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It’s hard, rough, painful.Devouring.His tongue licks into my mouth, his teeth snagging on my lower lip, drawing blood as he kisses me with a rough, tearing passion that sparks something equally violent in me, like that first morning when I’d fought him all the way down the stairs. His hips jerk against me, grinding his cock into me as he gasps against my mouth, kissing me again and again until I can taste blood on my tongue.
I arch against him. I can’t help it. My hands fist at my sides as my mouth opens under his onslaught, my tongue curling around his despite myself, my breath coming as hot and fast as his as he shudders against me, his open mouth still slanted over mine as he speaks, rasping and hungry.
“You’remine,” he growls against my mouth. “Mine,do you understand me? No one will fucking touch you other than me. I’ll kill any man who tries.” His hands loosen, sliding down my arms, his body rocking against mine as if he’s inside me already. “I’ll kill any man who looks at you, whobreathesnear you. Every inch of you, every breath, every second of your life, ismine,kotenok. No one else will have any of it. I will take itall.”
What he’s saying is insane. It shouldn’t turn me on. I shouldn’t want any of it. And yet my heart is racing in my throat, my blood heated, my body craving all the rough violence he promises.
It’s toxic, poisonous,lethal.
Wicked and filthy.
And I want it, despite everything I know I should think and feel.
The tension throbs between us, and I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m naked, that it would be so easy for him to have me right here, right now. A few quick movements is all it would take, and he’d be inside of me.
No matter what I might say, or what I want to believe–I want it. Icraveit.
I’m ashamed of the flood of disappointment I feel when he steps back. He grabs my arm again, pushing me in front of him, towards the kitchen, and I’m more confused and worried than I am angry.
Every other time, he would have succumbed to lust. Toobsession. This time, he stopped.
I’m not sure if I want to think about the ramifications of what that means for me. If he’s losing interest–but that’s directly opposed to what he’d said. That I’mhis, that no one else will touch me or look at me or want me. None of it matches up.
None of it makes any fucking sense.
Sitting in a kitchen chair naked while he cooks breakfast doesn’t feel as strange as it used it, which is disturbing in and of itself. I’ve never been uncomfortable with being naked, even in front of others–being a performer cures that fairly quickly–but before this, I’d never spent days doing ordinary things while naked. I’d definitely never sat in the kitchen and eaten breakfast while in the nude.
I sit there in absolute silence while he cooks. He doesn’t turn and look at me or speak a word either, which makes my stomach cramp and turn over with nauseating anxiety.I went too far,I think numbly, trying not to imagine what might happen next.I made him too angry. What if his solution to both curing his obsession with youandensuring no one else touches you ever again is to go ahead and kill you after all?
The smell of the food cooking makes me more and more nauseated as the minutes tick by, and I swallow hard, trying to calm my rising anxiety. I’m so jittery that I don’t even feel hungry, although as Mikhail starts to bring the plates to the table, I know I’m going to have to try to eat. I can’t risk wasting the chance for food that doesn’t come with strings, not when I know the possibility is there that I could spend time hungry again.
It’s the same thing he’s made before. I start to try to eat the eggs, but I barely get two bites into my mouth before my stomach turns over, rebelling so violently that I know I’m going to be sick.
I jump up from the table, unable to stop to think about whether it might make Mikhail angry, or how he’ll feel about me ostensibly trying to flee. “Bathroom,” I manage to choke out as I dash around the table, trying to let him know that I’m not actually trying to escape. The last thing I want is for him to try to stop me and end up with me vomiting all over him.
He jolts up from the table anyway as I make a run for it, grabbing for my arm. I try to shake myself loose, but he’s quick and strong, and I pivot towards him as I feel bile start to burn at the back of my throat.
“Unless you want to clean up puke,” I hiss, forcing the words out as my stomach does another flip, “you need to let me go.”
Mikhail releases my arm as if I burned him, and I almost laugh, realizing that I found something he seems to overtly dislike. I don’t have long to think about it. I feel my throat tighten, and then I bolt again for the nearest bathroom, the one Mikhail bleached my hair in, as I hear him following closely behind.
I barely make it inside in time to fling myself down in front of the toilet, puking violently. I grab onto the side of the counter, feeling tears well in my eyes as I vomit again and again, more than I think I ever have in my life. It goes on until I feel weak and fragile, and when I finally sit back, wiping my mouth, I realize that I have the first moments of privacy that I’ve really had since Mikhail brought me here.
It won’t last forever–he’ll only think I’m in here still vomiting for so long, but it’s a small respite. It feels almost strange to be alone after so many days of being constantly in someone else’s presence whenever I’m conscious.
My stomach does another small flip, another wave of nausea washing over me, and it’s immediately followed by a stab of worry as I start to wonder what caused my sudden bout of sickness. I’ve never been one to throw up all that often, not even when sick, and I bite my lower lip as a terrible possibility occurs to me.
I’d talked myself out of going to get plan B that first night that Mikhail and I had fooled around, when he’d pushed his cum inside of me after I’d gone down on him. I hadn’t wanted to waste the money, reasoning that once wasn’t enough to get me pregnant. But now–
He’s come in me many, many more times since then. He’d never stopped to use a condom, not even once. I don’t think he’s activelytryingto get me pregnant, or even that he’s considered the possibility, but I also think he’s too obsessed, to overwhelmed with desire, to think it all the way through.
He also might not plan for you to live long enough for it to matter.
I shiver, standing up slowly to rinse my mouth out. It’s a little early yet, but considering where I was in my cycle and how long it’s been–
No. It can’t be that. Don’t even think it.
I’m pretty certain that my period is late, based on what I can remember from the attempts I’d made at tracking it without my phone, so I’d know when to plan for work. Not much, I don’t think–a few days, which could be anything. The stress and treatment of the past days here could have delayed it, without a doubt.
