He spears me with two fingers, stretching me open, purposefully making it as painful as he can.
“I like it when you fight back,” he grunts, pulling his dick from his trousers. It’s small, fat and disgusting. Just like him.
“Fuck you,” I spit, blood flecking across his face in a crimson spray.
He pauses deliberately as he wipes it away with the back of his hand. Then he inhales, slow and deep, like he’s savouring the moment.
The slap comes fast. My head snaps to the side, heat blooming across my cheek like fire under my skin. Before I can recover, the back of his hand crashes into the other side—his ring tearing through flesh, leaving a burning trail of blood in its wake.
All the while his fingers are still buried deep inside me, clawing at my body, trying to inflict as much damage as he can.
When he slams his hand over my mouth, forcing my head deep into the mattress, I strike. I bite down—hard—aiming to shatter bone, not just skin.
His fingers thrash, but I don’t let go. Blood floods my mouth, hot and metallic, and still, I clamp down harder, tasting his pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream. Maximum damage is my only aim.
It shocks him enough that he removes his fingers from me to crush my windpipe instead, in an attempt to get me to release him. But I hold on, right up until I have to draw in a ragged breath.
“You little bitch,” he snarls, climbing on top of me. His weight crashes down, his thick belly pressing into mine—too close, too wrong.
His hand clamps around my throat, squeezing until the edges of my vision shimmers with stars.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t move.
Can’t fight.
I’m pinned—trapped beneath him, the air stolen from my lungs, the world narrowing to the crushing grip of his hand.
He pushes inside me, like wood against sandpaper, the friction burns my insides, my thighs try to protect me, but they’re pulled too tight to help.
But even the pain takes a back seat to the primal need to breathe.
My chest convulses, lungs clawing for air that won’t come. Strangled gasps escape me—wet and broken—but he doesn’t let go. He only tightens his grip, crushing the last threads of oxygen from my body.
Blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision. Only then—when I’m on the brink—does he ease his hold. Just enough.
I suck in a ragged breath, the air tearing down my throat like fire. My body heaves, desperate, starved, alive—but barely.
“I bet you’re worth a pretty penny. I’ll be looking out for you at the auction.” It’s a threat, an acknowledgement that if I escape here, it’s only going to get worse.
But I can’t answer, not under his grip.
He grunts in a sickening way with each thrust of his hips, but it’s mostly flesh slapping against me.
I try to crane my neck, turning away from this sick cunt—back toward Lea. I just need to see her. To make sure she’s still safe.
She’s watching me, eyes wide with a fear so deep it doesn’t look human.
Is it for me? For herself? I can’t tell. Maybe both.
Then the door creaks again. Another man enters, laughing at something behind him.
He takes one look at the scene—me pinned and broken—and doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even think about leaving.
Instead, he nods at the man on top of me… and turns toward Lea.
No.
