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I mumble in my sleep, my head feeling heavy and painful, as if a hammer is rummaging through it.
My breath is cut off.
I gasp, only to be met by something…soft? My eyes snap open and I find myself on my stomach, my face nestled against a pillow.
Long fingers undo the zipper of my dress and slide the cloth down my body.
For a second, I’m so disoriented, I don’t even know where I am, let alone what’s happening. I shouldn’t be sleeping on a bed, and not just any bed; this one is warm, soft, I pick up the scent of mysterious wood and rich leather.
Reality kicks back in with a tumbling force that keeps me gasping for air. I came with Adrian to his house. After I saw his son, I had a visceral recollection of my daughter and then…what?
What happened after that? Where am I?
More importantly, what’s going on right now?
Air clashes against my bare skin, forming goosebumps. The dress is gone and I’m only wearing a strapless bra and the lace panties Emily gave me earlier.
My shoulders snap into a rigid line as sweat covers my brow. I’m terrified to look behind me and see the look in his eyes right now. If I do, I’ll be trapped and driven to the point of no return. However, abstaining from looking at him doesn’t diminish from his sheer presence or the overwhelming heat he emanates. It radiates off my skin like flames licking it—or death kissing it.
My mind flashes in all directions as the reality of what’s happening settles at the bottom of my stomach with a thud.
Adrian couldn’t be so cruel as to do this, right?
What am I thinking? Of course he is. Everything he’s done thus far to have me under his thumb only proves the lengths he’ll go to in order to get what he wants.
Maybe…maybe if I pretend to be asleep, he’ll stop. Maybe he only meant to remove my dress.
Even as I think that, I know I’m merely fooling myself. He’s not the type who can be stopped. I know that, I saw it in his eyes and I’m currently feeling it with his firm touch.
“What are you doing?” My voice is slow, broken, and so damn terrified.
“Don’t talk.” He’s speaking with an American accent. There’s no Russian accent present now.
He clicks the strap of my bra open and I stiffen as he pulls it out from underneath me, leaving me half-naked. My breasts meet the soft mattress, but it feels like cold metal, one that’s ready to cut through my nipples.
“Adrian, please…” I whisper as a tear rolls down my cheek. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Whatever you’re doing. I’m scared.”
“You like being scared.”
“N-no…”
“Yes, you do. You like begging too, Lenochka, so beg me.”
His fingers latch onto the waistband of my panties, and a sob catches in my throat. “Please…please…don’t…”
He yanks the underwear down my legs in one go and I yelp, a loud sob echoing in the air.
His large hands that I noticed earlier today—kept thinking about, even—grab me by the hips in a ruthless grip as he plunges inside me from behind.
My hoarse scream pierces the silence as his cock tears through me. It’s harsh, merciless, and meant to punish.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust and thrusts with an increasing rhythm. My walls burn from the discomfort, the power, the violation.
My cries and sobs echo in the air as I beg and wail. But my body doesn’t move. Not even a little. I don’t try to claw at him, to buck, or squirm.
