Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me. I flopped onto my side, trying unsuccessfully to rip the blindfold away as I battered his chest with my fist.
“Brighton…” his voice was soft and calm, as though he’d anticipated this behavior.
I didn’t want him to be calm when I was so angry. But I was too weak, and it was no use. He wouldn’t budge as he wrapped his arms around me like a vice, taking the punishment I had to give him without so much as a sound.
“I don’t want to play this game anymore,” I wailed.
He pulled my head into the crook of his neck and rested it against his warm skin as he stroked my hair in a soothing rhythm.
“I think we both know it’s far too late for that,” he said softly. “We couldn’t stop now if we tried, baby girl.”
I made a noise in my throat somewhere between acceptance and denial.
“I don’t know what will happen when your six months are up,” he continued. “Even then, I might not be able to let you go.”
***
I’d never slept on silk sheets before because they were a luxury I could never afford.
But when I woke again, I was certain that’s what I was lying on. The cool material soothed my sore muscles, but it didn’t stop me from crying out when I rolled onto my back. It still felt like hell fire had rained down on me, and I quickly flailed back onto my stomach.
My tormentor’s voice whispered softly in my ear as his hand trailed up my spine, attempting to soothe me.
“Shh, Brighton. It’s okay.”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t okay. That none of this was okay. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to what he’d asked of me the night before. As though we were lovers and I would do anything to please him. There was something wrong with me. Clearly, I was insane.
This man was breaking down my defenses little by little, and I was nothing more than a fly trapped in his web. I didn’t want to like him. I didn’t want to feel anything when he touched me. But even now, my traitorous body was melting beneath his touch.
He squeezed something cool on my back, and I hissed in a breath as he rubbed it around.
“It’s aloe,” he explained. “It will help with the pain.”
Admittedly, the cold gel soothed my burning skin, and I didn’t protest. But when his hand moved down between my legs, I whimpered. I was still swollen and sensitive from the night before, and the last thing I wanted was to have sex.
“Last night was about me.” His fingers slid inside of me. “But today is about you.”
I hid my face in the sheets so he couldn’t see my warring emotions. I couldn’t even articulate what I was feeling at this point, but whatever it was it felt private.
My body relaxed as his fingers glided in and out of me in a slow and calculated pattern. It didn’t take me long at all until I rode the waves of pleasure all the way to the crest. When I burst around his fingers, so did my resolve, and with it came more unexpected tears.
My tormentor showed no surprise as he pulled me into his arms and held me steadfast. We sat in silence for a long time while he massaged whatever part of skin was within his reach. I felt so small and fragile that a part of me enjoyed it. The part of me that had been neglected and starved for human affection my entire life. But on the other hand, he was still the man who was forcing me to do this. I was disgusted with myself for allowing him to comfort me. I needed to get away. I needed some room to breathe, so I said the only thing I could think of at the moment.
“Can I take a shower?” I asked. “Alone?”
He stiffened beneath me, and I was certain that I’d offended or irritated him, but I was long past caring. A moment later, he stood up and helped me to the bathroom.
Before he left, his fingers feathered over the marks on my back, touching each one until he was satisfied.
“You belong to me now, Brighton.”
And with that, he disappeared behind the click of the door, leaving cool air to creep over my body in his absence. When I removed the blindfold and turned to check my wounds in the mirror, I was surprised to see they were just reddish bruises. I was certain he’d broken the skin, but he hadn’t.
What was more surprising was the pattern of the bruises. The longer I looked at them, the clearer they became. The shape of two initials.
JL
He’d marked me as his. Claimed me.