Chapter 5 #2
Desire steps into the hallway and closes the door behind the uninvited guests with a soft click. In the silence that follows, he runs his long fingers over the mangled remains of the door chain. Then he slowly turns his head and pierces me with that dark, unreadable stare.
I swallow thickly, my heart hammering. I didn’t give Desire away. I didn’t even hint to Zack that Prince Harming had revealed himself to me. Let that hypocrite think his own vile behavior tonight was what exposed him completely.
“Why are you here?” I ask, jutting out my hip, trying to look more confident. This is my home. My territory.
Desire doesn’t care about boundaries. He moves in close, predatory-like.
His large hands cup my face and neck. I freeze as his fingers slide lower, pushing up the short sleeve of my T-shirt, and unerringly find the red marks—the traces of Zack’s rough grip.
Each of Desire’s touches feels like a scorching brand on my skin, sending sparks racing through my body.
His dark eyes turn almost black, impenetrable.
“That bastard will pay for this,” he promises in a low voice, and I realize with a shudder that he’s not saying this to me but to himself. Passing a sentence.
“Breaking his face is punishment enough,” I toss back, trying to cling to the last shreds of my normalcy, though my body betrays me: my nipples harden at the sound of his deep voice, pressing against the thin fabric of my T-shirt.
Without answering, Desire strides into the kitchen. I trail behind him, and his gaze snags on the open bottle of whiskey then stops on the blister pack of Sertraline. He grabs the pills, scans the name, then pushes the window open and tosses them out into the dark night.
“Desire, you have no right!” I lunge at him. I don’t care about the pills, but those are my things!
He shoots his arm out, catching me by the neck, and with one yank, he slams me against the edge of the kitchen island.
My spine jars against the hard surface. He looms over me, runs his nose along my neck, and inhales my scent.
My breath escapes in a shaky, pitiful exhale.
My heart plummets somewhere into my knees, and my legs tremble beneath his weight.
“Where’s your phone, babe?” he asks, and his darkened, terrifyingly amused eyes practically devour my parted lips.
I glance to the side—my phone lies abandoned by the sink.
Desire loosens his grip, takes my phone, unceremoniously aims the screen at my face to unlock it, and starts typing quickly.
“Have you ever heard of personal space?” I hiss, turning away and rubbing the skin on my neck where his fingers just were.
“I put in my number,” he states.
He tosses the phone back onto the counter, then pulls a thick business card from the back pocket of his dark jeans and slaps it down in front of me.
“What’s this?” I don’t really care, but I have to ask on principle.
“Your new therapist. One of the best in the state.”
“Dr. Getix was found by my mom,” I protest. “She’ll start asking questions and get worried if I suddenly switch to someone else.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t be seeing any shrink at all.” He nods at the piece of cardboard. “This is just to throw your nosy family off the scent.”
“But Mom will contact him!” I exclaim, trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing. “She’ll ask about my treatment, about how I’m doing!”
“Trust me, your new doctor knows exactly what to say and what medical history to give her, down to the smallest detail.” Desire smirks.
“Seems like he’s not the only one,” I mutter.
There’s no heavy steel chain around my neck like there was that fateful night in the basement, but I feel the suffocation as clearly as if there were. Desire is methodically, step by step, tightening a ring of absolute control around my life, leaving me no air to breathe.
A cold sweat breaks out over me as the scale of it all sinks in.
Where the hell did he get my confidential medical history?
Who did he bribe or threaten? How deep has he already sunk his fingers into my life?
If he knows about my diagnoses, what else does he know?
Is there any intimate secret of mine he’ll stop short of?
He steps toward me again, invading my space, and studies my face with focused, almost dissecting attention.
“You haven’t slept either night,” he states, taking in the dark circles under my eyes. “And you’ve drank.”
“I felt like it,” I shoot back, lifting my chin and refusing to look away.
“And you let Zack in.”
“Of course I did, because I’m fucking insane! Did you see my door? That psycho broke it down!”
“The fucking chain,” he growls, his icy composure cracking. His tone sends a chill down my spine. “Do you really think that would have stopped anyone? You shouldn’t have unlocked the door.”
