Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
This man means to consume me.
The room we are standing in is one of those rooms that only the very rich have, a room which seems to have no purpose, but a lot of furniture. Could be a lounge, I suppose, though it is large enough to be a lobby.
“It would be better for you if you did not fight what I intend to do to you,” Angelo says, leading me to a very well-stuffed couch with a rounded arm. He pushes me down over that arm and grips the back of my leggings with one hand. His fingers extend out across my ass in a possessive and powerful grip that gathers the relatively flimsy material and snags it down over my hips, baring me in one motion.
I lie with my face against the couch, knowing that there is quite literally no escape from this situation. Outside any door to the interior likely lurks his brutal lover, Bobby, ready to gun me down. The manicured gardens of the exterior provide little in the way of cover either. These are men who like to see their enemies coming from a long way off.
I have never been in this much danger in my life. That danger is almost distracting enough to take my attention away from the fact that I have been bared by a man who intends to destroy me. The sheer vulnerability of my position makes me lightheaded. With my hips raised, my ass naked, almost every part of a woman a man will exploit is bared and vulnerable.
He does not strike me right away. He is looking for something, perhaps. Or maybe he is just looking at me from different angles, considering his plan of attack. I hear him walk away and around the room while I stay obediently in position, knowing I have no choice, my palms and cheeks pressed against fine fabric far nicer than any that would ever grace my own home.
Again, my mind wanders to what this room might be called, a hopeless distraction from the primal helplessness I am experiencing. It’s so exposed, with big windows facing the front garden. I almost feel as though I am on display, as Angelo has chosen one of the pieces of furniture closest to the window to hold me half-nude and captive. It is a gorgeous, refined space, but this is a place bad things happen to good people, that’s the only way I can parse it.
When Angelo enters my field of vision again, he is standing behind me and off to the side. I can see him by turning my neck and lowering my eyes. He looms over me, a devil in a fine suit, an absolutely refined monster of a man.
He has a cane in his hand.
“I’m sure you’ve never been properly punished before. I’m sure you’ve always been able to cry your way out of a situation, or earn yourself a lesser punishment through pleading, begging, perhaps even arguing. You have the look of a precious creature.”
I let out a little snort at being called a precious creature. It’s because I’m a short blonde woman. He is talking to me as though I am a stereotype. It has been a long time since anybody made life easier for me as a girl. I know a lot of men think being female is easier than being male. They’re wrong.
“In my house, you are nothing but a little captive. I will treat you no differently to the way I treat my boy, do you understand?”
I know how he treats Bobby. I know the two of them have a twisted, tortured love affair in which Angelo is master and Bobby is the resentful slave. To be treated like Bobby is to be spoiled and ruined.
There is a slight note of affection in Angelo’s voice when he calls me his little captive. That worries me. He doesn’t know me. I am a stranger. I am literally an agent of the law. But Angelo has already decided to see me as something else completely.
His presence whispers to something inside me. I feel myself vibrating with an unseen malevolence that does not emanate from him, but which rises from slumber inside me.
“Yes,” he murmurs, as if he is seeing in my eyes an echo of what I saw in his. “Oh yes. You will be a very good girl for me.”
I don’t care if he calls me boy, or girl, or big or little, good or bad. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is surviving him. I know he is going to hurt me, and I know he is going to mind fuck me. I have to keep my wits about me, and I have to keep looking for opportunities to escape.
While I am thinking these thoughts, the cane bites against my ass, a snap proceeded by a short warning hiss. For a second, nothing hurts. A second later, everything hurts.