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He can do what he wants to the shell of me. He insists that he is doing it to protect me, but the notion seems as laughable as it is improbable.
"It's me or them and despite what you may think, I'm the better choice. They would take it in turns with you, pass you around their friends, take you without any preparation, do whatever they wanted with you. At least here, at least now, it's just you and me." And it was that thought that makes me shiver, that makes my body shake uncontrollably rather than the hands and fingers that are caressing my folds.
Though I'm sure he takes pleasure in feeling my body shake, assuming that he is the cause through pleasure rather than sickness at the idea of it being just me and him.
I understand but that doesn't mean that I believe him entirely. Gray had told me that what he was saying was true - that the other men here had declared that if he didn't use me then they would, and from the stories Gray had told me of what transpired outside of this apartment, I have no doubt that I don't want to be a part of that. I know that in his own mind, Liam feels he is the better option, but that doesn't change the fact that I am certain he is happy about it and that was why I fought it.
Despite the fact that I hate it, it isn't because he is unattractive, it isn't because I can't let him do it, nor is it because I hadn't ever thought about it because I had. It is because I feel like every time he touches me, I am cheating on Crow. I have no idea why Crow over Victor is the deciding factor. I adore Victor, but the more time I spend away from him, the more I realise that I only miss him in the way that I miss Nina or Alice, not in the way that I miss Crow. When I sob into my pillow next to a sleeping Liam at night, it is Crow’s touch I crave, his words, his hushed whispers. Him.
Liam’s heavy breathing stops my thoughts where they are, erasing any thoughts of those on the outside from my mind.
I knew what the options were and I didn't want either one. He'd repeatedly told me that he was being threatened, that he didn't have a choice. I knew that, but that didn't change the fact that I still didn't want it. I wanted to be saved. I wanted the torture and punishment to go on for as long as it could before I had to finally give in so that I could be saved before that time occurred, but I can't take anymore.
The thing I hate, probably more than him touching me, is the fact that him touching me makes my insides warm and my core wet. I hate that my body seemed so willing and pliant as he touched me for the first time. The last time I was touched there, it was taken from me so violently that I never wanted to be touched again and yet through his touch, my body seemed intent on not only surviving that but on enjoying it orgasming again.
The hand not on my core’s entrance flicks and rubs at my clit, my body responding tenfold despite my attempts to stay as still as possible. The friction he is creating has me arching my body and biting down on my palm to cover the cries that threaten to spill free.
"You're so wet, my baby girl, you're so responsive to my touch." His voice is molten, like lava as his words do nothing but set alight my body once more. I hate this. Mentally, I hate it. I want his hands off me, I want to go home, I want to cry and wash his touch away and never be near him again but he is right, my body seems to adore his touch. My abdomen feels more and more full as his finger gently slips inside of me, his other hand rubbing against me between my folds, the pressure building higher and higher until I feel the one thing I dread. I dread it because he knows. He knows that my body isn't against him as much as my mind is, and that brings the sobs forward the moment I feel the tightened orgasm release all over his hand as his fist pumps slow down before he finally takes his finger out of me and pulls his hand away, the cold air suddenly making my body shiver again.
His hands reach around my waist and lifts me to my feet, my legs wobbling, my backside still throbbing from the pain that, although not nearly as bad, is certainly not diminished. My core throbs as violently as my backside does, coming down from the most horrendous and yet mind-blowing orgasm.
His breath falls down on my hair, his head above mine as he turns me towards him, my eyes downcast, unwilling and not wanting to look at the man and monster in front of me.
He leads me to the bathroom, my body aching and burning with the aftermath of both the pleasure and pain that he forced upon me.
"Stand there. Don't move." I don't acknowledge that he's spoken, nor do I disobey. My body feels numb and tingly outside of the pain, wondering why it was so easy for him to get me to a place of lust filling my gaze even through the pain.
I feel like I've cheated on Crow, despite logically knowing that he would want me to do whatever I could to stay alive and well, and yet I don't feel either of those things. I'm surviving, sure, but it feels endless, this cycle with him, and the longer we spend together, the more I can feel the brick hard barrier I had put up crumbling at his feet. He knows it as well as I do, and that kills me.
I care for him in ways I hate admitting. After spending so many years with him as part of my family, I know there’s good within him, even if I feel like I haven’t seen any of it for aeons. I wonder if he faked it but realise that he surely couldn’t have. He used to care for me, genuinely, with a ferocity that I admired as a child and a teenager and yet, as I stand here now, I question what changed and how it occurred. Was he always this way and I just didn't see it because I was looking at him through the eyes of an adoring child?
Liam interrupts my fraying thoughts with a flannel in his hands, him on his knees in front of me as he gently rubs the cloth across my thighs and my outer legs; over and over again he puts the flannel under the warm water and returns it to me, to my skin, cleaning the blood, sweat and remnants of the orgasm away as I stand unmoving.
There's something sensual about his movements, about this vulnerability and the silence with no words spoken. Something strange. He washes me delicately, as if I'm a vase that could break at any moment. Maybe if he had been this gentle with me from the start it would have been easier for me to give in. Not that I should, but maybe I could have. I could have even wanted to.
When he's finished and uses the towel to dry my naked and marred skin, he pulls his fluffy robe around me, taking me to the bedroom and laying me on my stomach on top of the mattress. My hands find themselves attached underneath the pillow as I lay my head upon it. I'm not sure what he's expecting from me, and a small part of me dreads that he'll come onto me again, but as he kneels by the side of my head and looks into my eyes, I see only hurt and despair. This is the man I knew as a child. The one that was caring and thoughtful, the one that didn't want me injured. Ever. Unless it was by his hands apparently.
"You're going to rest," he tells me as he pushes a strand of my hair from in front of my eyes backward. I don't respond, watching silently as he eyes me curiously.
He leans down, his lips finding my forehead as he plants a kiss upon my skin.
"Sleep, my beautiful girl. I'll read." I fight the urge to do just that, but I feel my eyes closing of their own accord as his voice reads the words that lull me to sleep and his fingers comb through my hair.
Four
Charlie
"Do you think I could see Gray again soon?" I ask, adjusting my voice to sound as sweet as I can possibly make it without Liam noticing how fake I'm being.
Five hours and all hell is going to break loose. Five hours and I'm going to be saved.
I hope.
Liam was right when he made that promise to me while I was in the hospital bed, wishing for death to take me home if no one else could. Well, right to an extent. He could protect me from everyone else. He hasn't let anyone near me besides from himself and Gray since I've been here but that also means, exactly as I had suspected, that it is him I found myself subjected to instead--and the strangest part about that? Liam is a completely different man to the one I thought he was. I mean, no surprise there, and I do not mean that in a positive way.
I had known from my conversations with Crow and from Gray’s letter that he wasn't as he seemed, but even then I don't think I knew or even suspected how mentally unhinged he was. I'm not sure if he acted sane or at least partially so because he knew he needed to or if something had happened that had changed him, because this man in front of me is a completely different character to the one I knew as a child.
His eyes lift, meeting mine from across the table. The very same table he bent me over while he whipped me and made me cum. God, even thinking about it makes my stomach twist and my mind revolt. I hate how easily he can sway my body.
