Chapter 5
The warmth of the evening air settled over me as I lay on the lounge chair, the gentle sway of the yacht soothing my senses. The stars above twinkled in the clear night sky, and the sound of the water lapping against the hull was a constant, rhythmic lullaby.
I was tipsy, my head pleasantly light from the two glasses of wine at dinner and the champagne I sipped while Colson made his business calls. The bubbles had gone straight to my head, and I felt a sense of freedom I hadn't experienced in days.
I placed my nearly empty glass on the shelf beside me, savoring the brief moment of peace.
The silky material of my dress rode up as I turned over, exposing the bare skin of my ass to the warm breeze.
It was a small act of rebellion, a quiet indulgence in the privacy of the darkened lounge area. No one could see me, or so I thought.
Suddenly, a sharp sting ignited on my exposed skin as a hand came down hard on my ass, the impact sending a shockwave through my body.
Before I could react, I was yanked upright, strong fingers digging into my arm as I gasped in surprise and pain.
Colson’s voice, low and menacing, cut through the night.
"Do you realize we have male crew members on watch?" he growled, his tone laced with anger. "They can see you."
His hand found its way to my throat, wrapping around it with a dominant force that made my heart race.
My breath hitched as his grip tightened, a pulse of fear mixed with something darker, something that twisted in the pit of my stomach.
I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat as he tugged at my thong, the delicate fabric tearing with a sickening rip.
“Colson, please,” I managed to gasp, my voice trembling as he pushed two fingers inside me. The sudden invasion sent a shock of pain through my still tender flesh, and I cried out, a mix of agony and unwanted pleasure.
“You’re mine, Josephine. Say it,” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear.
Tears blurred my vision, but I knew better than to resist. "I’m yours," I whispered, the words barely audible as my voice cracked.
"You will not expose yourself in such an embarrassing manner unless I request it," he continued, his thumb finding my clit and circling it with a rough insistence that made my body betray me. His fingers slipping into my moist heat.
“I won’t,” I sobbed, the tears finally spilling over as the conflicting sensations warred within me.
I was terrified, the fear of his wrath making my heart pound in my chest. But despite the pain, despite the humiliation, my body responded to his touch in a way I couldn’t control.
My breaths came faster, my skin tingling as he continued to work his fingers inside me, my cries mingling with the night air.
Colson’s grip on my throat loosened slightly as he pulled back just enough to meet my tear-filled gaze. "You’re mine, Josephine. Don’t forget it."
His words were a harsh reminder of the power he held over me, a power that extended far beyond this moment. As he drove me to the edge, the line between pain and pleasure blurred, leaving me lost in the conflicting emotions that he so effortlessly stirred within me.
He removed his fingers, and I heard the jingle of his belt as he opened it. He moved his hand under my chin, making me arch my back as he slammed into me. I cried out because the angle was less than optimal besides the tenderness between my legs.
His strokes were brutal as the hand around my throat tightened, choking off my breath while his other dug into my hip.
“You want to act like a whore, then I’ll treat you like one,” he whispered against my cheek. His breath was laced with whiskey and up until now, I didn’t notice the slight slur in his speech.
He was relentless, pumping his hips against my ass as he fucked me. My back and core ached. I couldn’t breathe as he let out a guttural moan and a flood of semen filled me. It was the last thing I remembered as I passed out from lack of oxygen.
The world slowly came back into focus, the sharp sting in my throat and the dull ache between my legs grounding me in a reality I desperately wished I could escape. The sky was shifting from black to a deep, bruised blue, signaling the approach of dawn.
I was still sprawled face-down on the lounge cushions, my body trembling with exhaustion and pain. The remnants of Colson’s brutality echoed in every throb of my neck, every tender pulse between my legs.
I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over, but they only blurred my vision as I glanced to the side.
Colson was lying next to me, snoring softly, oblivious to the damage he’d inflicted.
His hand still rested near my hip, a cruel reminder of his possession.
He treated me like an object, a plaything to be used and discarded at will.
