Kill slides his free hand along my thigh, bunches up the silk as he hikes it up, all the while our eyes locked. But when he cups my sex, I go completely still.
“Why did you do it?” he asks.
“What?” I can’t breathe. Not when he’s holding me like this.
“Why did you come here? Why did you agree?”
Why did I offer myself in exchange for my brother? That’s what he’s asking?
I slide my gaze away. I can’t answer that. I won’t.
I shake my head once, he moves his fingers. I bite my lip.
“You’re wet, Cilla.”
“No.”
He grins. “Again,” he says. “Kiss me again.”
I begin my struggle anew, knowing I have to get away. To free myself. Because this man, he does something to me. Something wicked. A thing that will break me because he was right last night. I am a whore. I’m exactly his whore.
“No. Never.”
I break free and, before I can think, I raise my arm to slap him. I know he can stop me. I know because I hesitate, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t stop me and the sound my hand makes when it collides with his face is deafening. He flinches, but barely. When I prepare to do it again, though, he catches my wrist.
“Let me go!”
He’s watching me with that grin, the one that says ‘I know I’ll win’. The one that says, ‘I already have’.
Any momentary tenderness is replaced by dominance. By ownership. I lock eyes with him again, but this time, it’s like predator and prey. And I am firmly cornered. Caught.
“You want this, Cilla. You want this exactly like this.”
“I don’t.”
He walks me backward until my back hits the wall. That’s when he releases my sex, grabbing my hips instead, raising me up, fingers digging into me. I know he’s right. That I’m wet. He keeps me there with one hand while with the other, he undoes his belt, his pants, pushes them down. I look at his cock. It’s thick and big. Too fucking big, the bulbous head glistening with pre-cum.
“Wait,” I gasp, but he grips my legs, widening them, setting them around his hips. I feel him at my entrance and I’m sucking in air as I cling to his shoulders, his neck. “I—”
“Shh. It’s okay to want, Cilla.”
He’s taunting me and I hate him for it. For his control over me.
He closes his mouth on mine, biting my lip. I taste the metallic taste of blood.
He’s wrong. I don’t want this. I swear I don’t. I can’t want it.
My eyes are closed, and when I open them, I find him watching me.
“Cilla,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper as he drives into me, his full length plunging too deep too fast. I’m not ready, even aroused—because I am aroused—I’m not ready, and I cry out.
He moans at the sound and slides out, then thrusts again. One hand is wrapped around my hip, with the other, he tears the dress apart and takes my breast between his fingers, kneading it, then gripping the nipple between thumb and forefinger, drawing it out as he thrusts again.
I gasp but the pain and pleasure, they’re confused. My clit is rubbing against him, his cock is splitting me in two and with his fingers punishing my nipple, I’m going to come. I don’t want to, don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I’m slick and he’s fucking me harder, faster, and his eyes are watching me. Seeing me.
Fuck.
He closes his mouth over mine again and when he groans and stills and I again taste blood, I suck in a desperate breath and I come. I come as he empties inside me, filling me as he throbs against my contracting walls, his eyes shining, bright, his voice low and deep when he says my name, and I finally close my eyes, unable to hold his, hating myself for coming, for giving over to this pleasure, a pleasure that belongs to him.
Like me.
Like I belong to him.
He pulls out and a gush of liquid slides down my thighs. I look at the mixture of blood and cum. I’m not a virgin, but he was too big, too violent. My knees buckle when my feet hit the floor but he catches me. I slump into him, the top of my head in his chest. I am ashamed. I am…vanquished.
Kill wraps a hand around my throat and forces me to look at him, holding me up against the wall. His grip isn’t choking, but it can be. At any moment, he can snap my neck.
He looks at my mouth and I touch my lip with my tongue. I taste blood. He leans in and licks it, takes my lip between his, sucks hard while watching me. When he pulls back, I look down at my ripped dress, hear my own panting breath.