Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

13. Ava

AVA

I ’d drunk the cursed vial and I couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t run to the bathroom to throw it up. I couldn’t move.

My knees buckled as the paralysis took hold, but before I could hit the ground, Ty caught me.

His arms slid under me with practiced ease, and he pulled me up effortlessly, cradling me against his chest.

For a moment, a flash of something crossed his face—concern, regret, maybe—but it was gone too quickly for me to be sure.

As he carried me out of the bedroom, my limbs limp, the memory hit me like a soft, distant echo: the day he’d carried me to the nurse’s office when we were younger. Just like this.

Despite the fear knotting inside me, for a fleeting second, I gave in to the sensation of weightlessness, of being held.

His chest was firm against my cheek, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a strange comfort. For just a moment, I let myself feel it, enjoy it, even if I knew I shouldn’t.

The hallway passed in a blur as Ty carried me through the mansion, his steps steady and purposeful.

My heart hammered in my chest as confusion clouded my thoughts. Where was he taking me?

Then it hit me.

The professor’s bedroom.

A wave of terror surged through me. I tried to scream, tried to thrash in his arms, to do anything to stop him.

But I couldn’t move. My body was locked in place, helpless.

And the look on Ty’s face—cold, determined—told me he wasn’t going to stop.

No matter what I wanted.

Ty kicked open the door and it let out a loud creak like a wail.

He carried me inside the professor’s master bedroom, the heavy, oppressive air settling around me like a cage.

Ty carried me to the red velvet couch and gently laid me down, my head lolling on the cushion, not even the sight of the beautiful bookshelves and rows of books bringing me peace.

As soon as my fingers brushed the velvet, memories began to claw at the edges of my vision, pushing their way through the haze of my mind.

The texture of the fabric, smooth and suffocating, threatened to unleash the darkness inside me, pulling at pieces of my past I had worked so hard to bury. It was cracking something open inside me, something I wasn’t sure I could ever close again .

No. I didn’t want to do this. I wasn’t ready.

But it was too late.

I felt the memories rattling their cage, like a monster I couldn’t escape.

I wanted to scream, to run, to stop this.

But all I could do was lie there, trapped in the paralysis, waiting for the nightmare to hit.

Ty sat at my side, the cushion beneath me sinking slightly with the weight of his presence.

Every movement felt magnified in the thick silence, the tension between us so palpable it was as if the air itself was pressing in around me.

He took his time, brushing strands of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering as he arranged the strands over my shoulders, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

It was like he was delaying the inevitable. His movements slow, almost hesitant, as if he knew what was coming would break me.

For a moment, I wanted to lean into it, to find solace in his tenderness. But I couldn’t.

My muscles were locked in place. But even though my body was paralyzed, my mind wasn’t—and it raced with growing panic.

As if a switch flipped, his mood shifted. I watched the darkness flicker across his face, his eyes hardening, his jaw tightening.

He whispered softly, so low I almost didn’t hear it. “I’m sorry.”

Those two words clawed at my throat, igniting the panic that had been simmering just beneath the surface.

My breath hitched, my chest constricting with fear as his fingers reached out, tugging at the delicate tie at my throat. Each pull, each soft brush of his skin against mine, felt like the world unraveling around me.

“Sweet, sweet girl.” His sour breath swirled around my cheeks as he tugged the ribbon loose from the top of my nightgown.

Ty’s fingers were shaking as he undid the first button. Then the second.

Each pop echoed in the room like a gunshot, my body rigid as the nightgown peeled open, exposing me, my skin prickling with cold air and dread.

But the real cold was inside me—an icy grip that wrapped tighter and tighter around my heart.

Button by button, he undid my defenses, each small release peeling back layers I had buried deep.

His thick fingers undid my buttons. I could smell his sweat, hear his labored panting.

He waited until they were all undone before he peeled me open, like I was a present, the sick hunger lighting up his dark dead eyes at the sight of me.

I wanted to beg him to stop, to claw at Ty’s hands, to make him stop—but my body remained limp, unresponsive.

I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t stop it. And worst of all, I couldn’t stop him.

Ty kept going. He grabbed the hem of my gown and pulled it up over my head.

His rough hands pulled my nightgown over my head. Through a tangle of raven hair, I saw his face looming over me as he began to peel my soul open.

I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t, the lingering sweetness of hot chocolate on my paralyzed tongue, making my stomach turn.

