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I don’t want him driving my car.
I glance in the back seat and see my wedding dress hanging up. Not a real wedding dress, not white and lovely like I wouldwantmy wedding dress to be. It’s a plain dress that only falls to the knee, a pale purple color, and despite the sense that it’s new, the fabric is already pilling.
“I told you, you should have bought a different one,” he says even though I haven’t brought any attention to it.
My stomach feels sick.
Dread swallows me up. I look out the front windshield and see a bleak sky. We’re driving down an empty highway. “Where are you taking me?”
He looks over at me and smiles. “To our wedding.”
I jerk awake with a gasp, panic swelling up in my chest because I can’t breathe and I feel—
Full.
Before I can wake up enough to recognize why my body feels so thoroughly possessed, I register a man’s weight on top of me and fingers wrapped around my throat.
I’m blurry and confused, but Silvan’s deep voice is like an anchor thrown ashore, jerking me from the fog and bringing me fully into his still dark bedroom.
His hand is locked around my throat tight enough to trigger a small wave of panic. “What did you just say?” he growls.
My heart slams forward in my chest. I grab his wrist, trying to pull it from my throat. “I… I… I don’t know. I was asleep.”
“You said a name.”
My heart sinks.
“I—I said Silvan,” I lie on impulse.
“Really?” he asks silkily. “Because it sounded an awful lot likeDylan.”
I gulp, and with his hand wrapped so tightly around my throat, I know he feels it. “I… Those names sound similar enough. You must have misheard.”
His eyes narrow to slits. He’s thoroughly unconvinced, but rather than press the issue with words, he pulls his hips back and drives into me harder.
I gasp as my body stretches around his cock. That full feeling, it’s this.
He started fucking me while I was asleep.
My heart pounds furiously as I become aware of the assault on my body. I can’t escape the feeling of fear, but I know I won’t be able to stop him if I fight, so even though I want to at this moment, I don’t. I hold his wrist and he holds my throat while he fucks me roughly, keeping me pinned to his bed, even my breaths controlled by his firm grip.
The message is clear: my body belongs to him.
He doesn’t even need my permission to use it.
The sick part of me responds to his ruthless domination. It craves the times he fucks me when he’s angry with me because he does it without care, using my body in such a way that I know I don’t stand a chance fighting him, so I don’t have to.
He releases my throat and pulls out of me, but my relief—disappointment?—is short-lived. He rolls me over so I’m facedown on the bed, then pulls my hips up, spreading my thighs wide and positioning himself between my legs.
My pussy throbs, waiting for him. My heart hammers becausewhat’s wrong with me?
Then he grabs my hips, his hands rough and unforgiving.
He brings his cock to my entrance and shoves in hard, making me cry out at the merciless intrusion.
He fucks me without guilt or concern for my comfort. Every thrust is deep, hard, and relentless. My body scurries to accommodate the invasion of his. I must have been slick when he first entered me because while I feel the familiar tugging and friction as my skin stretches to accommodate him, it’s not painful.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