I’m so outraged I can’t find the words, my lips move soundlessly. What the hell?! Why am I standing here justifying myself to him for the fact that the son of the maniac who had kidnapped me forced his way into my apartment? I even threatened that bastard with the police!
“Listen—”
“Enough talk about your recklessness. You were a very bad princess today,” he says in a low voice, looming over me. His weight presses me into the edge of the counter, and his erection grinds against my stomach.
I have no idea how twisted he is. What turns him on? Me? Or the fresh memory of maiming a man, the blood spray on his knuckles? I don’t know, but the brutal pressure of his cock unleashes an avalanche of desire.
I try to twist away, to escape the pressure, but he easily cuts off the attempt, pinning me back against the counter with his full weight.
His hands go to the neck of my T-shirt, and after a sharp, deafening tear of fabric, my breasts are bare, exposed.
My nipples already ache, hard and tight, throbbing with painful, sharp need.
God, what’s wrong with me? Am I turned on by his brutality too? I’m terrified down to my trembling knees, but I knew this moment would come. And part of me was waiting for it, and now, part of me is glad.
The pressure of his groin against my belly becomes nearly unbearable.
He leans in, and his hot breath warms my throat, then his sharp teeth sink into the tender skin at the crook of my neck.
My body jerks, a small cry of pain and pleasure escaping my lips.
At the same moment, his rough fingers close around my hard nipple and twist. I bite down into my lip to keep from moaning as a wave of pleasure shoots from my stomach, straight to my throbbing cunt.
He pinches my nipple until it’s truly painful, until sparks fly behind my eyes.
I whimper and try to push his shoulder, but he ignores my resistance.
He lowers his head, takes the abused nipple into his mouth, and bites down hard, his teeth demanding.
There will be a bruise—another one of his marks.
This bite makes my legs buckle, no longer able to hold me up.
He lets out a low, rough chuckle against my skin and doesn’t let me fall.
His strong hands grip my ass and lift me easily onto the cold, hard surface of the kitchen island.
I’m higher now, eye level with him. Without missing a beat, he grabs the waistband of my short linen shorts.
Another sharp, merciless rip of fabric. The shorts tear along with my panties.
Now I’m sitting before him naked, vulnerable, exposed.
My worst nightmare has a terrifying ability to turn my clothes into shreds in seconds.
“You’re already dripping,” he purrs low, squeezing my spread thighs. I feel new bruises blooming under his rough fingers. “But you’re not getting my cock in your cunt. Tonight, you only get punishment.”
Not giving me a chance to object, he grabs me by the waist with both hands, flips me over his shoulder in one swift motion, and strides toward my bedroom. I writhe desperately, kicking and pounding my fists against his solid back, but to him, it’s nothing more than mosquito bites.
He tosses me carelessly onto the bed, and I try to crawl toward the edge, but he catches my hands in a flash and yanks me toward the headboard.
Before I can even cry out, he flips me onto my back and pins me with his weight, pressing me into the mattress.
His eyes gleam with dangerous triumph as he forces my arms over my head.
A sharp metallic clink of a buckle sounds, and Desire pulls his leather belt free. He roughly binds my wrists to the wall sconce above the headboard. After several tight wraps and a click of the buckle, I’m spread before him, unable to cover myself or turn away.
I’m terrified, but my pussy yearns, melting with shameful, unbearable heat, begging not to be left unattended. My body wants to be fucked, and my mind can’t control it.
“You’ve wanted this for a long time.” He smirks.
“What the fuck else do you know about me?!” I snarl, torn apart by rage, fear, and arousal. A cocktail that makes me feel alive. I want to stay like this.
“Just enough to take care of you,” he says with deceptive softness. In the dim light, his eyes gleam with primal delight—he’s savoring the control he has over me.
“Oh god! Are you talking about my fucking menstrual cycle?” I hiss.
Instead of answering, Desire shoves three fingers into my mouth, forcing my lips wide, while biting hard on the sensitive skin of my neck. My hips jerk toward him, and I swear I’ve never been this aroused in my life—not even close. My shoulders and bound wrists are aching.