Torment

36 part I

author?s note: i?m adding this because i?ve been seeing some hate comments — this chapter is darker than usual, and contains graphic sex and some psychologically disturbing themes.

you have been warned. you should only be reading this book if you are over the age of 16.

consume content responsibly.

It’s all his fault. Why does he have to say things that are so unlike him — things that make me think he might not hate me after all? I hate his kindness almost as much as his cruelty.

My heart is beating slow, weighing heavy with guilt. I don’t know why. Papa promised that he wouldn’t hurt anyone — that he’d only use the flash drive to finally get our family out of the Costas’ clutches and get me out of the marriage.

Besides, I should be used to the guilt. It became a part of me, and after a while, I learned to wear it like a second skin. I was apologizing for my existence from the time I learned how to speak. Hazy and discoloured, the memory flashes in my mind.

We were at the park. Six-year-old Ana had fallen and grazed her knees, and Mama was fussing over her. “Oh, Anastasia, don’t cry!”

Their golden hair shone in the sunlight. Mother and daughter, so alike. “Mama loves you. Don’t cry!”

It was the first time I’d heard the word ‘love’, and even though I was just four years old, I was smart enough to understand what it was, and I knew that I wanted it. I walked up to Mama, tugging at the bottom of her dress. She turned to look down at me, displeasure marring her features.

“Can you love me too?” I asked.

Her face twisted with annoyance.

I swallowed and tried again. “I’m sorry for what Papa did, Mama.”

And the response was always the same, the look of disgust that accompanied it so harsh and cold it still makes my stomach twist after all these years.

“I am not your Mama.”

I shift my attention back to reality.

I?m usually the one to talk, and Torren is quiet until I say something to instigate or piss him off, and then it’s back to war and fire between us. But now that I’m quiet, he is too, and it’s . . . strange. It’s like we put our weapons away, and we’re standing in the ruins of a war-torn field.

When the car pulls into the parking of the building, I open my door and slide out. And I make up my mind to keep my distance from Torren until my father decides to play his cards.

How hard can it be to stay away from him?

We ride up the elevator together, and I can feel his agitation grow until it’s palpable.

It’s obvious that I’m ignoring him, but it’s for both our sanities.

To indulge in anything with him — talking, touching, or even staring at him for too long — would only be for my own selfish, unnecessary desires.

We reach the apartment, and Torren opens the door. I brush past him curtly and I’m making a beeline straight for my room when he finally speaks, his voice rough and tinged with anger.

“Where are you going?”

I turn slightly, not meeting his gaze. “To sleep.”

A discontented line forms between his brows. “Sleep in my bed from now on.”

Something erupts in my chest. Really, all I want to do is run upstairs and jump into his bed and mess up his perfectly laid sheets. But in the end I just shift uncomfortably. “I . . . I need . . . space.”

Torren rolls his eyes. “Space, my ass. You shoved all your shit into my shower the first day you arrived here.”

“That was before,” I say, my voice small, “I’ll respect your space now. I promise. I’ll stay away from you, if you just let me.”

His eyes blaze, and he takes a step closer to me.

I instinctively take a step back, my eyes widening. “What are you—”

And in a flash, he’s on me. He hauls my body up, throwing me over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

“What the hell?!” I exclaim, blood rushing to my head as my hair falls to the floor. “Put me down!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, spanking my ass roughly.

I hiss at the contact, but the burn fades quickly. “You can’t just do whatever you want!”

Déjà vu hits me as he starts mounting the staircase, and I’m reminded of the time he did the same thing — threw me over his shoulder after I’d gotten drunk and cut up his shirts, and my hands.

He slows at the top of the stairs. I recognize the stained wood of his bedroom floor and grit my teeth. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

He dumps me on his bed. My entire body bounces from the impact, my black silk dress fluttering up my thighs. I come up on my elbows, shifting further up the mattress and away from him.

“No,” he growls, “Because it’s bullshit. Are you listening to what you’re saying?”

I clamp down on my jaw, annoyed at his maddening ability to read me so easily. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”

He’s standing at the edge of the bed, his dark hair scattered over his forehead. His figure tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and thick arms. He’s big. God, he’s so big. The shadow of his body eclipses me completely.

Why does he have to be like this? I’d resolved not to talk or touch or even look at him for too long, and he’s making it impossible.

“The deal is off,” I say quickly, so I can’t take the words back. “I don’t want it anymore.”

