Page 3 of Spark of Madness

I wish I could be like the others. I wish I could let myself enjoy this. I wish I could feel my purpose in this as I’m meant to.

He lifts his hand and tucks my hair behind my ear, almost sweetly, deceptively so. Then he sinks inside me again, thrusting with slow, deep strokes, coaxing something out of me, too kindly tricking me into pleasure. I feel it for a moment, a tug deep in my core, and a single shockwave of pleasure I know I should let myself sink into.

But it’s lost when he slaps me across the cheek so harshly that my head snaps to the side. His palm presses to my cheek and the pressure of it soothes the ache for a moment—until the pressure becomes too great. He presses down against my face with bruising force as he picks up his pace, fucking me harder, faster.

Gradually his hand slips down, fingers wrapping around my throat, squeezing. I reach for his wrist, grabbing hold of it with both hands after a minute of painful pressure takes my breath away.

He’s unrelenting.

He’s supposed to be.

“That’s fucking beautiful,” he groans as my eyes widen, silently begging for air. He loosens his grip just long enough for me to suck in a greedy breath before his hand tightens again.

I panic as he skirts the edge of release, as his thrusting turns to manic fucking. His eyes darken as he pants, teasing me with his breaths that I’m not afforded the same privilege of having. My body bucks beneath him as he comes, as he shouts his pleasure into the night, and it mingles with the sound of so many others.

Moaning, panting, shouts of pleasure…screams of pain.

After Theo spills inside me, he hoists me up by his grip around my throat, pulling me into a sitting position with my legs still spread for him, my knees bent at his hips while he kneels between them.

His hand slips up to pinch my chin, forcing it up as he bends down over my face. “It’s no wonder Hyatt wants you to serve him; once you’re warmed up, your cunt is divine.”

He spits in my face, and I flinch, turning away as his hand slips back into my hair. He holds my head steady as the other hand strikes my cheek again.

“Happy to serve,” I mutter half-heartedly, speaking my script as he rubs his saliva across my cheek.

His fingertips drag to my mouth, wiggling against my sealed lips until I let them part. He shoves two fingers inside, stroking them along my tongue, toward the back of my throat until I gag. Only then does he drag them back out.

“Damnit, Mercy,” frustration touches his tone, “give me something. Fuckinganything.”

I have a nasty habit of disengagement during service.

I’ve been told by others that using me is like fucking a corpse—but I have to disappear to avoid speaking my mind, to keep myself quiet, to stop myself from fighting.

I should be more enthusiastic to serve my purpose, but I’m simply not. I wish I could be like all the others.

I close my eyes, trying to find the actress within, though she’s buried so deep. “How can I serve you better?”

He bends, my back arching as he looms over me, pressing an almost sweet kiss to my cheek. “Give me something. Literally any emotion would serve me. Passion, lust, anger, hatred…fight me if that’s what you feel. Just wake the fuck up andengage.” His lips slip back along my face, coming to stop at my ear where he whispers, “Everyone’s watching you, Mercy.”

My eyes snap open to take in the scene where sex and violence surround me. I glance around at the clusters of people, taking in the sight of women offering themselves with passion and purpose—because itisour purpose in Ember Glen. They fall to their knees, part their lips, spread their legs…They take a hit and rise for another; have their head slammed to the ground, only to lift it again for more.

But no one is watching me that I can see.

I turn my head to look at Theo. “What?”

“People talk about you,” he says, catching my gaze with his dark eyes. I see honesty there—there’s no room for anything but raw, painful truth when giving in to the Impulse. “They call you a sinner.”

“I’m not a—”

He clamps his hand over my mouth. “It’s what you look like when you give me nothing. You’re supposed to serve happily, so do your God-given duty.”

“Just tell me what you—”

He drops me, and I land hard on my back as his eyebrows knit together. “Get on your knees and offer your service with enthusiasm.” His eyebrows lift expectantly. “Now.”

I steel myself as I scramble to get on my knees, blinking up at him. “I offer myself to honor the Impulse.” I speak the scripted words like a prayer at the altar of his feet. “How can I serve you?”

His hard chest rises and falls, his palm landing on the side of my head, stroking down my white-blonde waves. “That’s better,” he murmurs. “You know I’m only looking out for you.”

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