“Ava. It’s me. I’m right here. ”

His rough touch became Ty’s gentle hands. His face, twisted with cruel delight moments before, morphed into Ty’s handsome features, twisted with concern and mirrored pain.

Black soulless eyes melted away, replaced by the pale-blue eyes of the man I loved.

No, this was Ty . I didn’t love Ty. I loved Scáth .

“It’s me, Ava,” Ty said as he massaged my nipple to hardness even as pain lingered on his face.

“It’s only ever me ,” he repeated as he kissed down my body, his warm lips feeling so much like Scáth’s that I couldn’t help but react, my body surging with heat. With need. Despite how twisted this was.

“ I am touching you. These are my fingers,” Ty said as he trailed his hands down my stomach to spread my folds.

His touch sent electric shocks through me, igniting every nerve ending.

I wanted to arch into him, to writhe and moan, but my body remained motionless, a prisoner of the drug coursing through my veins.

“These are my lips.”

The scent of sandalwood and leather filled my nostrils as Ty pressed hot kisses across the crease of my inner thigh.

So close. But not where I wanted him. Where I needed him.

No, I shouldn’t want this. This was wrong.

Shame and desire warred within me as I saw Scáth’s hungry gaze as he looked up at me from between my legs. His eyes were icy pools, promising both pleasure and pain.

But it wasn’t Scáth, was it? Not really.

And that’s where the guilt settled, like a heavy weight in my chest. Scáth was buried deep inside this shell of a person.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself. I clung to the hope that somewhere, underneath Ty’s cruel mask, the man I loved still existed.

My attraction to this version of him? It was twisted.

The room felt too warm, too close. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by flickering candles. Their unsteady light made the scene feel dreamlike, unreal.

But the sensations were all too vivid—Ty’s hot breath on my most intimate places, the soft velvet beneath my immobile body, the pounding of my heart echoing in my ears.

“This is my tongue.”

He licked my aching center, long and slow, and a silent scream reverberated through my mind. The pleasure was exquisite torture—I couldn’t move, couldn’t vocalize. I could only lie there and feel as wave after wave of sensation crashed over me.

His skilled mouth worked me relentlessly, bringing me to the precipice again and again, only to back off at the last moment.

“It’s only me,” he kept repeating over and over like a mantra until his voice echoed in my mind.

I was drowning in sensation, losing myself. Nothing existed but Ty’s mouth on me, his hands gripping my thighs.

He slipped a finger inside of me, drawing it out with a careful, steady pace, always keeping a reassuring hand on my thigh. His eyes never let mine go as he muttered against my clit.

“It’s me . Only ever me .”

He worked me without hurry, two, then three fingers filling me, the steadiness of his movements building the pleasure so torturously slow.

I wanted to grab his hair and rock my hips up, to urge him faster, to demand more .

But I could do nothing except submit.

He had total control over my body.

That was, I guessed, how I justified this to myself. Justified taking pleasure from Ty when it was Scáth that I loved, Scáth that I had promised myself to.

This was just therapy.

But deep down, I knew it was a lie.

As my body hummed with pleasure, my mind wrestled with the morality of it, turning over the question again and again. Would Scáth be angry with me if— when —he resurfaced?

Would he understand that I had no choice? Or would he see it as a betrayal, proof that I was weak, that I’d let myself be manipulated by the dark side of him—Ty—who had locked me in this twisted version of therapy?

Would he forgive me? Could I even forgive myself?

The thought made my stomach twist with guilt.

Scáth had always been my protector, my rock.

But now, in this dark place, it felt like Ty had taken his place.

And even though I told myself it was because they were the same—two sides of the same coin—the doubt gnawed at me.

I wasn’t supposed to like this. I wasn’t supposed to need this.

But I did, and that thread of guilt wove its way through me, tightening with each passing moment, even as pleasure threatened to tear me apart.

My orgasm built to breaking, and the walls of my pussy began to constrict around his fingers.

Ty made a hum of approval against my clit, vibrating through my pussy. That was all it took.

I exploded, the feeling blasting through my body from my core out to my toes, to my fingers. Electricity skittered across my skin and over my scalp as fire burned inside me.

My vision went completely white as the darkness was vanquished.

Over and over the pleasure smashed around inside my motionless body like waves, shaking me to my soul, sucking out all the fight I had left.

But I knew even as I experienced heaven, I had damned myself to hell.

And I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.