Page 1 of Regressive

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Imogene

“It’s too late, Imogene,”he mutters low enough that only I can hear. “Welcome to the family.”

Those are the words that haunt me as I watch Rex undress.

The last forty-eight hours have been complicated—confusing—he’d threatened to leave Serendee for good. He’d asked me to go with him. But in the end, we’d both stayed, our bond to one another witnessed by the entire community and most of all, his father.

Elon, Silas and Levi… they’d supported me, but none of it eases my nerves at seeing Rex shrugging his shirt over his broad, muscular shoulders. The last time we were together like this he hurt me—forced his way inside. Rex had claimed me in the physical sense, and I let him because that’s how I was raised, what Anex Ordered. And now that he’s my Bonded Mate, I’ll do whatever he demands, despite the potential for pain.

Pain, I suspect, that will run deeper than the feel of him inside of me.

Methodically, he drapes his shirt over the back of a chair. The Mating quilt gifted to us by the women of Serendee lies smooth and crisp on top of the mattress. I wrap my arms around my waist, desperately trying to ground myself.

This is The Way.

This is what Anex wants.

This is whatIwant.

I repeat the words like a mantra, willing myself to accept them. I’m not afraid of sex. Not anymore. Silas showed me how good it can feel. But we’d left him, Elon and Levi after the ceremony, and I followed Rex back to our suite in the main house. Rex isn’t Silas, a man trained to please women with the barest of touches. Rex is a brute. He’s angry. Vindictive. And if it wasn’t for me—and some strange obligation—he’d be gone from this world for good.

Rex saved me from something tonight, something I’m not even sure I understand, and for that, I owe him.

“Take off your clothes,” he says, voice adrift. He faces away from me and when he drops his pants, I see the hard-curved lines of his backside. He’s molded of marble. Like all gods should be.

My fingers move to the long row of buttons that travels my sternum, up to my throat. We’d made this agreement. I do what he asks of me—everythinghe asks of me. No questions. No arguments. My hands shake as they fuss with the buttons, and he finally turns, frowning when he sees my struggle.

“Christ,” he mutters, coming at me. I stare at his erection, swollen and swinging between his legs. My belly drops, sparking that confusing mix of arousal and fear. His fingers replace mine, pushing at the buttonholes, the tattoo on his forearm shifting as his muscles unfurling as he works. “They make these fucking things like this just to make us crazy,” he says, jaw tensing in annoyance. I shiver when the pads of his fingertips brush against my skin. “You realize my father’s wives don’t wear this type of clothing. He doesn’t have the patience.”

Irritation flickers in his cool blue eyes, and he grabs the fabric with both hands and wrenches them apart. The sound of tearing fills the room followed by the ping of buttons falling across the hardwoods follows. It took me months to create this dress, sewing each stitch by hand, fastidiously placing every button. In one furious moment he destroyed it—ruinedit.

I look up at Rex’s angry face. I absorb his chiseled jaw, the bright halo of hair, the mean darkness in his eyes. It’s in all of these that I see him—the real him. All shreds of the decent man that came to my side at the Ceremony have vanished.

Good, I understandthisRex better.

He hurts. He takes. He controls. All I have to do is survive.

He pushes the dress off my shoulders, allowing it to pool at my feet, while his finger runs under the strap of my bra—one Elon bought me—and he tugs that, too, until my breasts break free. His fingers ghost around my nipple—toying, teasing—until he tweaks it, forcing a cry from my lips.

He grins and says, “I love that sound, Little Lamb,” scooping me up and tossing me on the bed. Not bothering with the covers, he climbs over me, his weapon sharp and pointed between his legs.

I’ve barely caught my breath, settled my eyes on his intimidating frame when he spreads my legs and presses the tip of his cock against my entrance. My fingers wrap in the quilt, bracing myself for the impact, but he just hovers there, eyes meeting mine.

“You’re still taking the contraceptive?” he asks.

I blink, trying to process the words. Contraceptive. The pills Margaret gave me.

“Yes.”

He nods and without another word, punches inside. I yelp, then suck in air, trying to work through the intrusion. It burns, the stretching of my inner walls, but pain isn’t my enemy. Pain is something I crave to endure. His father taught me that with the hours of relentless lessons, the years of sacrifice, the intensity of Correction. Pain is something I understand, and I emit a whimper, wanting more.

A frown tugs at his mouth and rocks his hips into me. “Does it hurt?” he asks, not stopping.

“Do you want it to?” I ask, because I’m here to please him.

He expression shutters, and he grabs my inner thigh, pushing it wide. The sensation is different, deeper, and a moan builds in my chest. Silas showed me enough about my body to know what it likes. Levi taught me though Corrections what I crave. And Elon… under his darkness, I felt the true heat of passion—I understandwant. I’m too scared of Rex to feel any of these things, too intimidated by his perfect body, by his cold stare, by the power he holds inside this bed and out. By his birthright.

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