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“You must love your father very much if you’re willing to pay for his freedom with your body.”
She swallows but doesn’t look away from that envelope. It’s only when I round the desk that her gaze snaps back to me.
“You want that nothing?” I ask. “Give me the price you were willing to pay Zane and it’s yours.”
Shaking her head, she starts to speak. “I didn’t—”
I silence her with a finger on her lips. No more lies. “This is what you wanted. Now you’re going to take it.”
Chapter 13
Lina
Damian backs me up to the desk, to the corner where my freedom lies in a plain, brown envelope. I’m tempted to look at it again, just to be sure it’s real, but the disappointment in his bitter gaze won’t let me. I’m not fooled by his gentleness. He’s going to punish me. That’s how he works. I’m acting brave, but it’s exactly that. Acting. My legs tremble at the thought of all the ways in which he can take revenge. I haven’t succeeded in stealing the evidence. He won’t cut off my finger. That doesn’t prevent him from using one of the whipping tools on the wall to put new scars on me.
He stands too close. The heat from his body burns my naked skin through the layers of his clothes. This is my disadvantage. I’m naked. Vulnerable. This is how he planned it, why he made me undress.
Gripping my waist, he lifts me with a swift movement onto the desk. The action is not what I expected. I’m trembling from head to toe, waiting for the worst. He grips my knees and spreads my legs.
“You want it, Lina?”
Slowly, he trails a finger up the inside of my thigh, higher and higher, until he brushes the pad over my folds. I shiver. No matter how hard I bite down on my lip, my body prepares for him, turning slick and swollen.
He plays between my legs, stroking me softly, waking nerve endings.
“You want it?” he repeats, his breath warm on my face, but I’m no longer certain if he’s referring to the envelope or his touch.
He kisses the shell of my ear, his caress a deceptively gentle seduction. “I asked you a question.”
“W-what?”
“Do you want those papers?”
Biting my lip, I glance at the envelope. It’s so close, within my reach. I breathe in deeply and let out the admittance on a rush of air. “Yes.”
He rubs a finger over my clit. “This is what you offered, right?”
I stare at him as his meaning sinks in. Sex in exchange for my freedom. My heart clenches painfully. He’s asking me to be a whore. Doesn’t really matter, though. It won’t be the first time. What’s once more, right? The thought hurts, but I push it away. I keep my tears inside as I reach for his zipper.
Instead of victory, there’s something else on his face, something I can’t put a finger on, but he doesn’t stop me when I unzip his fly. It’s only when I reach for his belt that he grabs my wrist.
“No touching,” he says. “Put your hands on the desk.”
Not understanding his motivation, I swallow the rejection and lock my elbows to lean back on my arms. He finishes the task of freeing his cock through his fly, and that’s all he does. He doesn’t even unbutton his pants or push them over his hips.
“I’ll need a minute to use the bathroom.” My face heats as I say it. I need to clean up. My period has started, and I haven’t yet had time to use anything.
He doesn’t grant me the privilege of that privacy. His deft fingers feel between my legs, slipping between my folds. When he finds my channel empty, he grips his cock in one hand and lifts my thigh with the other.
The enormity of what we’re about to do crashes down on me. I’m going to let him fuck me without protection. I’m clean. He’s been in jail for six years. I doubt he’s been fucking around after he got out. He was too busy plotting his revenge. At least I’m having my period. There’s no risk of falling pregnant.
Dragging the broad head through my folds only once, he places it at my opening. “This is how you wanted it.”
A burning sting sears through me as he impales me to the hilt. There’s too much of him and not enough give in my body. I’m not quite ready, but he doesn’t give me time to adjust. He pulls out and plunges back in, making my back arch. This is his punishment. This is the price I’m paying, letting him use me. I agreed, didn’t I? Then why does the roughness with which he tears into me hurt worse in my heart than in my unused channel? He stabs inside me, again and again, stretching too much, going too fast. It’s not comfortable, but not everything I feel is pain. There’s pleasure, too. I gasp at the sensation. Sex has never been pleasurable for me. That he holds this kind of power over me, the power of making my body sing while wringing out my heart, scares me more than any knife or notch carved on my skin. I will the tightening of my muscles away, but the pleasure keeps on expanding with every punishing thrust.
