Page 90 of Grave Love
It races for me.
“You fucking pig!” she howls.
I throw her into the bathroom. Fling open the toilet. Scowling at myself for all of my stupid fucking choices. The toilet bowl is clean—all because I couldn’t stand the thought of an ounce of that medication where I shit and piss. Because I didn’t want to accept it. That possibility.
Ren’s death.
“You are mine, little corpse,” I whisper. She thrusts her elbows, but it’s hard to do damage when your wrists are bound. I wrap an arm under her stomach, still fisting her hair. “It’s time you understood exactly what that means.”
I fall to my knees behind her and grip her tight. She twists her neck, spitting in my face, fury in her eyes. I bare my teeth, then push her head down into the bowl.
The water splashes. Her arms flail. She’s handcuffed, bucking against me, and I hold her down. The liquid sloshes over the sides, and I keep her there. Submerged. Proving it to her. Proving that her breath is mine. Her body, her mind, her fucking soul—I’mthe one who gets to decide when she lives and dies.
She jerks around, desperate for air, and I thrust my hips, my dick like a second knife threatening to cut her from behind. And I hold her there.
She loosens, her body trying to calm itself, and I give her a second of slack, barely enough time to pull my dick out. She coughs, water dripping down, drenching us both, and I pull down her pants, thrusting my dick inside of her. It doesn’t take much; she’s wet, but her body doesn’t react to me. Not like it normally does. She’s limp, like I’ve killed everything inside of her, like she’s transporting her mind to another place. As if I’m just like her grandmother and her shitty ex.
And it fucking kills me.
I need this. I need this as much as I need her.
No.I need her.
My dick softens. I growl.
This is mine.
Her body is mine.
Sheis mine.
And if I can’t have all of her, then what the fuck am I doing, letting her live?
But I know I’ll never kill her.
“You see that?” I snarl. I thrust my hips, my dick barely engorged enough to get inside. I slap her face from behind. Fist her hair. Wrench her hair until her neck is taut, like a noose carrying a body. Somehow, she’s stilllimp.A wet noodle. And it pisses me off even more.
“Youwantto live,” I growl. “You want to live, Ren. You’re a psycho bitch with a damned submissive side wider than the gulf, but youwantto live, Ren. I gave that to you. I showedyouwhat it meant to truly fucking live. And I’mnotgoing to take that back.”
“Fuck you!” she screams.
I hold her in a death grip; she doesn’t fight, showing me she’s given up. And fuck, my head spins, not wanting to acknowledge what that means. Refusing to. I pull us both forward until I’m leaning on her head, keeping her eyes and nose in the water. She sputters, and I count down. Waiting for her to fight me.
She doesn’t fight. My head aches.
I can’t stop. Iwon’t.
I own her death. I own her life.
But my little corpse stays still.
My heart sinks.
Fucking her like this isn’t going to prove anything.
I pick her up, then swing her down the hallway. She coughs, lazy in my arms. I force her down to my bed. Even when I unlock her handcuffs and transfer her to a new set, each shackled wrist bound to the bedposts, Renletsme. Resigned to her fate.
As I’m fumbling with the chain to get her ankles strapped to the bottom posts, she punches me in the nose, the chains clinking behind her.
