Page 147 of House of Cards
Not now.
Not withher.
I swipe my thumb over the drop, trying to make it disappear. The tear finally lands, and that helps, but there’s still a pink smear that reminds me of what almost just happened.
Zoey can’t possibly have any idea what’s going on in my mind, but the horror in her eyes isn’t a trick of the light. She glimpsed the man behind the mask, and she’ll be having nightmares about him for weeks to come.
If she survives.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re gonna feel me in your goddamn soul,” I grate, hardly recognizing my voice.
She yells when I grab her by the throat. Fights me when I yank her away from the vanity and herd her through the door, one arm still too weak to be effectual.
Her ankle catches on a jagged edge of the remaining door, but I simply lift her clear. I bend down to snatch up the belt I’d dropped.
Zoey doesn’t seem to notice. She’s more concerned with scratching and digging her nails into my wrist when she should save her energy for something that matters.
Like when I finally let her go, and she can run.
I toss her onto the bed. Her wild, wet brown hair flies into her face as she bounces off the bare mattress. She lands on her good side, but she must have forgotten about her tender shoulder because when she rolls onto her stomach to escape me, she grunts in pain. Her head hangs down for a second before she rallies and starts dragging herself away.
But I’m already there. And as soon as I straddle her, she’s pinned.
I loop the belt around her throat, drawing it back until she arches oh so prettily for me. She splutters and coughs, clawing at the leather, throwing me frantic glances from the corner of her eye.
I know what she wants.
She wants answers.
Why her?
Why me?
Whythis?
There are never any answers. Just more questions.
Like why I need to mark her so thoroughly that she’ll never forget I owned her, even though I’m about to release her.
I shift down her body until I’m sitting on her thighs. Her hips wriggle, but struggle as she might, she’s trapped. When I hook a finger behind her pants and yank them down in one rough motion, she goes still.
Not surrendering.
Just waiting.
Chad bruised her, but faintly. I grab her ass cheek and give it a hard squeeze. A painful massage meant to bring more blood to the surface.
Increasing pleasure.
Doubling pain.
But I’m too impatient for niceties. For ritual.
I bring my palm down with a loud crack that makes her ass jiggle and her body tense under me. She chokes out a hoarse, “Fuck!” that sounds both angry and panicked.
“Freedom has a price, kitten.” I feed the belt through my hand, giving her some slack, and she hitches in a grateful lungful of air as she sinks down to the mattress.
Only to tense up when I slide my arm under her hips and scoop her ass in the air. Now I’m straddling her calves, andChrist, it’s as if my cock can smell her pussy the way it strains to break through my trousers.
