Page 41 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

“Tell me something. You were more than just his wife.” He hisses the words out and veers the van suddenly to the right. “Weren’t you? Maybe you fucking planned it, huh? He let me take you? To get inside my fucking head. Is that it?” he demands.

“W-what?” I shake my head. God, the things he’s saying. He sounds insane. “What are you talking about—”

“This!” He takes a hand off the wheel and jabs the fingers in my direction. “You’re a whore. A snake. From the first fucking second I took you, I knew something was wrong. And now you say you remember me?” He laughs bitterly at the idea. “There’s no way in hell he’d let you go. Not without a reason.”

Fear renders me silent as the gauge on the dashboard slowly ticks up, up, up. The engine revs as if echoing the way its master speaks.

“Admit it,” he snarls. “You aim to seduce me? You really think you can?”

Seduce? Shock overrides every survival instinct warning me to stay silent. “No—”

“No?”

The van comes to a violent stop, which flings me forward against the console. My ears ring. A door opens and slams. Footsteps crunch over gravel, circling over to my side. Cold air rushes in as my door is opened and I’m dragged out onto the side of the road.

“Tell me he sent you,” Mischa demands, wrenching me around to face him. “Admit it.”

I stumble for balance, forced to confront a terrifying reality. If Robert did plan anything, I’d have been the last to know.

“He didn’t,” I insist, more to myself than the man beside me. “I swear. He didn’t.”

Something ugly flashes in Mischa’s gaze. He turns, dragging me along with him.Wham!Heavy hands slam me against the side of the van and pin me there without mercy. They tug at my jeans, wrenching them down. Then he shoves a fist between my legs, roughly spreading me open around the width of his thumb.

I groan, flinching in surprise.

He hisses. “Fuck. If this isn’t a game, then why are you so fucking wet?”

Pressed against cold metal and glass, I say nothing.

Wet. That word means nothing to me. To him, it sounds like a curse, explaining how easily his fingers navigate my flesh without arousing the pain of Robert’s groping.

He feels…different. Too raw. Too real. My legs spread without permission, allowing him more access as his snarled insult echoes in my mind.Whore.

“Jesus Christ, hehadto send you,” Mischa mutters, sounding crazed. His fingers curl against me, stroking the flesh still sore from his last assault. “But I won’t fall for your fucking scheme. Be a good wife, now. Tell me to stop.”

Stop. My lips flutter, struggling to form the words. “I…”

“Say it.”

I sense him shift as a dangerous rasp echoes. His zipper? Yes. The second the hum trails off, his weight slams into me from behind.Thenheslams into me, replacing his thumb.

My lips part around a single gasp. It’s nearly impossible to describe the sensation of him—massive.

He’s in too deep. Deeper than anyone has ever reached, scraping me hollow and shoving himself into crevices even Robert left untouched. My inner muscles clench, desperate to register the intrusion. In or out? Nerves ignite. Flesh tightens, clamping down, drawing him in. In. In. In.

All at once, my throat remembers how to make words. “Oh…God—”

“Fuck!” He throws his weight into me.

I see black. Can’t feel. Can’t breathe. Every sense turns inward, riveted by the sensation of his cock. Twitching inside me. Filling me. Breaking me.

Enraged, he roars. Thrusts. Brutalizes. “Tell me to fuckingstop.”

“More…” It’s not the word he wants to hear.

“No!” He grabs my throat from behind, grinding my face against the window, still thrusting. Grunts rip from him with each pass of his hips, each more unsteady than the last. Gritted. Grated. Gasping. “Tell me to stop.”

My head is spinning. My body is on fire. Unbearable pressure gathers in my abdomen. Am I suffocating?You’re dying.

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