Page 78 of Do It For Me
“He fucked you right,” he moans against my ear, nudging my entrance. “Now you’re all mine.”
I want to fight. I want to grab something sharp, plunge it into his neck, and run far away. But my body won’t move. It won’t even tremble. Even if I wasn’t drugged, I couldn’t do that. I’m a coward.
“I’m going to fill you up,” he says with shaky breaths. “You will carry my children. You will bemyfucking cum dump, you hear me? That’s all you’re good for.”
What if Dante said all those things to get me used to him?
A noise comes from outside. My heart races, but the darkness beyond the window swallows everything. I see nothing.
“I want you to cry every night.” He pulls my hair. “I want you to fight, to beg me to stop. I want to ruin you.”
When I don’t respond, he forces me onto my back and thrusts into me again, a sickening rhythm I can’t escape. His hand strikes my face. It stings.
“You’remyfucking whore.” His breath is disgusting. “I can do whatever I want.”
He laughs—a low, guttural sound that twists my stomach.
My gaze drifts back to the beach, still searching for something—anything—out there. There are shadows moving, faint groans carried by the wind. I don’t know if it’s him, his echoes, or someone outside.
Did he pay someone to watch this? Or did someone pay him? Wasn’t raping me enough?
His hand grabs my face, yanking me toward him, his grip bruising. He spits on me, the wet filth streaking my skin.
“They all were right. You’re delicious.”
They?
Whom?
I want Dante, even if he lied to me.
I want my mum.
I want love—real love, not this. I want to curl up with Mum or Dante, let them hold me until all of this fades away.
Please, make it stop.
Please.
GET OVER IT
3 months later.
Ithink about him every day.
His smile. His gaze. His voice... Everything.
Days after the wedding, I stole Stefan’s charger and managed to get my phone working. I called Dante, but no one answered.
My heart is broken—shattered—and so is my body. That’s why I’m here, waiting for my routine gynaecologist appointment. I know little about reproductive health, only that getting married might mean getting pregnant (at least, that’s what Mum said) and that people can catch STDs. I don’t know how exactly, because I had it after my kidnapping, but I won’t take risks with Stefan. I don’t want his child either.
I wanted children with Dante. I picture them—our children—playing with us. A little girl cooking beside me. A little boy wrapped in his father’s arms.
Now, there’s nothing.
Thinking about it is pure torture, so I lock those thoughts away in the deepest corner of my mind. I can’t bear it.
I feel disgusting every single day. Every time Stefan fills me, I want to claw my skin off. I’ve been throwing up for weeks.
