Page 18 of Coercion

This man may act nice right now but he’s going to flip, he’s going to use this against me. Just as Levi and Gunnar would. I’ve failed a task and my new husband is going to make me pay.

“I can be better.” I say quickly.

“Better with what?” He asks, sounding confused.

“I can pretend better. I can. I…” His hand over my mouth silences my pleas. I’m pulled onto my back, with him leaning right over me once more. His head lowers to my ear and I know I’m so fucked. Clearly this isn’t a man you can beg, you can plead with. I’ve completely miscalculated who my new husband is and now I’m going to suffer the consequences.

“Listen to me carefully, Ruby.” He says so quietly. “I’m not like Levi. I’m nothing like him. I don’t want you to pretend. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you or do anything you don’t want, do you understand that?”

I don’t. I don’t understand at all. Why the fuck is he saying that? Why the fuck is he pretending to be a decent person when we all know men in our world are not like that?

I stare up at him through the darkness, trying to figure out if this is some sort of test. If it is, then I’m definitely failing and I can’t have that, I can’t face the inevitable pain that comes with failure. So I take his hand, moving it to where the lace of my thong is. I can feel him jerk, I can feel the surprise as he realises what I’m doing.

“If you want me to moan then make me.” I say, summoning the last of my confidence, the last of my bravery. Whatever it is he’s talking about, whatever it sounds like when you come, if that’s what he wants and that’s what will save me a beating later, then fine, he can do it.

I’ll be a performing monkey, I’ll jump through whatever hoops he creates, if that’s what it comes down to.

It feels like the air tenses more. Perhaps I’ve pushed him too far.

But as that thought forms, I feel his fingers move, feel him sliding further down under the fabric. I let out a gasp, shutting my eyes as he starts to explore me like this is what he wanted all along.

I spread my legs wider, instinct telling me that that’s what my husband wants, how I should be behaving.

His touch feels light and yet so possessive all the same. I bite my lip, unsure what to expect. Gunnar never touched me like this. No one has touched me like this. Ever. I’m a thing to fuck, a hole to be used.

As his fingers circle my entrance, I brace myself for the same pain there always is, the same awful intrusion – only, it doesn’t come. Instead, he traces back up, spreading what I realise with horror is my own wetness.

I’m wet.

I’m aroused.

My body clearly wants this and though a part of me is ashamed, another is so relieved. This will make my husband happy, won’t it? It will make him think that I really do want his touch.

He murmurs something but under my heavy breathing I can’t make out the words and then he’s slowly circling some part of me, some secret part I didn’t know existed, but fuck me does it feel like I might just lose my mind at that.

I let out a noise. A deep, loud sound that vibrates through me as if I’m actually enjoying this.

“Does that feel good, Ruby?” He asks gently.

I nod, grasping at the sheets as my body leaks out more liquid. Fuck, it feels so good. How is that possible?

“If I could, I’d teach you what it feels like…” He says in more of growl, as if he too is holding some part back.

“Teach me what?” I gasp. It’s hard to think, hard to register any of his words as he manipulates me to perfection.

His lips find mine, he kisses me like this moment here is everything he wanted and, as his tongue delves into my mouth, I fall apart. I writhe, I arch my back, I clench my eyes so tight as an explosion detonates inside me.

“Scream, Ruby.” Preston all but orders. “Let it out.”

I want to. I want to scream so loudly. But as my mouth opens no noise comes out. I know I’m coming. I know that’s what my body is doing right now, that as my legs kick and more pleasure than I can fathom explodes in my mind, I’m coming like the whore my family believes I am and yet I can’t scream, I can’t make a sound.

Preston keeps me there, right on edge as if he really is trying to make a point about his total possession over me. And for one fearful moment I think he might pull the covers off and reveal what we’re doing to the cameras. That he’s going to parade me, shame me even.

Only he doesn’t. His sole focus seems to be on me.

When I slump back, I can feel the sweat on my brow, I can feel the beads of it on my skin. My heart is thumping so violently in my chest I think it might smash through my ribcage but that euphoria is still there, still on the peripheries, like I’ve tasted heaven and stolen a little piece of it.

He brushes my hair back, but he’s giving me a look like a mask has come down, like that emotionless cold monster is once more taking over. “That wasn’t meant to happen.” He says quietly.

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