His eyes narrow. “Yeah?”

I swallow, avoiding his gaze. “Yes.”

Torren scales the bed with his knee, grabbing my throat. A shocked gasp escapes me. His thick fingers press into my skin as they twist my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Then look me in the fucking face and say it.”

I don’t do it, of course, because I can’t do it. My eyes glaze over with tears, and there’s a painful knot at my throat as I choke out the words. “I’m done.”

Hovering above me, he draws a harsh breath. A barely contained rage crosses his features as he brings his face down to mine, so close were almost touching, so close we’re breathing the same air. His grip on my jaw tightens. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”

I inhale sharply, suspended in disbelief.

“You started this game, little Morozov,” he says against my lips, “And I intend on finishing it.”

A single tear falls down my cheek, and I lift a hand to rapidly brush it away. He doesn’t miss it, like I hoped he would. His eyes narrow as I exhale a choked breath.

“What’s wrong, hm?” he asks, jolting my jaw from side to side lazily. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I’m scared, I want to say, I’m so scared that you’re changing me into something I don’t recognize, that you’re messing up my loyalties, messing with my mind.

That you’re making me want something I vowed to hate.

I’m scared that I did something very, very bad by giving my father that flash drive.

But instead, I push his hand away from my face and say, “Nothing. Leave me alone.”

He draws a harsh breath of frustration, flashing me a deeply annoyed look. He pauses for a while. Then he meets my gaze. “You want to know if your little boyfriend is safe? Is that you want?”

My brows knit. He thinks I’m avoiding him because of Ben? He couldn’t be more off. I stopped worrying about Ben the second I found out he was too far to get involved in any of this.

When I don’t say anything, he growls, sliding off the bed before reaching into his pocket. He taps something into his screen, then passes me the phone. Confused, I take the phone and glance at the unknown number currently dialling on the screen.

After a few seconds, the call is answered.

“Hello?”

It’s Ben’s voice.

I glance up at Torren in surprise. He blinks in the direction of the phone in my hand. “Put it on speaker.”

I clamp down on my jaw, glaring up at him.

“Speaker,” he says. “Now.”

I grit my teeth, putting the call on speaker, so that Ben’s voice echoes throughout the room when he says, “Hello?”

I clear my throat. “Ben.”

There’s a stunted pause on the other side. “Freya?”

It wasn’t the plan to talk to him, but it won’t hurt. I do want to know how he’s doing.

“Yeah,” I say, “It’s me. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, “I’m at the same firm, just a different branch.”

I meet Torren’s gaze, and I know he’s not going to like what I’m about to ask, but he’s the one who called Ben and handed me the phone.

“Where are you?” I ask.

Torren’s eyes glitter with banked rage.

“Washington,” Ben says.

I resist the urge to scoff as I meet Torren’s gaze, ignoring the strange mix of amusement and agitation that seems to seep from him. Did he really go through the effort of sending Ben to the other side of the country?

Ben takes a deep breath. “Are you — are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I murmur nonchalantly.

“You know . . .” he says. “It’s 9:47 … so it’s still your birthday.”

At this, Torren makes a disgruntled sound, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks as his dark, inky eyes bore into mine. I lift the phone closer to my ear, scooting further up the mattress and turning away from his burning gaze, so that my stomach is flat against the bed.

“Happy birthday, Frey,” Ben says. His voice echoes through the room.

Suddenly, there’s the burn of a rough palm circling my ankle as Torren pulls me across the bed. I gasp, swallowing down the surprised scream that bubbles up my throat. The phone almost falls out of my hands.

“Thanks,” I squeak into the receiver, remembering that Ben’s still on the line.

His rough palms coast up from my ankles to my calves, to the backs of my thighs, until he reaches my ass. He caresses the flesh gently before grabbing a handful of my ass and squeezing.

“This line is bad,” Ben says, “Your replies are delayed.”

It’s not the line, I want to say. But I can barely concentrate as Torren’s palm pushes up the hem of my dress, the tip of his finger brushing against the spot between my legs. I freeze, but I make no attempt to stop him.

“Did you visit the rink?” Ben asks.

And then his fingers are closer, brushing against the seam of my panties. I’m about to argue, but the words are stuck at the top of my throat. “Uh…I. I— oh—”

Torren pulls my panties aside before he brushes his thumb against my clit. The phone falls out of my hand and lands on the bed.

Oh.

“Frey? You good?”

