Page 76 of Vow of Vengeance
It happens far too easily, the pain of the intrusion blunted by the horror of the reality as he shoves himself deep inside of me in a single, ruthless thrust.
The intrusion steals my breath, which gets caught in my chest as everything narrows down to what’s happening inside of me. I choke on a strangled sob, hating how easy my body made it for him to be in a place I don't fucking want him, that I couldn’t keep him out.
“Such a tight little cunt.” The man grunts, and everything in me starts to die a slow death.
"Please!" I sob again as he remains sheathed inside of me, stretching me, holding me hostage, unmoving.
He groans, savoring the moment.
There’s no urgency, no fear of being caught.
I want to reason with him that it's not too late. He could stop and leave now and...
It's obviously too late.
He shot Vin.
My husband is dying right in front of me, his breathing shallow.
"Please,” I gasp, “stop."
It’s my last desperate plea, my last hope of relief before he reaches a point of no return. My brain won’t work well enough to consider how to get him to reconsider this, but it assures me there has to be a chance.
My body knows there is no chance. The heavy breaths tell me he’s enjoying himself too much, the sound of skin slapping skin promising there’s no de-escalating things, no use fighting, no use pleading. It’s hard to breathe already, my ribcage rocking against the ground and squeezing the air from my lungs with each movement.
The hand on my neck slips around to my throat as he yanks me back toward him, trapping me in place with him buried inside of me so deep that my stomach hurts.
"You're so fucking wet for someone begging me to stop."
And he's right.
He's right, because I can feel how easily he's moving inside of me.
I don't understand. I'm not attracted to him, not turned on by this violation, not aroused by the pain.
I'm repulsed, horrified.
I can’t breathe, and every cell in my body crawls with disgust at his intrusion.
As he shoves me back to the ground, too fast for me to stop myself from hitting hard, I want to die.
I think maybe I do.
Or maybe it's just the part of me that carries my husband, the part of me that watches as the life slips out of his eyes, as he watches my body being manipulated, twisted, shaped into whatever it needs to be to give my attacker what he wants.
"Vin..." I sob, still reaching out for him, like maybe he'll find it in him to move toward me, to gift me this one small comfort in the end of our lives.
I tell myself I'll find him in whatever comes after this, and none of this pain will matter.
But as the man behind me begins to move, pulling his cock back and shoving it in deeper with each thrust, I know I’m lying.
This pain will always matter, because it’s not just the pain. It’s the humiliation, knowingthisis what my husband is seeing in his final moments.
"Please..." I don't know what I'm begging for, but as the pain doubles and reaches deeper, I beg for an end to it, whatever form that end takes.
Tears blur my vision, and I stop trying to blink past them because they keep coming, saturating my cheeks.
He was right.
