Chapter 8
Lauren
El Salvador.
The place we met.
The place he discovered what I needed.
He was never the man capable of offering that to me.
He’s that man now.
Coming in here was stupid. Threatening his life was worse.
Two huge mistakes.
Two things I knew I had to do.
Two things I’m paying for now with the weight of him crushing me to the point I can only take very shallow breaths. Eventually, I’ll pass out if he doesn’t shift his body.
It terrifies me, but not because I’m afraid of what will happen if I do. It scares me because I don’t want to miss a second of it.
He’s going to hurt me tonight, his weapon of choice thick and hard against my ass. My blood sings, the chorus to the song he’s going to make me scream tonight.
I yelp out in pain when he grips a handful of my hair and jerks my head back.
“Did you fucking hear me?”
“El Salvador,” I confirm. “Got it.”
It’s not a real out. I have no doubt if I say it, he’ll just use it to torture me further. The man is deranged. There isn’t a hint of the man who begged me to stop touching him in that hallway long ago.
The only way this is going to end is with me bleeding and him exhausted.
“Pants off,” he growls, not pulling back an inch to give me room, nor releasing my hair from his fist.
I do my best, tears streaking down my face as my knuckles scrape over the roughly painted door I’m pressed against. It reeks of stale cigarettes and musk. The entire room is dank and disgusting. It’s the perfect setting for the shame that will engulf me later.
As I try my best to get my jeans down, he rips my shirt right up the back, his hot breath on my shoulder in an instant.
I don’t have time to wonder what he’ll do next because he sinks his teeth into my shoulder blade, and the pain radiates from the bite.
“Stop!” I scream, my hands freezing on my clothes.
He responds by pressing my face back against the door, his mouth near my ear.
“Move a fucking muscle and I’ll make you bleed.”
God help me, I believe him. I’m torn between wanting to prevent that at all costs and punishing myself further by forcing him to keep up his end of the bargain.
The sound of tearing fabric fills the room, my harsh breaths increasing as pieces of my clothing flutter to the floor at my feet.
A rough hand slips between my legs now that he’s ripped away every barrier between us. My nipples scream from the rough texture of the door as tears roll down my cheeks.
Shame. Humiliation. Disgrace.
I feel all of it when his fingers pull away wet with my arousal.
I try to draw in deep heaving breaths, but he still hasn’t relented an ounce of the weight he has against my back.
“Please,” I beg, knowing I want him to stop, knowing I need him to keep going.
“Have you always been such a dirty fucking whore?”
I can’t answer him. My sobs are taking over, making it even harder to breathe.
“How hard was it for your daddy to keep his hands off of you, Lauren? I bet you were his fucking favorite.”
His words are disgusting and makes my skin crawl as if a million ants are taking tiny bites of my flesh. It’s so far from the truth, I almost open my mouth to explain how I wasn’t my father’s favorite. I easily could’ve been, but Liana protected me from that.
I let the demons seep in instead, let his rough hands roll over me.
I take a deep breath, gagging on the sharp intake of air when he pulls back some, allowing a little room between the door and me. But the reprieve doesn’t last long as harsh fingers twist my nipple, causing me to scream out once again.
“Fucking stop!” I roar, knowing it will do no good.
I fight, try to jerk away from him, but it only brings more pain.
“Angel! No!”
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question what he’s doing. His hands don’t shake or tremble. He powers forward, my pain and humiliation his only goal.
It’s what I wanted. What I asked for. What I needed.
And he provides.
“You’ll fucking keep it there or I’ll fuck your ass raw,” he threatens as he lifts my leg, situating my boot on the doorknob. My torn and tattered jeans hang from my ankle, and the sight of it is strange to me as I glare at it, my brain not fully online at the moment.
There’s no warning. No, here it comes, baby… get ready before Angel slams inside of me.
My jaw unhinges on a silent scream at the invasion.
Thick, throbbing, and fully seated, he growls in my ear.
“Fucking whore.”
He doesn’t sound pleased with himself. It’s more like he’s ashamed for letting me push him to this point.
That’s his fucking cross to bear.
We all have them.
“Please, no,” I beg once again when he pushes inside even further.
There’s nowhere for him to go, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.
Pain leeches through me, spreading from deep inside until it’s enough to make me try and jerk from his arms.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” Each word is punctuated with a thrust of his hips.
A fingernail snaps back when I claw at the door, my boot slipping on the doorknob.
He notices it. Of course he fucking notices, taking a breather from ramming inside of me to watch it fall.
I stiffen, locking my leg so it stays in place.
The man isn’t a liar. He’ll do exactly what he promised, and as much as I pushed him to this point, I refuse to push him to the next. I wouldn’t survive it.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” he snarls. “But I never said I wasn’t going to take your ass anyway.”
I cry out in terror when he pulls from inside of me and situates his cock at my asshole. Clenching is the worst thing I could possibly do, but at this point, I have no fucking control over my body. Everything tenses up.
His laughter is as demented as every other man who has had me exactly like this.
“Scared?” he challenges, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know which road to take.
Either direction could still put me right in the same outcome.
“Please don’t.”
I don’t know why he listens, but instead of hurting me in that way, he drops down an inch and reenters me.
I groan, the intrusion no less rough than it was the first time.
“Who are you pretending for, bitch? Moan like I know you want to.”
I obey, the neediness inside of me bubbling out.
One rough finger drags over my clit before he pinches it.
It’s euphoric, so painful, and perfect.
I must not be responding the way he wants despite demanding it because he grips my throat.
He doesn’t do it on the sides to restrict blood flow. His entire hand is wrapped from side to side. No blood is getting to my brain. No air to my lungs.
Then the real fight begins. I shift and struggle, attempt to gasp, and come up on the losing side of all of it.
My vision blurs, those fingers still pinching my clit until I fear he’ll rip the damn thing right off of me.
His hips never stop. They’re relentless, pulling back, shoving forward, the pattern so brutal each shove must be tearing up the back of his own hand the way it did mine when he demanded I undress.
Blackness starts on the outer halo of my line of sight. It narrows, growing smaller with each passing second.
Then his hand pulls away.
The orgasm hits so hard, I still can’t breathe.
My body convulses, every muscle jerking, drawing in the elements of life it demands.
Screams are no longer possible.
Begging will do no good.
I don’t think slitting my throat at this exact moment would make things any different.
He broke me.
Made me love what he did if only for this exhilarating, intoxicating moment.
It consumes me, leaves me drained.
“Stupid fucking whore,” he snaps, pulling from me so violently, I crumple to the floor as he steps back.
The sting of his hand in my hair barely registers, as does the hot spurts of cum as they splash across my face and tits.
Instinctively, I reach up to wipe my eyes.
“Touch it and I’ll slit your throat.”
I believe him. God help me, I believe this man will do exactly what he says.
My eyes remained closed, but I sense him backing away.
I don’t have the strength to move, to stand or leave the room.
The crash of adrenaline controls me, the chemicals in my brain making my body tremble uncontrollably.
I hate it.
I fucking hate him.
My mouth pulls up at the corners as I start to drift.
Feeding my monsters has never felt so good.