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But I can't move.
I'm a prisoner in my fucking body.
I want to run away—hideaway. All I know is that I feel more helpless than I've ever been, and though I've been put in awful situations before when my will had been taken away from me, this is the worst yet. Not only are my senses stripped from me, my sight nonexistent, my hearing barely working. Butthisis being done tome. Not to Gloria, or any other imaginary woman.
This is done tome.
I don't even know if the person on the other end is a man or a woman, or if they… My flimsy train of thought is interrupted as I feel movement before more warmth envelops me.
Warm flesh brushes against my cold one.
Gripping my dick in one hand, she—because I finally realize itisa she—positions me to her entrance, lowering herself on me.
My mouth gapes open, my throat working up a protest.
But nothing comes out.
I'm justthere.On the cold ground. A piece of meat being used by this woman. And I can't even tell her how much I detest it. What she's stealing from me when I thought I still hadsomethingleft.
This isn't Armand. This isn't him just invading my body and punishing me repeatedly for sins not of my own. No, this is someone stealing the only thing I'd thought remotely safe—that still belonged to me.
A storm of sensations erupt in my body. Despite the lethargy, or the fact that my mind is further rebelling against me, I feel everything.
Even my little corner closes the door in my face, remaining shut no matter how much I try to wrench it open. It's just…locked. And I'm forced to sit still and let this person use me.
Her breath becomes increasingly louder as she lifts herself up and down, fucking herself on me. And the worst thing? It's clear she's deriving pleasure from it from the way she's grasping on to my chest, little moans erupting in this barren place.
I'd never thought I could hate someone so much. More than Armand, more than my brother who purposefully sent me down to this hell.
But I do.
This person. This faceless, nameless person.
I hate her more than I've hated anyone in my entire life.
Because she took what was not hers to take.
TWENTY-EIGHT
RAFAELO
The sun filtersthrough the sheer curtains of our bedroom. I squint as I slowly get used to the blast of light.
My throat is dry as fuck, my head pounding.
It takes me a few seconds to get myself under control and become aware of my surroundings.
I'm…home. The home I share with my wife, Noelle.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I blink as I look around. The bed is a mess of tangled sheets, but I don't spot Noelle.
Panic bubbles in my chest for one moment before the smell of food wafts through the door.
I release a deep breath as I realize she's likely making breakfast—her usual pastime.
Taking a step forward, I have to grasp the bed's frame to keep myself upright. My legs are wobbly, my entire strength seemingly depleted.
Yet just as that crosses my mind, more information floods me. It's the morning after a drug session. That's why I feel so worn out—so fucking weak.
