Chapter 20 #2
Anger pools once more in the pit of my stomach at the sound of his mocking tone, but I bite down on it.
He notices, though. He always does.
He couples his mocking voice with a loud chuckle that makes my anger harder to repress. “I said, Seraphina, is that all you can do?”
My full name in his mouth doesn’t sound half as nice as it usually does.
It’s getting increasingly difficult to push down on the anger that is boiling in my veins, even though I know he’s doing it on purpose. Provoking me into throwing a real punch.
His loud laughter, assaulting my ears, makes me see white.
Suddenly, it’s not just the mocking that angers me.
It’s everything. He may love me, but it doesn’t stop him from fucking with my mind.
Pushing flight attendants out of airplanes and killing drivers.
Expecting I’ll divulge vague suspicions about Lucy after I’ve seen how reckless he is about life.
Keeping me in a state of constant denial, punishment and reward.
His mood always changing from one extreme to the other, without warning, keeping me on my toes. Making fun of me.
As usual, that’s the one that really gets me. I can handle death, even the reckless kind. My hands are just as bloody as his. I can handle his changing moods. Mine aren’t exactly stable. I’ve started to look forward to the physical pain he inflicts in such a cavalier manner.
But the mockery, I hate. I will always hate it. Seraphina Connor is not a joke.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m falling on him, punching him repeatedly, all my anger coursing out of my fists and against his chest. I barely notice it when he clutches my wrists, pinning my arms to my sides as I continue to thrash around, overcome by my burning fury.
“Well, well,” he chortles, not seeming to care in the least about how his mocking drives me frantic. “Looks like you do have a bit of verve in you after all.”
The sound of his voice tells me the laughter isn’t real. Underneath is a cold harshness that would scare me if I weren’t still seething.
“Now, as promised,” he says, holding onto both my wrists with one hand. Which only makes me go crazy with angry humiliation as I realize how easily he can restrain me.
The next moment, he’s ripping off his shirt, and I freeze suddenly. His chest is covered in bruises. I’m the cause of them.
Fuck. I’m the cause of them.
I stare at his chest, feeling weak at the knees. I hurt him. I can’t believe I hurt him.
My heart strangles in my throat. He’s the man I love, and I hurt him. I want to die. I want to be buried underground again. What kind of a monster am I? I hurt the only person on this Earth that I love.
The next thing I know, I’m kneeling at his feet, shaking in remorse, begging for his forgiveness.
He doesn’t answer, merely clutching the front of my dress and pulling me up so my feet barely touch the ground.
“Now for the next part,” he says, his voice so quiet it sends a shiver down my spine.
“The next part?” I manage to repeat.
“The one where I get to do whatever I want to you on the balcony,” and the harshness gives way to a dangerous darkness.
I shiver again, but now, my overwhelming guilt ebbs just enough to allow my core to throb with desire. I have a feeling I know exactly what he’s planned, and somehow, despite dreading it, a thrill courses through my veins.
Still holding me upright by my collar so that my feet barely touch the ground, he marches me straight to the railing and flips me over on my stomach so my head is dangling into nothingness.
I bite down on a terrified cry. He’s done this to me already. And this time, beneath all the fear, is the absolute conviction that he will not let me fall.
He flips up my dress and I experience a tingling sensation of déjà-vu. I hear him chuckle again as he takes in the wetness between my thighs.
“My little glutton for punishment,” he gloats.
I know he’s laughing at me, but the laughter is real now, and it doesn’t make me angry. The guilt gives way to relief. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay, because he’s laughing.
And then, his hand is falling on my bottom, hard, again and again.
It’s nowhere near the pain of the flogger, let alone of his belt, but being in this upside-down position while I force my body to keep entirely still, the drop beneath me terrifying me despite my conviction that he won’t let me fall, feels nearly unbearable.
But not entirely unbearable, and I’ve come to enjoy the heady sensation of being driven to my threshold of endurance.
His hand continues to barrel down on me, and I can picture him turning my ass a deep state of red. At last he stops, resting a palm on my burning bottom.
“Never. Strike. Me. Again,” he growls in my ear, and I nod frantically.
Then I hear the sound of a zipper, and my heartrate picks up. What the hell? Is he really planning to take me… like this?
