“He is not my friend.” His fist tightened in her hair, sparks of pain radiating across her scalp as he increased the fervor of his fingers on her clit.
Fuck, why does it feel good? It shouldn’t feel good.
“He is my partner in this enterprise, but it doesn’t matter. I can make you be obedient. I can make you do so many things… wouldn’t it be easier if you just gave in?” Nibbling on her neck, he focused on her clit with confident swirls of his fingers, her wetness growing, inner walls clenching around nothing. “You can choose to obey me, and I will make you feel good. Choose to submit, to be a good girl. Everything will be easier for you… I promise.”
“I don’t want to,” she whispered, voice breaking. Straining against the urge to slip into what he offered, to submerge herself in the waves of pleasure between her thighs, the devious touch that had her hips subtly rocking.
“You know what disobedience brings you, Beth.” Lips to her ear, his arm wrapped around her waist to pull her tighter against him, erection pressed into her spine. “Don’t make me hurt you,” he whispered quietly, just for her.
So much emotion in his voice, in him.
The other one was solid ice, animated stone, an empty shell.
This one was full color. There was hunger in him, warmth in his body and his touch. He was good at this, her body relaxing despite her best efforts to stay apart. To stay strong. To ignore the potential for delirium that he teased from her.
“Ask for permission before you come, Beth.” Those words jarred her, made her whimper, struggle, but he held her tight to his body.
“I won’t come.”
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
What would it mean to orgasm here? In this place?
Would it feel like an orgasm anywhere else? Would it be a momentary gasp of freedom?
Or would it drive her further into this hell… leave her emptier than when he’d begun, than when the other one had raped her the first night.
“I don’t want this,” she said softly, but his laughter came again, shaking against her back as he slid one finger inside. The invasion made tears prick her eyes, wrists pulling uselessly at the cuffs that didn’t hurt but were no less effective.
“Are you sore?” he asked, sliding a second finger inside to stretch her, waking up the ache his partner had left behind in the early hours of the morning. “I know he likes to fuck you hard, that’s the only way he knows… but I can make you like it, enjoy it.”
“Please don’t—”
“Open your legs. Now.” The anger in his voice made her open her eyes, only to see his wrist trapped between her thighs. When she hesitated he reached forward and pulled one knee to the side while he used his feet to pull hers wide. “Every time you try to close your legs that’s another belt stroke. Understand?”
“No!”
His grip tightened on the skin above her knee, two fingers thrusting hard. “I will take my belt to your ass, your thighs, so that you remember that closing your legs to me, or my partner, is unacceptable. Does that make things clear?”
“Please… just stop…” she begged, legs shaking as he slid her wetness back to her clit and focused on it for an excruciatingly long minute of forced pleasure. Warmth and lust moving through her body like a heady buzz. Muting the fear in her nerves, quelling the panic in her veins, until all that existed was the steady thrum of his touch. Each swirl over her clit another confusing crack in the brittle barrier she’d formed against reality.
“Am I clear?” he asked again, slipping his fingers inside her, curving his fingers to stroke her g-spot and make her body jolt forward, legs jerking inward. “That counts.”
“Please don’t make me—” She couldn’t say it aloud. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me come. Don’t make me enjoy this for even a moment. Stop, stop, stop…
Laughter. Real, low, male laughter behind her that made the tears roll down her cheeks as his arm tightened across her ribs and held her against his chest even as she struggled to writhe. Hips wanton and desperate to meet the next sinful sweep of his fingers. To feel something nice, something good, no matter the price.
She opened her eyes to see his hand moving, digits buried inside her. Unwelcome, yet bringing her the only comfort she’d received here.
Threats and pleasure.
“Do you want me to make you like it? Is that what you need, Beth?” His voice was a purr, directly against her ear, and it fed down her spine like a rumble. Vibrating the space between her thighs as he stroked expertly, teasing her to the edge as she struggled to keep her legs apart. To fight back the orgasm.
I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I won’t enjoy this.
“No.”
“You’re so wet. Has he ever made you wet like this?” The sound of him thrusting his fingers in and out of her made her flinch. Soaked, squelching sounds that made her shudder in shame and embarrassing pleasure.