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True terror shot through my blood. “Don’t. Don’t do this—”
“I don’t have a choice,” he grunted, his tone dropping to a whisper. “Just…don’t move, let me take you, and we’ll both walk away from this.” His left hand landed on my hip while his right…vanished up my skirt.
I winced as he drew a searing path upward.
I clenched my legs together, clamping around his wrist.
He cursed under his breath and used his knee to wedge my thighs apart. “You can’t stop this. You can’t stop me.” With barely any power, he kicked aside my left leg and wedged his shoe against my boot, keeping me spread.
“Stop it!” My heart galloped. “Don’t.”
His slightly calloused touch grazed higher and higher. I scrambled on my tiptoes, trying to get away from his mind-numbing stroke. The belt kept me locked in place. The cuffs kept me subservient.
I couldn’t run.
Couldn’t flee.
And he didn’t stop.
He.
Did.
Not.
Stop.
Inch by inch, feather by feather, up and up and…up.
“Please.” I panted as tears breached my eyelashes, cascading down my cheeks as his fingers—
I jolted as he touched my underwear.
Just a flutter, just a brush, but it was enough to rip my fraying sanity.
My teeth gnashed together. My heart pounded. The chains of the cuffs holding me down jingled and clanked as I fought. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”
Masculine chuckles came from the bar as Henri exhaled heavily behind me. “Baise moi.” (Fuck me.)
His brush turned into an illicit rub.
My clit throbbed beneath his unwanted touch.
I stiffened as he hissed in a breath. His fingers pressed harder between my legs, right in the spot that made my heart stop.
I’d never been shy of my body. I supposed my father and his medical background had something to do with that. He viewed the human body as a miraculous machine, but Krish had other ideas. He taught me how sacred and perfect every piece was. Our fingers and toes, our eyes and ears and legs. Each had a purpose. Each was a gift. Each was meant to be worshipped not sullied.
“Stop!” My back bowed as Henri’s finger probed my entrance, protected by the thinnest scrap of satin. My mind threatened to crack and whimper. To beg and plead. To fall into the panic brewing and bubbling in my belly.
The memory of what Krish said when he’d almost broken from a stranger hugging him unspooled in my splintering mind. He detested people touching him. Only I was granted that honour. My adoptive brother might be six years older than me, yet he held all the innocence of the world. He spent his days in silence and books, yet when he spoke, his words were utterly profound.
I recalled what he’d told me that night. “I am not this body. I am not this skin or form. I’m merely the watcher within it. They can touch my shell, but they will never touch me.”
I clung to those words as Henri’s fingers pressed a little deeper, stroking the opening of my body, forcing me to accept or shatter.
I am not this form.
I’m untouchable.