“Yes!” I pipe, “Yes, I’m fine. I got banned from the…”

Torren circles the nub so that a hot white pulse of pleasure builds in my core, growing stronger each second. I suck in a breath, digging my nails into the sheets under me as I try to get a hold on something. I know this is wrong on more levels than one, but I can’t do anything but let it happen.

“The rink actually,” I continue, “It’s a…”

And then his fingers lower, to the wetness between my legs. A moan threatens to escape my throat as his fingers find the soaking wet slick there.

“Long story,” I finish, my voice an empty rasp.

“Did you get anything nice?” Ben asks.

With little warning, Torren peels my panties off, leaving them bunched up above my knees.

“Yeah, I… I… got something really nice,” I mumble.

He tucks his hand further into me, snapping it at an angle as he trails the slick around, rubbing it around my clit in slow, torturous circles.

“Something really nice,” I mumble again, my mind fuzzy.

Torren leans down, his chest pressing into me as he pulls my hair to the side, and whispers in my ear, “Say bye now, Freya.”

I swallow, speaking into the screen. “Bye, Ben.”

I blink as I realize how easy the words fell out of my mouth. To not seem like a complete lunatic, I add, “I, uh, I gotta go.”

I can almost hear the frown in Ben’s voice as he says, “Yeah. Sure. Stay safe, and if you need —”

Torren reaches over, cutting the call.

I turn over, fixing him with a flat look.

“Satisfied?” he asks, his tone scathing. “Next time you ask me about Benjamin, I’ll call him myself. Let him hear how you moan like a little slut when my dick is inside you.”

“Go to hell,” I snarl.

“Why would I?” he asks, smirking as he cups me between my legs. “When heaven’s right here?”

He emphasises his point by pushing a thick finger inside me.

I gasp.

“You want it?” he says, his tone scathing.

“Yes,” I mumble pathetically.

“Funny,” he says, “A few minutes ago you were saying something different.”

I stay quiet, focusing on the way his finger is languidly moving in and out of me.

His hand pauses. “Why should I give it to you?”

I resist the urge to growl. “I want it.”

“Hmm.” He tilts his head. “Not good enough.”

“I . . .” Screw it. “I want you.”

Something seems to light up in his eyes. “Warmer.”

I grit my teeth. “I need you.”

His pupils dilate and his chest rumbles as he pushes another finger inside me, his thumb working on my clit.

“Fuck yes, you need me,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Who else is going to fuck you like you need?”

“No one,” I mumble quietly, more to myself than anything.

His mouth lifts in a cruel smile. “Rhetorical question, baby.”

“I don’t need an English lesson,” I snap. “I need you to fuck me. Now.”

Suddenly, he draws away, leaving me aching and on the brink of a climax. No! I growl as I tuck my hand between the bed and my clit, trying to circle it. It won’t work, I realize quickly. Frustratedly.

He broke me.

Apparently my body needs him to come.

He gives me a heavy-lidded stare, watching my failed attempt to get myself off, making no move to do anything about it.

“No condom,” he murmurs.

“What?” I frown, my breathing heavy.

“There’s no more left,” he says, “I’m not in the business of fucking women in my house.”

I push past the vicious spark of jealousy that claws at me at the mention of him with anyone other than me.

“I don’t care,” I grit out, shutting my eyes.

There’s a brief pause, and the air is static. I’m given no warning other than the sound of a zipper rolling down. And then I feel the head of his cock as he thrusts it into me.

I cry out something incongruent.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling out all the way and then pushing in slow, like he’s trying to drag out the feeling.

It?s different without the rubber. Addictive. I can feel the raw heat, and every ridge — every curve of him inside me. He meets my gaze and holds it as he deepens his stroke. It’s brimming with lust. Fury. And . . . something else.

I can’t bear this. Can’t bear looking at him knowing I’ve betrayed him. Can’t bear taking pleasure from the person I’m supposed to hate. I hate him. I do. I have to.

I turn my face, digging my cheek into his sheets. They smell like him. Spiced wood and fresh soap. If I could sink into the bed and stay there forever, I would.

Torren growls. “Look at me.”

I don’t.

He goes still. “Look away and I stop.”

I let out a sound of frustration as I wrench my gaze to meet his. Satisfaction douses his features, and he sinks all the way into me.

“Ask me why I changed my mind,” he says, “That day your sister was meant to become my fiancé. Ask me again.”