“Time to consummate our marriage,” he chuckles, and the next second, he’s driving his cock deep into me.
I can no longer prevent strangled cries from leaving my lips as he thrusts into me, his hands feeling far too light as they grip my ass. My arms flail below me, helpless, and I wonder if I’m going to pass out. It feels like I’m going to pass out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
But his cock keeps hitting the part of me that makes me wild, and somehow the mounting pleasure keeps me from blacking out completely with panic.
Not for long, though, as one of his hands leaves my ass cheeks.
“Fuck!” I scream out, my hands grasping at nothingness.
He rewards me with a resounding slap on the cheek.
“I’m going to wash that dirty mouth of yours out with soap.”
Then the hand that removed its hold on my ass cheek to punish it finds its way to my folds. I gasp as I realize how wet I am, my arousal actually dripping down my thighs. Just in case I didn’t know, he swipes at it then leans over to me and makes me taste it.
I don’t particularly enjoy my own taste normally, but now, I breathe out, relieved, at being pinned under his weight. It’s a lot more reassuring than feeling like he’s keeping me from falling with just one hand.
Unfortunately, the relief doesn’t last long.
He lets me suck on his finger for a few moments, driving it in and out of my mouth in rhythm with his cock fucking me, before popping it back out and going back to his previous, terrifying position.
Once more, I feel myself dangling with just a hand on my ass to save me.
I keep trying to convince myself I won’t fall, he won’t let me, but fear is a powerful thing. All I can do is imagine myself tumbling down the thirty or so feet that separate me from the lake below. I wonder if I’d survive such a fall.
But he won’t let me fall. He won’t. Right?
I can’t do a thing about it. I’m not in control. Helpless. His to own and his to keep.
All I can do is accept that he’s going to torture me for however long he wants to torture me, and the only thing left for me to do is submit to his iron will.
It should be making me furious. Instead, I’m wetter than ever.
Well, fuck.
And then, he finds my folds again with his one free hand, and it takes a single touch of my clit for the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced to rip through me.
But he doesn’t let up. I guess when he said he was going to consummate our marriage, he meant it.
He increases the tempo, fucking me viciously as his hand continues to torment my overstimulated clit. I can’t even try to get away from it, because the only place to go is over the balcony, and that’s definitely not happening.
All I can do is groan and wince as he forces one painful orgasm after another from me. I can’t decide if this new thing of his is worse than how he used to deny me. To be made to orgasm again and again, when it feels like my body literally can’t handle it.
And the realization that the only thing that can stop this is him choosing to.
As if he’s decided to prove to me, once and for all, that my will doesn’t matter. He owns it, like he owns the rest of me.
Why does the thought of that make so insanely wet?
Even after he’s come in me, filling me with his semen, even after he’s withdrawn his cock, he keeps rubbing my clit. It’s dry now, swollen from irritation rather than arousal, but somehow the orgasms keep coming even as I cry out in pain.
I’m a limp mess by the time he’s decided I’ve had enough and pulls me back onto solid ground. I sag in his arms, knowing I should be furious, but instead, my lips hungrily seek out his. He holds me to him, deepening the kiss.
“Thank you for hitting me,” he breathes into my mouth before thrusting his tongue past my lips in search of mine.
“Th-thank you?” I echo, my voice coming out thick around his tongue.
“Yes. It was the perfect excuse to give you the punishment of a lifetime. Well,” he adds after a moment, “the beginning of a lifetime.”
I can’t help but grin into his mouth. “You’re going to have to be creative if you want to top that one,” I say.
He returns my smile. “I’m up for the task.”
He sits on the ground, pulling me down on top of him so I’m straddling his lap.
I groan as his hands once more reach toward my nether regions, my dress, still flipped up over my waist giving him easy access.
I don’t know how I can handle another orgasm.
I don’t know how I can handle not having another orgasm.
“If you ever hit me again,” he breathes in my ear, his dark voice sending shivers down my spine, “I won’t be so merciful.”
Somehow his threat only makes me wet. I nestle into his chest, breathing in his musky scent as his fingers find my still-soaked folds, while the other hand goes to knead my sore bottom.