Chapter 15 #3
I drink obediently, the cool water soothing my raw throat. I didn't even realize how thirsty I was, how much I've been screaming and gasping and—
He pulls the cup away and sets it aside.
"Better?" he asks, brushing some sweat-dampened hair off my forehead with surprising tenderness.
I nod weakly, unable to form words.
"Good," he says. "Because we're not done yet."
And then he's fucking me again.
Harder this time. Faster. His hips slamming into me with bruising force, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing obscenely in basement. I'm still sensitive from the last orgasms—too sensitive—and every thrust feels like too much and not enough at the same time.
"You're doing so well," he tells me, his voice rough with arousal. "Taking my cock so perfectly. Making such pretty sounds for me."
I am making sounds—desperate, broken little whimpers and gasps that I have no control over. My body is acting on pure instinct now, my hips trying to meet his thrusts despite the restraints holding me in place.
The pleasure builds again, impossibly fast, and I try to speak, try to tell him it's too much, I can't—
But his fingers are back on my clit, and I'm lost.
I hear a sound.
A mechanical buzz that cuts through the fog in my brain.
I force my eyes open and see him holding something—a wand vibrator. Industrial-looking. The kind that plugs into the wall. The kind that looks relentless and unforgiving.
I gasp. "I can't—"
"You can," he says firmly. "And you will."
He presses the vibrator against my clit while his cock continues to pound into me, and the sensation is immediate and overwhelming and absolutely fucking unbearable.
I come instantly.
No build-up, no warning. Just a sudden, violent orgasm that rips through my body like lightning. I'm screaming, thrashing against the restraints, my pussy clenching around his cock so hard it almost hurts.
But he doesn't stop.
The vibrator stays pressed against my clit, relentless and unforgiving, and another orgasm crashes over me before the first one even finishes. Then another. Then another.
I can't stop coming.
Can't catch my breath, can't think, can't do anything but feel as wave after wave of pleasure-pain tears through my body. My vision is flickering—white, black, white, black—and I can hear myself making sounds I didn't know I was capable of.
"That's it," he groans, his voice strained now with his own approaching release. "Come for me. Keep coming. Don't fucking stop."
I couldn't stop if I wanted to.
The vibrator is merciless, the angle perfect, his cock hitting that spot deep inside me with every brutal thrust. I'm drowning in sensation, drowning in pleasure, drowning in him.
Another orgasm. Stronger than the last.
My body arches off the table as much as the restraints allow, every muscle locked tight, and I see pure white—
Everything goes black.
I wake up in someone's lap.
Warm. Solid. Moving.
His chest is rising and falling hard, like he just ran a marathon. Or came.
Oh god.
My body feels like rubber. Limp and useless. There's this weird buzzing sensation everywhere—aftershocks. Leftover orgasms still pulsing through my system like electrical currents that won't stop firing.
I try to move and can't. My muscles won't cooperate. Everything feels disconnected, like I'm operating a body I don't quite remember how to control.
How did I get here?
The last thing I remember is—
The vibrator. His cock. Coming so hard I saw white.
And then... nothing.
Just black.
How long was I out?
I blink, trying to focus. His hand is stroking my hair. Gentle. Possessive. Like I'm some kind of pet he's calming down after—
After what?
My mind starts working again, piecing together fragments. The exam table. The restraints. Him fucking me until I passed out.
And then nothing.
Nothing.
Oh god.
The realization hits me.
He drugged me.
He fucking drugged me.
That's the only explanation. You don't just black out like that. You don't lose hours—because it has to have been hours, my body feels wrecked in ways that couldn't have happened in minutes—you don't lose time unless something was done to you.
He fucked me while I was unconscious.
While I was passed out.
The panic slams into me all at once. Fight or flight. Every nerve ending that was buzzing with pleasure two seconds ago is now screaming danger danger danger run run RUN.
I move.
My body shouldn't be capable of it, but adrenaline is a hell of a thing. I'm suddenly up, stumbling off his lap, my legs barely supporting my weight but I'm moving.
"Scarletta—"
I don't look back.
The stairs. I see them now—completely open, leading up to the main floor. How did I miss them before? Doesn't matter. I'm running, my feet slapping against the wood, my thighs screaming in protest.
"Scarletta, wait—"
He's behind me. Following. I hear his footsteps, heavy and fast.
I reach the top of the stairs and keep going. The main floor is dark except for—
Windows.
I see light through the windows.
Natural light.
Morning.
It's fucking morning.
How many hours did I lose? The auction was mid morning. It should still be afternoon! It should be—
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.
I run harder, my vision tunneling on the front door. Just get to the door. Get outside. Flag down a car. Scream for help. Something. Anything.
"SCARLETTA, STOP!"
His voice is loud now, commanding, the same tone he used to make me come—
I scream.
Not words. Just pure sound. Terror ripping out of my throat as I hit the front door and yank it open.
Cold air slams into me like a physical force.
Snow. Everywhere. Blinding white in the early morning light.
I don't care.
I run.
My bare feet hit the snow and I can't feel them. Can't feel anything except the burning cold against my naked skin and the desperate need to get away.
He's calling my name. Still following.
I scream louder. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!"
There's no one. Just mountains and trees and endless fucking snow.
I keep running anyway. My legs are giving out, muscles turned to jelly, but the adrenaline won't let me stop. I'm sobbing now, gasping for air that burns my lungs, my whole body on fire from the cold.
"SCARLETTA!"
He's closer.
Too close.
I try to run faster but my foot catches on something—a root, a rock, I don't know—and I stumble.
Then he's on me.
His weight slams into me from behind and we go down hard, crashing into the snow. The impact knocks the air from my lungs and I can't breathe, can't scream, can't—
"No no no NO!" I'm kicking, thrashing, trying to get away. "GET OFF ME! HELP! SOMEONE—"
Something sharp pierces my thigh.
A pinch. A sting.
I see it in my peripheral vision—a syringe. He's pushing the plunger down, injecting something into my muscle.
"No," I gasp, still fighting. "No no no—"
The world starts to blur.
Edges going soft and fuzzy.
His face above me, the ski mask still on, his eyes visible now in the morning light. Blue. So fucking blue it doesn't make sense.
"I'm sorry," he's saying, but his voice sounds distant. Underwater. "I'm sorry, I didn't—you weren't supposed to—"
The words don't make sense.
Nothing makes sense.
My limbs are going heavy. Too heavy to fight anymore.
"Please," I whisper, but I don't know what I'm asking for.
The cold is disappearing. The fear is disappearing.
Everything is disappearing.
His face. The snow. The light.
All of it fading to black.