A knot forms in my throat, and I shake my head. “No.”

“Ask me why I gave you a different ring.”

He fucks me so slow, it’s almost like he’s making love to me.

I hate it.

“Don’t,” I say, my voice cracking.

He stole everything from me.

He can?t have my heart too.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

Lust. I need lust. Lust is better than love. More palatable. Less coded.

“What’s your favorite part of my body?” I ask.

His eyes narrow at the question. Then, slowly, he lifts his hand to my left breast while still using the other to work on my clit.

“This,” he says, his hand rough and big over my hard nipple. I arch into the touch. Yes. This. This is what I need to bring things back into focus.

But then he trails his hand to circle around my throat, his fingers pressing into my pulse. “And this.”

Asphyxiation kink? Who knows? It?s still fuelled by lust.

And then he trails his hand down my arm, pressing the rough pads of his fingers into my wrist. “And this.”

I can’t explain this one.

I frown. “Why?”

He breathes deeply, a light sheen of sweat at his brow as he continues thrusting into me, speeding up. “They remind me that you’re alive.”

My heart skips a beat.

He picked all the parts of my body where my pulse was strongest.

It’s ridiculous. My heart is splintered and bleeding, like someone is cutting into it with a knife and fork.

I glance up at him, swallowing. “Fuck me from behind.”

It’s less personal that way. I don’t have to see his face and he doesn’t have to see mine, but we both get what we want.

But apparently it’s not what he wants, because he gives me a cruel smile. “No.”

The knot at my throat grows stronger, and my eyes tear up. “Ihateyou.”

He huffs a laugh, fucking into me faster and harder. “I can’t hear you, baby. Speak clearly.”

I gasp, struggling to keep up as my body strains. “I . . . hate . . . you.”

He grins, tilting his head back. “Say it again.”

“I hate you.”

“Good,” he says, thrusting into me. “Hate me more.” He pulls his cock almost all the way out. “Hate me forever.” Another thrust, long and deep, before he leans down to whisper in my ear. “Hate me for life.”

I gasp for air as the weight of his words sink in. Because to hate him forever, I would have to be with him forever.

My breath hitches. “I?m going to—”

“Not yet,” Torren says, “I want you to come when I do.”

I suck in a breath. “I can’t —”

“Yes,” he says, plainly, “You can.”

His jaw is clenched, his body strained. His thrusts grow sloppier, sliding in and out of me with ease because of how wet I am. He controls me by reducing the pressure on my clit. It’s like he knows my body inside out.

Tears slip down my cheeks, from over stimulation and guilt. And all he has to do is say is, “Now.”

I let go of the tether I was clinging to, and let the orgasm wash over me. Everything is black and static for a few seconds, my senses return. He spills into me with a tortured groan, our bodies hot and sticky.

We’re breathing hard, and I know I should give myself some time, but I sit back a little, his cock still seated deep inside me. .

He pins me with a glare as I push down my dress with shaking hands, moving to get off the bed.

“Stay,” he growls.

I pause, my heart thudding violently in my chest. “Why?”

He grits his teeth. “I’m still inside you, Freya.”

His words flash in my mind.

So as long as my dick is in you, you’re in my bed?

I stare up at him in shock, and he ignores it, pulling my malleable body against him with a thick arm around my midriff.

I snap back to my senses and try to wriggle out of his hold, but he stubbornly refuses to budge, keeping me glued firmly to him.

My blood is hot, because he’s still buried inside me, but I’m too worn out to get aroused by it.

I should fight him. I should be fighting him right now, but… I’m so tired.

Just this once.

I’ll stay in his bed just this once.

As I drift off to sleep, I realize that he broke almost all my rules.

And I let him.

It’s only a few seconds later that I become aware of the warm body behind me.

“It’s okay,” Torren rasps, his voice deep and heavy with sleep. “You’re okay.”

His cock twitches inside me, and he lets out a throaty groan. My breaths grow shorter. I’m tired, but I can feel the build-up already.

He starts moving — slow, shallow thrusts inside me, and my breaths grow quicker. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling.

Sleepily, my hand veers to my clit as I try to touch it. And then Torren’s big hand pushes my hand away, almost angrily, as he takes over, rubbing at my clit with a pressure that makes me pant until I’m practically begging. I buck my hips, riding him in a semi-conscious trance.

I drift in and out of consciousness as he fucks me, and somehow, we finish together again.

I lose track of how many times it happens throughout the night.