7. Gemma
Chapter 7
Gemma
I woke up to an empty bed; the sunlight slicing through the blinds, mocking the darkness that clung to me. The events of the night before crashed into my consciousness like a wrecking ball, and I curled in on myself, trying to escape the memories that flooded my mind. My body ached, a traitorous reminder of his touch, of the way I had responded to him.
Tears stung my eyes, hot and accusing. How could I have let this happen? How could my body betray me like this? I felt a sob rise in my throat, and I choked it down, refusing to let it escape. I wouldn't give him that power, not again.
But how had he been there?
The question gnawed at me, a relentless, grinding doubt.
Had he been watching me?
The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a cold, creeping dread that spread through my veins like poison.
Was he the one who'd been watching me all this time? The one whose gaze I could feel like a phantom touch, even when I was alone?
I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to make sense of it all. None of this made sense. None of it. The pieces refused to fit together, no matter how hard I tried to force them. It was like trying to solve a puzzle in the dark, each piece slippery and elusive, always just out of reach.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm that raged inside me. I needed answers. I needed to understand. But more than anything, I needed to regain control of my body, of my life. I wouldn't let him take that from me. Not again. Not ever.
But even as I made the vow, I could feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, a lingering echo that refused to fade. And I knew, with a sinking certainty, that nothing would ever be the same again.
The door creaked open, and Matthew walked in, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. I glared at him, clutching the sheet tighter around me, as if cotton could shield me from the nightmare unfolding.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He stood in the doorway, completely naked, his body a work of art. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and it seemed to glow in the dim light of the room. His muscles were lean and defined, a testament to the hours he spent honing his body into a weapon. A thin line of light hair trailed down from his chest, leading my gaze to the hard length of him, jutting out from between his legs. He was beautiful, in a terrifying, predatory way. And I hated myself for wanting him.
He set the mugs down on the nightstand, his movements slow and deliberate. "I thought you could use some coffee," he said, his voice low and rough.
I didn't trust myself to speak, so I just nodded, my eyes still locked on his body. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and I couldn’t stop it. I didn't want to want him. I didn't want to feel this way. But my body had other ideas.
He crossed the room, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, heavy and possessive. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek, and I flinched at the contact.
"Don't," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
He ignored me, his fingers tracing a path down my neck, over my collarbone, and down to my breast. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. I wanted to push him away, to scream at him to leave me alone. But my body had other ideas.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a feather-light kiss. I could taste the coffee on his breath, bitter and strong. And I hated myself for wanting more.
"Please," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Don't do this."
But he didn't listen. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, and I felt myself melting into him, my body responding to his touch despite my best efforts to resist.
And as he lowered me onto the bed, his body pressing against mine, I knew that I was lost. That I would never be able to escape him. That he would always own me, body and soul.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, voice shaking with anger and fear.
He looked at me, and I hated how good he looked, blond hair falling casually into his face, like this was just another morning. Like he hadn't torn my world apart.
"You raped me," I spat, the words tasting like acid on my tongue.
"You wanted it, Gemma. Your body begs for me again."
"You're crazy," I started, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I never would have betrayed Rob. I never would have?—"
Suddenly, his fingers coiled around my throat. His grip was firm, not crushing, but a promise of power. "You will not speak his name in my presence," he said, voice low and dangerous. "You're mine, printessa ."
Fear caused my heart to skip, a primal response to the predator before me. I could see it in his eyes, the possessiveness, the obsession. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
"I've been watching you," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "I know he treats you like an afterthought, like something he forgot about. You don't deserve that."
"And you'll treat me better?" I asked, the words barely a whisper.
"Like a princess," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "My princess."
His lips found my throat, a soft, lingering kiss that sent a shiver down my spine. I closed my eyes, the room spinning around me. This was wrong. This was all wrong. But my body betrayed me, leaning into his touch, craving more.
His mouth moved lower, kissing and biting, marking my skin as if it were his territory. I gasped as his teeth grazed my collarbone, a sharp, sudden pain that sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through me. I hated how my body responded to him, how it craved his touch despite the fear and anger that boiled within me.
He shifted, his body pressing against mine, and I could feel the hard length of him against my thigh. His fingers found my throat again, coiling around it like a snake, gripping slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of his power, of the control he held over me.
"Matthew," I whispered, his name a plea and a curse on my lips.
He looked at me, his eyes dark and hungry. "Tell me you want this, Gemma," he said, his voice a low growl. "Tell me you want me."
I hesitated, the words stuck in my throat. I didn't want to want him. I didn't want to give him this power over me.
"I... I want you," I whispered, the words torn from me like a secret.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was both gentle and brutal. I could taste the coffee on his breath, the faint hint of tobacco that clung to him like a second skin. And I could taste something else, something dark and dangerous, a hunger that matched my own.
He entered me then, a sudden, brutal thrust that stole my breath away. I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.
His fingers tightened around my throat, gripping slightly, a reminder of his power, of his control. I could feel the panic rising, the fear that he would go too far, that he would take too much. But even as the fear gripped me, I could feel the pleasure building, a dark, twisted thing that coiled in the pit of my stomach, threatening to consume me.
He moved faster, his body slamming into mine, each thrust a claim, a possession. I could feel myself spiraling, falling into the darkness, into the pleasure that was too much, too intense. And as I fell, I heard his voice, a low, guttural growl in my ear.
"You're mine, Gemma. Mine."
The room filled with the sound of our bodies meeting, a raw, primal rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart. Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through me, building and building until I was teetering on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into the abyss.
"Matthew," I gasped, his name a plea, a curse, a prayer. His fingers tightened around my throat, his grip a leash that kept me tethered to him, to this moment.
"Come, printessa ," he growled, his voice a low rumble in my ear. "Come for me. Show me you belong to me."
And I did. I let go, falling into the darkness, into the pleasure that consumed me. My body shook, waves of ecstasy crashing over me, drowning me in their intensity. I could feel him pulsing inside me, his body shaking as he found his own release, his groans mingling with my cries.
We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies locked together, our breaths ragged and syncopated. His forehead rested against mine, his eyes closed, his fingers still wrapped around my throat, though the grip was loose now, almost tender.
I could feel the sweat cooling on my skin, the air in the room suddenly too cold. I shivered, and he pulled away, his body separating from mine with a suddenness that left me feeling bereft.
He stood up, his back to me, his shoulders heaving with each breath. I watched him, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of our shared climax, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear and something else, something darker, something I didn't want to acknowledge.
He turned to face me, his eyes meeting mine. There was a possessiveness in his gaze, a hunger that sent a shiver down my spine. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek, a soft, almost tender touch that belied the darkness in his eyes.
"You belong to me," he murmured almost tenderly. "There's no escape for you now."
"But… why me?" I asked.
"Fate," he replied. "The gods brought you to me like an offering. And who am I to refuse them?"