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I should fight him; try to get away again. I don’t, though. I’m too sore, too exhausted from the hunt. And even if I wasn’t, I’m not sure if I would.
I’m just as sick in the head as he is. His months of torture have warped my mind, to the point where I’m not really sure who I am anymore.
I’m not sure I want to remember who I used to be, either.
As fucked up as it is, life is simpler this way. It’s just release and catch. Pain and pleasure. Torture and rapture. Me and him.
He shoves open the door of the bunker, carrying me inside and down the hall. The icy chill in the air makes goosebumps pebble up on my bare flesh, a shiver running down my spine as he returns me to my cell.
As soon as we’re inside, he throws me down on the cot, dark eyes flickering down to where I can feel his cum running down my inner thigh. Then he lunges forward with a growl, sweeping his fingers against my skin to gather it up and shoving it back inside me.
Our gazes lock as he hovers above me, and I hold my breath, words forming in my mind that I refuse to speak out loud.
Don’t go.
He will, though. He always does.
But he’ll be back, and that’s the little thread of hope I cling to as he withdraws his fingers and rises to stand. The shadows cling to the contours of his body as he steps back to drink in the sight of me, bruised and dirty and thoroughly used, a cruel smile pulling at his lips.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he murmurs with a devious gleam in his eye as he towers over me. “This was supposed to be our last hunt, but I think I’ll keep you after all.”
THE END
