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Instead, his fingers wrap around the fragile lace at my throat, holding me in place. I’m struggling. The only thing separating me from falling is his firm grip on my dress. But the lace isn’t strong enough to hold me. I hear the fabric of my designer dress slowly ripping and tearing, and I cry out in protest.
“Please, please don’t!” I cry out, realizing a moment too late what I’ve said. “You’re crazy!”
He holds me in place. I’m shaking all over. His fingers touch the inside of my thighs, gently stroking the skin there and making me gasp in a combination of fear and expectation.
“Girls are so easy,” he says, sounding bored. “Gone from wanting one thing to the other in a split second. You bore me. Your plain face. Your uncultured attitude. Your tits are a fucking saving grace. We’ll see if that slit between your legs can make up for your average looks.”
“No!” I struggle against him b
ut freeze on the spot when the fabric rips further. “Stop it! Please, stop it! Let me go!”
But he ignores my pleas. The dark clouds above us crackle with thunder and lightning. He’s squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. I claw at his strong fingers. The places where they’re digging into my skin are already hurting.
He smirks at me, taking a step closer to the edge. He’s holding me right above the precipice now, and I pale as I realize I’m completely at his mercy. But I’m not going down without a fight.
“Don’t you dare hurt me,” I snarl. “I’ll tell my father.”
“You’ll tell your fucking father? He’s got nothing on me.” Dexter laughs out loud. “Why do you think he’s so eager for us to get married? For me to put a kid in your belly?”
“I… I…”
“You have no idea, do you?” He clicks his tongue. “Poor, stupid little toy.”
“Let me go. Please. I’ll be good. Just don’t hurt me.”
I half-scream as my feet struggle against the slippery ground. I’m going to fall soon.
“Please, I’ll do anything you want!”
“You know you can’t break a promise to your dearest fiancé, don’t you?” he says.
I nod helplessly, risking a look over my shoulder and paling when I see the distance from the top of the cliff to the rocks below from a new perspective. Fuck. If he lets me go, I’m as good as dead.
“I kn-know,” I stutter. “I’ll do everything you want. I swear. I swear I will.”
“For how long?” he demands.
“The w-whole school year, the first year of Prep.” My heel slips and I cry out. “Please! I swear! I promise! Please!”
He laughs in my face and pulls me back to safe land. He throws me down like a broken, worthless toy he’s gotten sick of, and watches me with a look of disgust on his classically handsome face. He buttons his expensive blazer and steps on my dress, dirtying up the white lace as he gives me one last disgusted glance.
He hates me, but not as much as I hate him.
Yet my core is vibrating with the need for him to touch me again. My body doesn’t seem to understand how much I despise the boy. He looks like he would detest spending more than another second with me, and as he watches me rasp on the ground, I’m convinced he’s going to spit on my trembling body.
“Pathetic,” he says instead. “Say thank you for my mercy, toy.”
I pick myself up on my elbows, my bottom lip jutting out and trembling in unspoken fear. My heart races at the nickname he used for me. I hate my body for betraying me.
“Fuck you,” I cry out.
“Oh, I will,” he grins. “Soon enough. Now obey. Or do you want this getting back to your father?”
I think about my possibilities. In the short time I’ve spent with my father since I came back from my stay at the boarding school, I’ve come to realize he’s as ruthless as he is cruel. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’d be punished if he finds out I defied Dexter. I don’t really have a choice here.
“Thanks,” I grind out.
“Say thank you properly, toy.”
