Chapter Five - Evie #3
And I was finally alone with Him. The dread that had been coiling snapped tight as He stepped closer, and the light spilled around His shape, softening into something almost intimate. He sat closer this time, His knee brushing mine, the contact casual, rehearsed.
“You’re still resisting,” He said gently, like it was an observation, not an accusation.
I didn’t answer.
“That’s all right,” He continued. “Some things take time. Even stars have to be coaxed into orbit.”
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was wrong in a way my body recognized before my mind could explain it. My fingers tightened in the robe. Stars didn’t need coaxing. They needed the one who made them, and that thought made something in me bristle.
His hand found my wrist, thumb pressing lightly against my pulse. He smiled like He was listening to music only He could hear.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” He said. “Everyone here learns.”
My stomach twisted. “I don’t want that,” I said, almost to myself, the words barely coming out in a whisper.
He laughed softly, almost fond. “You say that now.”
His fingers slid up my arm, slow, deliberate, stopping just short of my shoulder. He didn’t push further. He didn’t need to. The promise of it hovered between us, thick and patient.
“There is pleasure here for those who accept it,” He said.
For one small, shameful moment, I felt it, the calm, the hush, the way surrender pretended to be rest. The way my body ached for His hands like it had forgotten who they belonged to. I jerked away from that thought.
“No thank you,” I said. “I don’t want it.”
He studied me for a long moment, His light dimming just enough to feel like disappointment.
“Not yet,” He corrected. “But you will.”
He stepped behind me. His hand settled at the back of my neck, warm and steady, holding me there without pressure, like I was something meant to be positioned. Before I could pull away, He bent and pressed his mouth to the nape of my neck. It was soft, a mark intended and laid in silence.
Pleasure surged through me without warning, violent in its sweetness, oxytocin flooding my veins until my body forgot how to resist. It was too much, too fast, a chemical lie told directly to my nerves. My vision blurred as my legs shook.
The heat lingered after he lifted his mouth, sinking into my skin like a promise I hadn’t agreed to keep. I hated it.
“Think about it,” He said.
I swallowed hard, forcing air into my lungs one breath at a time, as if I could suffocate the feeling back into submission.
My hands trembled. I hated that they did. I pressed them into my sides, grounding myself in the ache of muscle and bone, in anything that was still mine.
When He left, relief didn’t reach me. It snagged somewhere higher, tangled in the echo of what my body was still doing without my permission. I thought about how it had felt. How tired I was. How weak. How long it had been since I’d slept without bracing for something.
The thought slid in sideways, treacherous and warm. Could I do what He wanted… just for a moment? Just long enough for peace. Just long enough to forget there was an outside at all. And then the rest of it crashed in.
It would be so easy to stop fighting, to let myself sink into whatever softness He was offering, to let the edges blur until nothing hurt anymore.
But that was the trick. Wasn’t it? All of this looked cozy and luxurious.
My alcove was almost quaint. But everything here was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I could see the shape of its hunger now.
This wasn’t comfort. It was a breaking room.
A torture chamber built to turn resistance into something that looked like peace.
The hall that never changed. The light that remained constant. The days that folded endlessly into each other with no end. And then Luc’s face rose in my mind like something already halfway to memory.
I kept telling myself he was coming. It was part of my survival, but there was also a deeper thought I didn’t want to admit, a sick, crawling possibility that nobody was going to save me, that this was just the shape of my life now.
I might never leave. I might never see him again. Forever could look exactly like this, quiet and curated and empty of choice, living at the whim of a god. And for one moment, I considered that possibility. Really considered it. Could I resist Him… forever?
My stomach turned.
What the hell was I thinking? Had I finally lost my goddamn mind?
A chill ran up my spine as the thoughts began to spiral. They terrified me, but not as much as the quiet, shameful fact that some part of me had opened the door to them.
I pressed my forehead to the cool marble and breathed until the shaking passed. I would never be compliant. I would never become still. And I would never become His.
Whatever had reared its head that first night and folded itself away inside me could stay hidden if it had to, but I would do this myself if I had to. I would not give Him what He wanted. Not my will. Not my choosing. Not any part of me. Ever.