The water shuts off, and King emerges, all steamy and wrapped in a towel, proud of his conquest. He looks at me, his gaze moving from my shivering, naked form to the spot behind me where he fucked me. I know there’s blood, but I don’t look. It’s enough to feel it, the destruction he wreaked inside me, the pain when I move that feels like he left razor blades inside me.
“Fuck, El,” he says, coming over and sinking onto the bed beside me. All his anger and gloating washed away with my blood in the shower. Lucky him.
I don’t say anything. I don’t even have it in me to hide my tears. He’s already seen them. He likes them. The sick fuck likes to know he’s hurting me, that I’m crying for him.
He shifts around, pulling the blanket over my huddled form. “I’m sorry. I should have been more gentle.”
I still don’t answer. What is there to say?
He strokes my hair back, then pauses. Tilting my chin up, he hooks a finger into my mouth to tug the wet lace from it. Using his thumbs, he dries the tears from my cheeks, as if he can erase the pain that easily. It must be nice, to be able to believe that it’s gone just because he can’t see it.
“How badly have I hurt you,piccola mia?”
“I’m fine,” I manage.
“I’ll—I’ll make it up to you,” he says, sounding a little desperate, like he really is sorry. Like he’s only now realizing that I wasn’t playing, that it wasn’t a game to me.
“You can’t,” I say flatly. “Go away.”
“Let me make you feel as good as you make me feel,” he says, moving onto the bed in front of me.
I don’t say anything, because there’s no point. I tried so hard to take control of my life, to have something of my own, but it was all an illusion. I’ve never had control of anything, least of all my own body. It was never mine. It’s always been the property of others, and when I tried to refuse, it’s been bent to their will.
King moves closer, bringing my body into his warm, strong arms, his skin still damp from the shower. He kisses my forehead, stroking my hair with his thumbs before reaching for my face, tipping my chin up. The cruelty is gone from his eyes, but I’ll never forget he has that inside him, the capability to brutalize me that way.
“Let me make you lose your mind the way I do when I see how beautiful you are,” he whispers, cupping my cheek in his palm. “When I remember that you’ll always be mine.”
I shiver at his words, the promise that’s a shackle around my ankle. He kisses my cheeks, my lips, then along my jawline, his hand falling on my breast. Tingles shoot through me when his mouth reaches my ear, but my body is shaking too hard to enjoy what he’s doing. All I can think about is what comes next. I grip his shoulder, my nails digging in.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, panic coiling inside my belly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I keep thinking that over and over. Where did I go wrong? I gave in. I let him have me. How is he still going? Why isn’t he done?
“I want to kiss every inch of you,” he murmurs into my neck, his voice low and rough. “I want to taste your cunt. I want to make you cum over and over until that’s all you remember.”
He rests his weight on one elbow, leaving soft, warm kisses down my neck while his other hand strokes my arm, my side, my thigh. His breathing his coming hard, sending shivers through me as he kisses down the column of my neck, nudging my chin up.
It feels good. It does. I keep telling myself that.
I did fine with the blowjob, with his fingers, even with the sex. Great, in fact. He said only good things. And if I could do that, then why can’t I do this?
I can. I can do it. I let him do his thing, moving down my body, kissing my breasts. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and his hands are everywhere, his words, his desire. I’m drowning in it, and I can’t find the surface, so I just lie there while he lets out a soft moan, taking one of my soft nipples in his mouth and sucking gently. My breath hitches, and my clit throbs in response. He sucks harder, and a little whimper escapes my lips. He caresses my belly, moving lower until he’s brushing the edge of my bare mound, lasered bare for him. I knew he’d fuck me. I thought I was ready. But I will never really be ready.
I jerk back to myself, shocked to the surface with the throb he sends straight to my core with each suck. I wish I felt nothing, but I can’t help myself. He releases my nipple and blows a stream of air across my wet skin, watching a shiver ripple over my body. He must like that, the feeling that he can fix everything, that it wasn’t so bad because my body responds to his touch. But no one can fix me.
He tugs the other nipple into his mouth, moaning around it, which makes it even worse. I can feel heat and wetness pooling between my thighs, the pressure from earlier returning full force, the blood throbbing in my torn flesh, swelling with arousal.
And then he’s pushing me back under the water, because it’s too much, what he’s doing and how much he wants this, how much he needs… How can he want more? I’ve been destroyed, given him everything, and he’s still going. I can’t handle it, can’t fight it, so I let myself sink down to the bottom, wishing it was so deep he couldn’t touch me. I can hear the voice that haunts me, distorted like something out of a horror movie when really it was a kind voice with an edge of steel under it.
Don’t be afraid of your own body, Eliza. Don’t fear your own pleasure.
He slides a hand between my legs, his touch so gentle and sure that it brings tears to my eyes again. I squeeze my lids shut and take a shaky breath as he parts my lips and begins to slowly stroke my clit with his thumb. His mouth moves back to my other nipple, where he licks and sucks and nibbles until my whole body is tingling with heat and his fingers are slick with my arousal.
Then he moves lower, and his mouth is on my stomach, and I’m shaking so hard he has to feel it, but he doesn’t stop. Each time his thumb slides over the swollen bud of my clit, it throbs in answer. He flicks his tongue into my bellybutton and then sits up, his hand still between my legs. He spreads my thighs and kneels there, looking down at me, no longer a virgin. Shame slams into me and I try to close my legs, but he pushes them open further, his nostrils flaring and his gaze going molten hot.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, massaging my thighs to ease the tension.
“I’m not,” I whisper, my lip trembling, my whole body cold and shivering. I stare up at him. I can see the light above, blurry as if through water.
I try to close my knees, but he keeps them open, sliding down the bed so he’s between my legs, staring at me from only inches away.