And here I am: lying in his bed like a whore, ready to please the man who bought her affections for the night.
“Pater?” I ask, as I sit up in the bed and pull my knees up to my chest.
“Yes, Jocelyn?”
“Can I speak freely?”
“Yes.”
I take a deep breath and wrap my arms around my knees, resting my face against them so I can look at him. His reactions never lie; he may have a serpen
t’s tongue, but his face will always betray him and tell me the truth.
“Why are you doing this? Wouldn’t it be so much easier to kill me too?” I ask quietly.
He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, I can almost swear I see tears forming. But Pater doesn’t cry; he’s the man of this house, and the only emotions he’s ever shown us are the ones he chooses. Crying is for the weak, according to him, and Pater is far from weak.
“Because the three of you have always been my favorites,” he replies irritably. “Now go the fuck to sleep or I’m dumping you in the fucking ground with Vaughn.”
His attempt at a threat actually makes me laugh. To think I would fear death at this point when I would gladly decompose by my son’s side is laughable to me.
“Don’t bother. I’ll throw myself in the fucking pit,” I say, getting off the bed and walking toward the door.
“Hey. HEY!” he bellows as soon as I open it.
I turn and give him a sharp glare, watching his face go from anger to amusement in a matter of seconds. He pats the empty side of the bed next to him where I was sitting not moments before, and I sigh.
A part of me wants to see tomorrow and the day after, but the heroine in me wants to see this come to an end.
“You coming? Or do I have to fetch you?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, the grin widening over his face.
It’s maddening.
This entire fucking thing is maddening because I do love him in a way, but I loathe him just the same.
One more night.
One more day.
When I wake up in the morning, I’ll have decided if it’s worth seeing the day after.
Chapter Twelve
I wake up with a terrible headache and the weight of the world on top of me. It’s astounding to me that I was able to sleep at all, but now I’m awake I find myself in a terrible situation.
Pater’s face is hovering inches from mine, and his breathing is slightly labored. It’s not the weight of the world I feel lying on top of me, it’s the weight of the man that holds me here against my will. He’s pushing his cock inside me, slowly, deliberately; in a way that only Pater can. He wanted me to wake up to find him on top of me. He wanted me to feel every thrust he’s been lovingly pushing into me while I slept.
He wanted me to experience everything he promised me he didn’t want the night before, and it’s because he wants me to understand that he’s the one who will decide if tomorrow comes or not.
“You’re so pretty when you sleep,” he whispers, brushing his lips against mine.
I hate my body for reacting to this. I didn’t consent to this. I didn’t want to wake up to him fucking me, but I did consent to be in his bed, so I shouldn’t have expected anything less.
“Pater’s almost done, baby girl,” he says softly, as his breathing becomes even more labored.
He gently places his forehead against mine as I lie beneath him, pinned to the bed and waiting for him to fill me with his seed. It’s what he wants most of all. He wants me to become a mother – he always has – I’ve just been able to convince him otherwise, since we still had Vaughn and Eloy.
It takes no more than three thrusts before I feel the warmth of him spilling into me. He lets out a loud moan as he finishes and lets his body fall on mine, his head lying on my shoulder.