My chest tightened as I forced myself to move, to peel my body away from the cushions.
My muscles protested with every slight movement, but I managed to sit up, my head spinning.
The ripped remains of my thong were strewn on the teak deck, a symbol of my shredded dignity.
I snatched them up, gripping the fabric tightly as if it could hold together the pieces of myself that felt irreparably broken.
Stumbling to my feet, I glanced once more at Colson, his face peaceful in sleep.
The disconnect between his unconscious serenity and the monster I’d endured only hours ago twisted my stomach.
I turned away, dragging myself toward the master stateroom, each step a reminder of the violence that had been done to me.
Inside the stateroom, I went straight to the bathroom, flipping on the shower and cranking the temperature as high as I could stand. Steam filled the space almost instantly, fogging the mirror and wrapping me in a suffocating cloud.
I undressed slowly, my fingers shaking as I peeled off my dress and discarded it on the floor. The sight of my own reflection—my neck bruised and raw, my eyes swollen from tears—was too much to bear. I quickly turned away and stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water cascade over me.
I grabbed the nearest bottle of lemon-scented shampoo and squeezed out a generous amount, lathering it into my hair, my skin, scrubbing with a fervor born of desperation. I wanted to erase every trace of him, to cleanse myself of the filth I couldn’t wash away.
But no matter how hard I scrubbed, the feeling of his hands, his breath, his cruel words lingered. The hot water mixed with my tears, and I cried silently, the sound of the shower masking my sobs.
By the time I finished, my skin was red and raw, but I felt no cleaner.
The sun had begun to rise, casting a pale light through the porthole.
I turned off the shower, wrapping myself in the thick white robe hanging on the hook.
It was soft, almost comforting, but it couldn’t warm the cold that had settled deep inside me.
I stumbled to the bed, my body heavy with exhaustion, and collapsed onto the mattress.
The robe covered me, but it couldn’t shield me from the memories of the night before.
As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I tried to push the images away, to bury them deep where they couldn’t hurt me.
But the pain in my throat, the ache between my legs, kept them alive, and I knew that no amount of scrubbing or tears could wash away the scars Colson had left on me.
Sleep was my only escape, and I welcomed it when it finally came, pulling me under into the darkness. But even in sleep, I couldn’t escape the nightmare.
Colson barged into the stateroom, the door slamming so hard it rattled in its frame.
I jolted awake, my heart pounding in my chest as I sat up, the remnants of my troubled sleep clinging to me.
His hair was disheveled, his eyes wild with something I couldn’t place—anger, regret, or maybe just the remnants of whatever had driven him last night.
He approached the bed, and without thinking, I lashed out.
My hand connected with his cheek in a slap that echoed in the room.
It wasn’t much; I knew it wouldn’t do anything but provoke him further, but I didn’t care.
Anger, fear, and helplessness swirled inside me, and I needed to strike back in whatever way I could.
Colson stopped, his face twisted with a mix of surprise and anger.
For a moment, he just stared at me, and I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.
Then he grabbed my wrists in one swift motion, pinning them above my head with one hand.
I struggled, but his grip was iron, and my efforts were futile.
His gaze shifted to my neck, and I saw a flash of recognition in his eyes as he noticed the bruises. His free hand reached out, and he traced a cold finger over the tender skin, his touch sending a shiver down my spine.
“I’m sorry, Josephine,” he murmured, his voice low and almost foreign. “I don’t know what came over me last night.”
The dam broke again, and tears spilled down my cheeks. He let go of my wrists, and I crumpled into his lap, my body trembling as I buried my face in his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as if he could somehow comfort me after what he’d done.
“How could you?” I sobbed, my words muffled against his chest.
He sighed, his breath warm against my hair. “I was angry. You’re mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice made me recoil, but I couldn’t deny the truth in it. I wiped at my tears, trying to pull myself together, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “No one could see,” I whispered, more to convince myself than him.
“Joey,” he said, his tone softening in a way that made my skin crawl. “I have four crew members on watch. They have night vision. They could see.”