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For a second, I pretend that Theo is here. Bursting through the door to save me.
To tell me how much he loves me and that he’ll never let me go.
But I stare at the door, willing it to open, and nothing happens.
There’s no rescue party.
No Heir in shining armour.
Because Theo isn’t coming. I made damn sure of that when I ripped out his heart and stomped all over it.
“Don’t flake out on me now,” he chuckles darkly. “You were begging for this downstairs in the bar. Fluttering those long lashes at me, giving me all the right signs.”
He’s right, I was.
Luring him in, making him think I want this.
I don’t.
God, I don’t want to be anywhere near him. But what choice do I have?
It’s my only shot at freedom. At walking—running—away from Vaughn forever.
With a renewed sense of determination, I manage to push up to my feet and take control of the situation. “Let me take care of you,” I drawl, running my hands up his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
Stanley lets me turn him and push him down on the bed, his movements a little jerky, probably from all the vodka. His glazed eyes track my movements, his hands gripping my waist. Fingers digging into my skin with desperation.
“I’m all yours, beautiful girl.”
Swallowing over the giant lump in my throat, I hitch my dress up, allowing me to straddle his thighs as I push him down on the bed. His rough laughter makes the fine hairs along the back of my neck stand to attention.
I hate this.
I hate myself.
Hate that my mum didn’t love me enough to protect me from this cruel world full of men like Vaughn, men like Theo’s dad, and Stanley Harris. Men who are all too willing to prey on women. To take what they want because they can. Without little thought to the consequences.
Vaughn played on my weaknesses, exploited by my vulnerability—my desperation to be loved.
And I paid dearly.
I’m still paying.
His hands clamp down around my hips as he grinds into me from below. “Fuck,” he groans. “I’m going to need a little more than that.”
“Patience,” I giggle, trailing my fingers over his bare chest, trying to avoid the inevitable.
But he’s done waiting.
Taking control again, he sits up abruptly, managing to flip me underneath him, his heavy weight pinning me to the luxury mattress.
There’s no more compliments or sweet talk. He doesn’t check in with me for my permission. He claws at my dress, my body, my soul like a man possessed. Licking and sucking my neck. Biting.
“Ouch,” I cry, and he chuckles into my shoulder, his hand firmly gripping my throat.
“What? You don’t like a little pain with your pleasure? I thought all you young girls liked it rough?”
Tears sting my eyes but we’re past the point of niceties.
