“Stop!” I scream, my hands freezing on my clothes.
He responds by pressing my face back against the door, his mouth near my ear.
“Move a fucking muscle and I’ll make you bleed.”
God help me, I believe him. I’m torn between wanting to prevent that at all costs and punishing myself further by forcing him to keep up his end of the bargain.
The sound of tearing fabric fills the room, my harsh breaths increasing as pieces of my clothing flutter to the floor at my feet.
A rough hand slips between my legs now that he’s ripped away every barrier between us. My nipples scream from the rough texture of the door as tears roll down my cheeks.
Shame. Humiliation. Disgrace.
I feel all of it when his fingers pull away wet with my arousal.
I try to draw in deep heaving breaths, but he still hasn’t relented an ounce of the weight he has against my back.
“Please,” I beg, knowing I want him to stop, knowing I need him to keep going.
“Have you always been such a dirty fucking whore?”
I can’t answer him. My sobs are taking over, making it even harder to breathe.
“How hard was it for your daddy to keep his hands off of you, Lauren? I bet you were his fucking favorite.”
His words are disgusting and makes my skin crawl as if a million ants are taking tiny bites of my flesh. It’s so far from the truth, I almost open my mouth to explain how I wasn’t my father’s favorite. I easily could’ve been, but Liana protected me from that.
I let the demons seep in instead, let his rough hands roll over me.
I take a deep breath, gagging on the sharp intake of air when he pulls back some, allowing a little room between the door and me. But the reprieve doesn’t last long as harsh fingers twist my nipple, causing me to scream out once again.
“Fucking stop!” I roar, knowing it will do no good.
I fight, try to jerk away from him, but it only brings more pain.
“Angel! No!”
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question what he’s doing. His hands don’t shake or tremble. He powers forward, my pain and humiliation his only goal.
It’s what I wanted. What I asked for. What I needed.
And he provides.
“You’ll fucking keep it there or I’ll fuck your ass raw,” he threatens as he lifts my leg, situating my boot on the doorknob. My torn and tattered jeans hang from my ankle, and the sight of it is strange to me as I glare at it, my brain not fully online at the moment.
There’s no warning. No,here it comes, baby… get readybefore Angel slams inside of me.
My jaw unhinges on a silent scream at the invasion.
Thick, throbbing, and fully seated, he growls in my ear.
“Fucking whore.”
He doesn’t sound pleased with himself. It’s more like he’s ashamed for letting me push him to this point.
That’s his fucking cross to bear.
We all have them.