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I spit in it again, hoping to get his eye. Sadly, I’m low by half an inch.
He collects my saliva from his cheek with one finger and takes it to his mouth, to suck it off slowly as he looks directly into my eyes. “Keep pushing me, girl. It will make breaking you so much sweeter.”
“You sick mother—”
He seizes my jaw in a harsh grip, forces my mouth open, and spits so hard at my throat that I choke. He wedges his leg between mine, forcing them apart, which is easy, since he ripped the entire skirt of my dress right off, the moment he got me into his house.
“Has he fucked you yet?” he asks, stroking me through my panties.
I raise an eyebrow at him, to mask the panic rising within me. “Who? I’ve fucked a lot of guys. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
He pulls my underwear aside and shoves a rough finger inside me without hesitation. My body clamps tight, like it’s trying to bar him from entry, but it’s too late. He’s already made it within, and the tension in every muscle makes the trespass feels so much worse. The shock of his unwelcome invasion is as damaging as the sensation of being violated.
And he’s still fucking smiling.
The man in charge is showing me how powerless I am, and it’s a move meant to break me, like he said he would. He probes deeper, and I want to scream and cry and bite his ugly fucking face off, but that’s exactly why he’s doing it. He’s looking for my reaction. One that makes him feel like an unstoppable force.
He wants me to cry, but I refuse. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I will simply tolerate him, until he grows bored. Men like him always lose interest when the thrill of the chase is over. I’ve been dragged to enough old-rich-man business meetings to know that.
Jack seems to think my pussy’s some innocent little garden he can trample on, but I fuck myself with way bigger things than an old man’s finger. This is an impotent and dissatisfying intrusion on my sexuality. It’s a pathetic man, using a woman’s body to please himself. A story as old as time. But the story will end.
This will pass, and I will carry on with my life. I won’t let him ruin something Quin’s taught me can bring so much joy. The love and pleasure Quin’s shown me are a solid anchor I can trust, and I will cling to it and ride out the storm.
Jack can’t hurt me the way he wants to, and I won’t be made to cry.
I glare at him, instead. I feign boredom and wait for the uncomfortable moment to end.
He pulls his hand back, assesses it, sucks it clean, and grunts. “No blood. Maybe you are a little whore. Tight, though. We’ll see if my big cock makes you bleed, when the time comes.”
“Why not just get it over with?” I ask.
“Formalities.” He gestures toward the contract awaiting my signature, as if he might actually abide by rules. We’ve already discussed the terms — what’s expected of me.
“I also like to draw out the suspense,” he adds flippantly. “It helps get the best responses from my victims.”
“Is that what you call all your wives?”
Jack grins again and shakes his finger at me. “You are a funny one,” he says, placing a pen on top of the papers. “I did love one of them for a while, you know, but I think you may give me some of my fondest memories.”
He nudges the stack of papers toward me.
I hit him with my flattest stare. “How can I sign it with my hands tied behind my back, dumbass?”
Jack lifts a deadly looking letter opener from his desk and with one quick slash, severs the cable tie keeping me held, nicking my skin while he’s at it.
A hiss escapes me before I can stop it, and when I look to check if he’s enjoyed the unguarded sound, he’s pointing the dagger at me. “There you go, sweetling. Don’t tell me I never do anything for you.”
“Well, you also make me sick to my stomach, so there’s that.” I snatch up the pen and hold it, ready to stab him if he comes closer. “I need a Band-Aid. Get me one.”
He twitches his brows and then removes his tie. “Hold out your hand.”
“So you can tie me up again? Fuck you.”
He reaches over, slaps me, and then yanks my arm out straight. “Keep it there.”
With one eye seeing stars, and half my face throbbing with my heartbeat, I glower at him, but I do as I’m told.
He ties his necktie tightly over the bleeding cut he gave me. “Sign the papers, so I can send them to your father,” he says, almost reasonably. “He’s very worried about you.”
