Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Everleigh
? One year before current events. ?
“Harder.”
A gasp escaped my throat with each thrust.
My walls tightened around his shaft as his calloused hands trailed down my skin, gripping my waist and forcefully pulling me back into him. I took every bit of his girth as he fucked me into oblivion.
The tip of his cock pounded into my cervix.
He moaned out, “Fuck...”
His right hand left my waist and moved into my hair, shoving my face into the pillow as his thrusts quickened.
I struggled against his control, trying to free my face from the pillow.
I hated breath-play.
He gripped my hair close to the scalp in a tight fist and pulled my face up to meet his, lessening my anxiety for the moment. “How does it feel not to have control?”
He already drove my face back into the fabric yet again, cutting off my oxygen.
This time, he rammed into my core deeply causing me to arch my back inward. He didn’t let up and his moans grew louder as he pushed further into my depth.
I barely took in any air and started to feel the side effects of it.
My body trembled, and I felt myself slowly going slack beneath his weight.
As I did, he moved his other hand from my waist, sliding along my inner thigh until it settled over my throbbing clit.
I didn’t fight him as he rubbed circles over my sensitivity, sending a wave of heat through my body.
His hand quickened at the same time his thrusts did. I felt myself fading out of consciousness as my core throbbed and electricity shot through me.
The bed shifted as he removed himself from me.
I decided to take control, rolling onto my back to face him, bracing myself on one arm as I reached up to grasp his length. I begun to pump his cock steadily, squeezing it slightly.
His breathing grew uneven, shallow gasps spilling from his lips.
Seconds later, he painted my chest and stomach, coating me entirely with his cum.
He was the only one I trusted not to hurt me.
My heart, at least.
I blink a few times, scanning the room.
It’s empty.
This is the worst part of playing the victim. I have to absorb whatever version of hell gets thrown at me, all to convince Finnic that I’m nothing more than a helpless girl who needs saving.
And I hate to admit it, but I do feel a little helpless.
Not because I’m weak.
But because I hate the idea of drowning or suffocating.
It’s one of the few fears I carried with me out of childhood.
Dante knows that.
He’s getting a fucking earful when this is over.
I specifically agreed to bruising and cutting me up.
Now, I will most likely end up with pneumonia because of him.
I didn’t agree to this.
I don’t know what he’s trying to pull here.
I’m the one in control.
He only thinks he has power because I allow him to.
I’m the Grandmaster of this plan.
They’re just pieces on my board.