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17
SARAH
I’m not even ashamed about how hard I scream, how much I squirm, and when the all-consuming haze disappears, how desperate I am for him to do it again.
I feel the tears down my cheeks as I look up at him, refusing to beg.
Begging achieves nothing with him other than pleasing him.
When his hand draws back again, I sigh in relief. Then the cane flashes and slams onto my inner thighs. The second impact isn’t as blindingly overwhelming as the first, but I still feel my body sing, my core tighten, as waves of sheer arousal rush everywhere. Moisture gathers between my legs, so blatant he can’t have missed it, given the fact that I’m mostly naked.
Marius doesn’t seem particularly interested in touching my body. Only hurting it. And it’s so fucking twisted that I want him to.
He was right earlier. Clearly, I’m much more of a deviant than I ever knew.
Not that it excuseshim. The fact that my fucked-up body likes this doesn’t mean he has the right to just grab some girl off the street, tie her up, and cane her.
“Tell me what you’re hiding,” he repeats, like the hound on a chase that he is.
“None of your business,” I echo, between my teeth. How many times are we going to have the same exact exchange before he believes it? “I didn’t do it. Everything else about me doesn’t concern you.”
“You say you’ve been framed,” he starts, and by his tone, he still doesn’t believe a word of it. “If you want me to trust you, you’re going to have to tell me why and by whom.”
“No.”
I don’t think he’s ever heard that word until today. He definitely doesn’t seem to understand its meaning.
He frowns. “What are you scared of?”
I bristle at the notion. “I’m not scared.”
For once, that is.
Marius Goltz simply doesn’t scare me—unless he has a knife bigger than my forearm in hand.
He should. He’s highly dangerous, and he doesn’t think normal rules of civilization, or laws, apply to him. I threatened to go to the police, and he made it clear he believes that situation would only fuck me over.
And what’s worse? He’s likely right.
“Liar.”
He’s called me a liar many times, in a lot of different ways today, but it’s the first time he’s saying the word so confidently, like he’s absolutely certain he’s right.
And he is. I am scared. Just not of him.
“What are you gonna do if I don’t say anything, rape me?” That’s the next logical step after everything he’s said and done.
And the fucked-up thing is? I’m unbothered by the notion.
No, that’s not entirely honest.
I’m looking forward to it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I tell myself it’s because of his face. He’sstupidlypretty. Hollywood actor perfect, Prince Charming gorgeous, magnetic like a rock star. And I haven’t had sex in a long time. For whatever reason, my body enjoys the degenerate things Marius is doing to them. I’d likely enjoy it if he just spread my legs and went for it.
Christ, someone should lock me up in a padded room.
