Do I want this?
Do I hate him?
I twist and try to pull myself away. He’s got a grip on my hip and under my knee, but I manage to turn my upper body. I press my face into my arm and hold on to the chain between the cuffs. It’s looped around the leg of the couch.
He’s inside me, invading me, and everyone around me continues to sleep. Even as pleasure rolls through me. We’re skating a thin line between consent and something far worse. So I guess I have to decide—is what he’s doing okay? AmIokay with it? His hand slides down and cradles my calf. He runs his thumb over the surgery scar, again and again. In time with his thrusts.
Both quicken.
He hits a spot deep inside me, but it isn’t enough. He doesn’t go near my clit.
I let it happen.
I fucking let him do this to me, and a part of me is getting off on this knowledge. If I truly wanted him to stop, I could scream through the tape. I’m in a room full of sleeping girls. I’m staying quiet on purpose.
The rational part of my brain has shut off and checked out. She’s long gone. Yet I can’t just make iteasyon him. I rip my leg out of his hold and kick him.
He falls backward with a sharp exhale, catching himself on his hands. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness—enough to see his slow smile.
I pull myself into a sitting position and glower at him.
He just shakes his head, then lunges for me.
It’s not soundless. The huff that comes out of me is loud in my ears, as is his grunt of pain when he collides with me. My knee digs into his gut, my elbow catches his throat.
He grips my jaw, turning my head back to meet him, and rips the duct tape off.
“Scream,” he orders in my ear. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Scream, Vi. If you’re not wet and horny from this, then fucking saystop. This is your chance.”
I eye him and lick my lips. I don’t say stop. I don’t speak at all.
He covers my mouth with the tape again. I’ve curled into a fetal position, but it doesn’t matter. He fucks me like that, looming above me. Chasing his release.
It isn’t enough for him. Not for me to agree.
So he leans down and cuts off my breath again.
Tears have flooded my eyes, and white spots flicker in my vision, before he releases me again. He repeats it. Over and over, until I’m a quivering mess beneath him.
Only then does he reach down and touch my clit.
It doesn’t take long.
How pathetic is that?
I’m strung so tight, he only has to touch me a few times for me to come apart.
He pounds into me as I come. I clench around him, my silent orgasm triggering his own. He grits his teeth and explodes inside me.
We both go still when someone yawns.
In the silence, I strain to hear their slow breaths as they fade back to sleep.
Greyson pulls out of me, and the noise is loud. Slick. His weight covers me. He stretches out on top of me, and he unlocks the handcuffs.
“Next time you don’t answer my text, I’m going to repeat this little game… but I might make sure someone else sees. I like this little game of you resisting, Vi.” He meets my gaze. Some of the ice has melted, but he’s still frigid.
I want to set him on fire.