I yelp as he yanks down my underwear and thrusts three fingers inside me at the same time.
A choked sob tears from my throat, and although it should be due to pain or discomfort, it’s actually due to relief.
I’ve been in a constant mode of stimulation ever since he strangled me and it’s only gotten worse with time.
“Feel that? That’s your cunt welcoming my fingers home. That’s your cunt knowing who the fuck owns it, touches it, and brings it pleasure. If someone dares to look at it, let alone contemplate touching it, they’ll be an MIA statistic, am I clear?”
A whimper rips from me and it’s sick.
I’msick.
He’s clearly threatening to hurt people, but I can’t seem to take that into account as I drip all over his fingers, rocking my hips unconsciously at first, then intentionally.
“This is my pussy.”Thrust.“My property.”Thrust.“Fucking mine.”
A strangled gasp spills from my throat as my core pulses for the orgasm.
But just when I’m about to scream, he pulls out his fingers.
My eyes widen, staring at him, then at the place that he definitely didn’t satisfy.
“You don’t get to come after that little show of yours. This isn’t a reward.”
A frustrated sound echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine when he picks me up and throws me on the bed.
I can breathe for the first time, but I don’t focus on the animal-like sounds escaping me or the ache between my legs.
There’s something much worse.
Killian.
He tugs his shirt over his head, revealing the hard planes of his abs and stomach. Under the current tension, his physique appears massive, a weapon that can inflict both pleasure and pain.
Even the birds with broken feathers flying up his side appear more ominous. Destructive.
Killian proceeds to remove his trousers and boxers with infinite ease. He actually takes his time with the task, as if knowing exactly how nervous his methodical calm makes me.
I slide back against the mattress. “W-what do you think you’re doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He steps toward me with the grace of a black panther. “Finishing what I started.”
“Killian…”
“Yes, Glyndon?”
“Stop… I mean, let’s talk about this.”
“I’m done talking.”
“I’ll scream.”
“By all means, do. No one will hear you, and if they do, we can fuck on their blood if you’re not squeamish.”
I think I’m going to throw up. I wish this was him trying to scare me and that deep down, these were empty words, but this is Killian, after all.
He’s on me now, his hand fisting my dress. I try to stop him as he pulls the piece of clothing over my head and throws it away. I try to fight as he unclasps my bra and slings it to the floor. And in my attempts, I don’t think about what I’m doing—my hands flying everywhere until I’m naked in his arms.
It’s panic, I think.