9
Linnéa woke alone.
The fire had burned down to glowing embers. Rain still fell outside, steady and cold. The space beside her in the bed was cold too — Isak must have left some time ago.
She sat up slowly. Her body ached in places she didn’t want to think about. Between her legs she was sore and sticky. The marks on her neck and hips had darkened overnight.
For the first time since he had taken her, she felt something close to clarity.
What the fuck was she doing?
She had gone to her knees for him. She had begged. She had come while he used her mouth and held her down. And worst of all — she hadn’t hated it as much as she should have.
Shame and rage twisted together in her chest until she could barely breathe.
Linnéa got out of bed on unsteady legs. She found the cream sweater from the day before and pulled it on. It smelled like him. She hated that she noticed.
She needed air. She needed space. She needed to remember who she was before Isak Berg decided she was his.
The villa was quiet as she moved through it. She didn’t see him anywhere. For one wild second she considered trying the front door, but she already knew it would be locked.
Instead, she slipped out onto the covered deck at the back of the house.
The cold hit her immediately. Rain fell in a steady drizzle, turning the wooden deck dark and slick. She stepped out from under the cover anyway, letting the cold water soak into her hair and the thin sweater. It felt real. It felt like something she could control.
She walked down the stone steps toward the water’s edge, bare feet numb against the wet ground. The trees pressed in close on either side. The world felt smaller here. Quieter. Like it had already forgotten she existed.
She didn’t hear him approach.
One moment she was alone with the rain and the dark water. The next, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and yanked her back against a hard chest.
Linnéa screamed.
Isak’s hand clamped over her mouth.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was calm, but there was steel underneath it.
She struggled. For the first time in days, she fought him with everything she had — kicking, clawing at his arms, trying to bite the hand over her mouth. Panic and fury made her strong.
Isak didn’t yell. He simply tightened his grip and dragged her backward toward the house like she weighed nothing.
She fought harder.
When they reached the deck, he spun her around and shoved her up against the wooden wall of the villa. One hand pinned both of her wrists above her head. The other gripped her jaw hard enough to hurt.
Rain ran down both their faces.
Isak’s eyes were darker than she had ever seen them.
“You want to run?” he asked quietly. “After everything? After last night?”
“I hate you,” she spat. Tears mixed with rain on her cheeks. “I fucking hate you. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”
Something dangerous flashed across his face.
He let go of her wrists only to grab the front of the wet sweater and rip it open down the middle. The fabric tore easily. He shoved it off her shoulders and let it fall to the soaked deck.
Then he spun her around again so her front was pressed against the cold wood. He kicked her legs apart and yanked her hips back.
Linnéa heard the sound of his belt. Then the blunt head of his cock dragging through her folds. She was already wet. She hated that she was already wet.
Isak made a low, rough sound.
“You can hate me all you want,” he growled against her ear. “But your cunt is already wet for me. Even now. Even while you’re fighting.”
He thrust into her in one brutal motion.
She cried out — pain and unwanted pleasure crashing together. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He fucked her hard and fast against the wall of the villa, one hand fisted in her wet hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
“Say it again,” he demanded. “Tell me you hate me while I’m inside you.”
“I hate you,” she gasped.
He slammed into her harder.