“I’ll ask you one more time,” he continues. “Last chance for tonight to end… well, notgood. But better than where it’s headed.”
I gulp.
“Where is it?”
I imagine the photo album. Who knew a leather-bound book of memories could cause so much trouble? And I know, if I want my life to keep on trackat all, I’m not going to break. I can’t do that to myself.
At the end of the day, I’m the only one who’s going to stand up forme.
I took it so Greyson would finally hate me enough to leave me alone.
“Go fuck yourself, Devereux,” I hiss.
His grip tightens on my throat. My oxygen is cut off, and he watches me until my face is surely beet red. My whole body is hot, burning to the touch. I stare at him, into his eyes, and I thought I would be tough. I thought I could outlast him.
I can’t anymore. The need to breathe is too high. I yank at the bindings and struggle to get away from him, simply out of self-preservation.
But there’s no escaping it.
Again.
Into the darkness I go.
When I wake up again, I’m in the same position, leaning mostly on the wall. My fingers are tingling and numb from being above my head for so long.
However longthathas been.
This time, my shorts are gone, too. My legs are open wide. I shift and feel something…inme? It’s too dark to see.
Then the object buzzes to life.
It’s inside me and pressed to my clit. I gasp at the sensation, which keeps growing until it’s almost violent. My back arches, and my feet scrabble at the floor for purchase.
And then I spot Greyson, across the room in the shadows, and I come.
Violently.
It doesn’t turn off. I draw my legs back together, but I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. Worse, probably, because my clit is throbbing under the vibrations. I scream when another orgasm is ripped from me. A wordless cry. My body quakes, and I sag back when it finally switches off.
The only sound in the room is my ragged breathing.
“Where is it?”
I don’t answer.
He turns it on again, but low. Not enough to do anything except flutter inside me. I squirm, gripping the bar above my head and pulling myself up again.
“This your worst?” I ask.
He saunters across the room and flicks open a knife. It makes a littlesnicknoise, and the moonlight glints across the metal. He pries my legs apart and kneels between my legs. He runs the tip of the knife down my chest, between my breasts.
Then back up, around the underside of my breast and around, spiraling closer to my nipple. Even knowing that if he could maim me in more physical ways, I’m entranced by it.
I’m horrified of my own reaction.
And the vibrator just makes it worse. Or better.
“No, Violet,” he says softly. “This isn’t my worst. Not by a long shot.”