of what he did. A part of me is too scared to leave. What if I leave and he does that to me again as punishment for running away?

My bottom lip quivers and it becomes hard to breathe. This room feels like it's getting smaller and smaller.

It's been long enough. He should be in a deep enough sleep for me to move around, right?

I slowly move out of the bed, his shirt falling just above the bottom of my ass. Luckily I'm wearing underwear. He had enough of a mind to let me put those on before forcing me back into bed.

I chance a look at Nigel who is turned away from me, but his breathing is soft and he is unmoved. I stand up and walk to the door before slipping out of the room. My heart pounds as I dash down the stairs and straight out the back door. I stop running when I hit the edge of the decrepit porch and I hyperventilate as I try to calm myself.

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