Page 70 of The Invite
“Still not going to accept the truth, little prey?” he taunts, tracing my slit up and down until more wetness leaks from my hole. “I bet you’ve been soaked since the moment I said I was inside your house.”
Shifting my panties to the side, he dips his finger in my slickness and around my clit before bringing it to my lips. Shamelessly, he paints the outline and shoves it into my mouth, forcing me to taste my humiliation.
“Taste my barbarity, Miss Nessa.” Gagging me until I choke, he taunts, “Taste what a nasty slut you are.”
Thrusting the finger in and out, he ruthlessly slashes my drenched panties.
I’m pushed against the nearest wall. I turn my face to the side, my palms slapping against the surface just as he wrenches my hips back.
My eyes fling open at the same time he presses the knife’s handle against my clit. I protest, “No.”
My objection falls on deaf ears.
Holding me by the nape, he reminds me sinisterly, “Like I said, you’ll think twice before stabbing me.”
CHAPTER – 18
Nessa
I can no longer keep the memories at bay.
They tear past the locked cage in my mind and swim to the forefront. Until the past blurs with my present. I slip and submerge into the memories.
“I’m-m sorry,” I stammer, my toes curling as I fight to stay frozen. “Don’t stab me. Please. Don’t.”
An ugly sob slips without permission from my lips.
Why can’t they trust me?
The hand between my legs pauses but doesn’t remove the weapon.
“Don’t stab me. I-I won’t tell anyone,” I plead. My vision turns hazy and I see the four cracked walls with dry paint peeling off them and surrounding me. “You can’t h-hurt me.”
I slump forward when the knife goes away and strong arms catch me before I can fall. Who is that? My mind can’t recall and feels cloudy.
I’m full-on sobbing, the walls closing in on me.
I can’t breathe. I’m stuck.
Trapped within this god-awful room.
Why do they keep locking me? How long do they plan to keep me here?
“Let me out,” I shout. “Please… I. Won’t. Tell.”
My body is whipped around but I can’t see anything. A tightness grips my jaw and yanks my head back.
“Nessa.” An unrecognizable and new voice says.
Did they bring someone to torture me?
The pitch blackness doesn’t allow me to see their face. So, I blindly grab their biceps and hoarsely beg, “Help me. You have to let me out.”
“Fuck.”
Why is he cursing? Despair crushes my chest. Whoever it is won’t save me.
I sway when my wrists are seized, shifted higher, and my hands are pressed against something warm with a pulse. I skate my fingers over it and it’s someone’s neck. My palms are inched higher until I’m cupping a face. Their cheeksare angular and sharp. I tremble, sliding closer until a spicy scent fills my nostrils.
