Page 70 of No Control
“Away to where?”
Henry licks his lips but keeps methodically packing. “I can’t say. They may have bugged the house. Who knows.”
I nod, swallowing hard. It’s a lot of information to process, but the closer I get to him, the more I need him to look at me. The scent of his cologne grows stronger as I keep putting one foot in front of the other, closing the space between us.
“What’re you doing, Lydia?” His voice is tense, low, and has a gravel that I’ve never heard before.
“Why won’t you look at me?” I demand, no longer scared of the intimidating, murderous man. I mean, he might do it for a living—but we sort of have that in common now, right? Or maybe it’s just the shock lingering in my system. Things still feel numb…
And I want him to fix it.
But he’s ignoring me instead. “Go get dressed and packed.”
“Why are you suddenly shutting me out?” I exasperate. “What changed?”
He tips his head away from me. “Please go get dressed. You need to take time and process what happened tonight. Go.” The rejection stings, more potent than the heartbreak of my lost six-year relationship. And I don’t know why, but I can’t let it go.
“I don’t want to.”
He stops, curling his hands into fists. “Why are you pushing me?”
“I’m not pushing you,” I cry out, emotion cracking my voice. “I just want you to look at me, Henry. You can’t do this. You can’t just ignore—”
He cuts me off, his body on mine in moments, his fingers laced around the back of my neck. His nose brushes mine, and my breath hitches, but he stays emotionless. “I am not ignoring you. I am trying to give you time to mentally work through what happened. Killing someone for the first time is not something you just get over with a hot bath.”
I dare him with my gaze, burning with a desire I don’t understand. “Fix me, Henry.”
“I’ll only break you more,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across my skin. His kiss is soft, nearly sweet. But I need it harder, the numbness threatening to swallow me whole.
“Break me,” I whisper. “I need to feel something.”
He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closing. “I don’t wanna break you because you need to feel something. I want to break you because you want me to.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Please. I want you to.”
Henry groans, his free hand slipping through the front of the towel, brushing my still-damp skin. “Fucking torture.”
“Then don’t torture yourself by saying no,” I plead, my fingers brushing his stubble. He pulls me toward him, kissing along my jaw. With every moment of contact, his mouth connects with my skin a little rougher.
“We need to get going,” he growls, biting into the skin of my neck.
“Then make it fast,” I moan, as he slides his fingers between my legs. He rubs my clit with his fingers, while his mouth sucks hard on my flesh. I cry out as pain erupts from the spot. It’s different than the pain of being attacked. It sends flames of arousal through my body.
“You’re so wet,” he groans, sliding two fingers along the entrance of my pussy. “I won’t be easy on you.” I bite down on my lip as he sends his fingers deep inside of me, the pad of his thumb colliding with my clit. “I want to do terrible things to you.”
My eyes squeeze shut as he spins me around, planting my ass against his cock. I grind against him, losing control of my senses to the primal desire breaking out in my chest.
“I can make you feel again,” his voice comes out threatening. “But is that really what you want, Lydia?”
I barely manage to nod as I moan out, growing close to an orgasm. My hips rock against his hand as I hear the sound of metal sliding against metal.
And then I feel something pressed to my neck.
“This is how I prefer to do it,” he whispers in my ear, and I struggle to catch my breath as I realize there’s a knife pressed to my throat. A tiny jolt of fear slivers down my spine. “One cut.” He presses the tip to the back of my jaw. “From here.” He drags it across my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “To here.” I gasp for air and cry out as I crash around his hand, my orgasm pulsing around his fingers. “Good girl,” he growls.
Before I even have the chance to come down from the high, he slips a hand from between my legs and undoes his jeans, all the while leaving the knife against my throat. He shoves the tip of his cock through my wet slit, plunging inside of me. “Fuck,” Henry slams into me, one hand squeezing my breast and the other holding the knife to my throat.
I take him over and over, and while he gets rougher, the knife remains pressed into my skin, unmoving. My cries and whimpers fill the room as I grasp the dresser, the force of his cock making my knees weak. His hand drops from my breast, wrapping around my waist to hold me up.
