Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Each time she stopped fighting, even for just a moment, I could feel it—her growing dependence, her need for me outweighed her sense of self. I knew it wouldn’t be long before she stopped battling her inner war, before she surrendered fully, accepting that I was her reality.
And when that day came, when she didn’t hold back, when she reached for me instead of pulling away, that’s when I would truly own her. Every piece of her soul, every beat of her heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Morning light streamed through the large windows, casting a soft glow over the room as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling. My body ached in ways I didn’t want to think about, a feeling all too familiar now.
It’s how my last few mornings began, with my mind replaying everything from the nights before—the weight of him on top of me, the way he commanded every part of my body and mind, and the control I felt slipping away with every passing second. He’d kissed me goodbye before he left, his hands lingering on my waist, his touch drawing me in as it always did.
He had said something about handling business from home soon, a slight variation in the routine I’d come to know, but my mind had still been groggy from sleep. When I woke up fully, he had already left, but even then, I still felt him. Alexander had a way of leaving his mark on me long after he was physically gone. His presence lingered, etched into my skin, my thoughts, and the bed we shared from sunup to sundown.
I sat up slowly, taking in the quietness of the room. The bouquet of fresh flowers on the bedside table caught my attention. The small domestic gesture was never missed. He hadn’t once forgotten to have them replaced. It was almost… sweet. The soft fragrance of the blooms filled the space each morning, adding an unexpected softness. I moved to clean myself up—again. The last few nights I had consistently woken with him inside me.
It didn’t matter if we’d fallen asleep side by side, he always found a way to enter me without waking me.
Sometimes he would finish without me ever rousing, a result of the sleep aide he assured me was for my benefit. On the nights I did come to, I would be worn out and fall back into a dreamless slumber after we showered. If he wasn’t inside me while I was sleeping, then he’d make sure to fuck me any chance he could while I was awake. It was endless. I kept finding myself pinned down with his hand around my throat or fisting my hair while I was on my knees.
It left me feeling filthy in ways that even the hottest shower couldn’t fix. It was taking a toll, both mentally and physically. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see the possessive hunger in his gaze, the way he consumed me, body and soul. The worst part was that I hated it almost as much as I had come to enjoy it.
The worst part was how much I wasn’t trying to scrub away the sensation of him or the bruises he left on my skin, but the guilt festering inside me. Sanity had become a fragile thing, unraveling thread by thread in his hands. I was trapped in a never-ending cycle and every time I convinced myself I could pull away, he reeled me in further.
I stood under the shower, the hot water pounding against my skin. No matter how long I stayed under the scalding spray, I couldn’t escape myself. I couldn’t escape him. Alexander Alistair. Somehow, he had managed to slip past every barrier I’d built, sliding into the cracks I didn’t even know existed. And now, he was there, firmly rooted, making sure I couldn’t rid myself of him. It wasn’t just the physical pull—it was the way he owned me, claimed me in ways I hadn’t even realized until it was too late. He could be sweet, coaxing me with soft words and gentle touches, despite his darkness.
Somehow, he made me question things I didn’t want to face. Alone like this, those questions grew louder, more insistent, gnawing at me. Was it all him? Or had I, at some point, given in willingly?
Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel and dried off, the steam clinging to the air around me. I dressed quickly, opting for something simple—a loose shirt and pants, comfortable but still in line with what I was expected to wear, making sure I didn’t forget to drape my key around my neck. The marks on my body—my back especially— were both mostly healed. Whatever salve that the Isle people made was a miracle in a tube.
The ones now most evident were in the shape of handprints that matched Alexander’s perfectly. With my hair still damp, I made my way downstairs for breakfast. The house was quiet, but I could hear the distant sounds of staff moving about. They were always around, silently working in the background, watching me with reverence, waiting for me to need the smallest thing. I wondered how much they knew about my circumstances.