Page 16 of Cry, Little Dove

It must be the drugs making me feel a million different kinds of unhinged. I can’t seriously be into this.

“Now listen, Erica. Blink twice if you are listening.”

With no other choice, I blink two times.

“Good girl,” he rumbles and my clit pulses.Dammit. “I’m gonna claim every single one of your holes. All four, darlin’. I’ll fuck you until you forget any other man who has ever been inside you.”

Four?

Mouth. Pussy. Ass. That’s three. What the fuck does he mean by four?

“In this operating theater, I’m your God. Your life is in my hands, little dove, but I’m willing to show you mercy.” He pauses, thumb skimming along my clit. Almost touching. Almost. “If you can hold back your orgasm, you get to keep your organs, and I’ll let you live another day. But if you come…”

The scalpel meets my hip, avoiding my tattoos as if he can’t bear to mar them. It kind of tickles first. Then it burns.

Blood bubbles from the shallow cut and Cain drags his index finger along the red line. He sniffs my blood like he’s smelling an expensive wine before he sticks his tongue out and laps up every drop, a satisfied hum in his throat.

My eyes round with disgust and another emotion I choose to ignore. But the deranged implication lingers in the back of my thoughts.

No man has ever wanted me like this. Every part of me, inside and out.

Cain looks down at me with a hooded gaze and a cruel grin. “If you come without my permission, little dove, I’m gonna cut you open from that slender neck all the way to your tight pussy.”

Cain’s heavy-set footsteps disappear behind me, and I hear the squeak of a door opening, leaving me alone with the rapid beeping of the heart monitor. I will myself to move, but blinking is already as strenuous as running up ten flights of stairs.

He returns moments later, carrying a tray covered with a turquoise cloth. A thoughtful hum lingers on his curving lips, and he pushes aside scalpels, spreaders, and forceps on the surgical cart to make space for the tray.

“I’ve been wanting to try these tools out.” He picks up a thin metal rod from under the fabric. My pulse riots as I try to imagine what he can do to me with it and come up blank. “But the time never felt right, y’know? Never the right person, mainly.”

He smiles at me as if he expects me to answer, but I still can’t command my tongue. He pats my cheek.

“You, little dove… you’re special. I know you’ll appreciate my toys. This one is for later, though. Let’s start a lil easier. I wanna give you a fighting chance.”

He puts the rod back and bends toward the operating table, rattling the whole thing with me on top. A clacking sounds, and with a muted curse, he yanks something up on either side. Recognition hollows out my chest with horror.

Those are stirrups like at the ob-gyn.

“Never got to use these, either,” Cain muses. “First time for everything, hmm? I’m gonna get a real good look at your pretty cunt. It’s mine, after all.”

My breath goes thick as he grips my waist and drags me lower on the table, his skin hot through the gloves. He guides my feet into the stirrups, the icy sting of metal biting into my naked soles. My legs are spread as wide as they can go, and the strain makes my hips ache.

Under these bright lights, my pussy is on full display for Cain, and worse, my inner walls clench at the thought of him inspecting me like a breeding mare.

“Goddamn, you’re already so wet,” he says and slips a single digit inside me, making my heart seize. “I know you’re scared, darlin’, but your body doesn’t lie. You show all the telltale signs of arousal. Hard, rosy nipples. Swollen clit. Increased lubrication. Involuntary twitches making your holes pulse. You can tell yourself you’re not enjoying this, but you’re dripping all over my hand. And we haven’t even started yet.”

Fuck you, I want to scream. I hope he sees the defiance in my eyes, though I don’t feel all that defiant with his finger drawing teasing circles inside me. He pushes in further, curling forward, and electricity jolts through my core.

His touch courses through my veins like a deadly illness, a blazing fever corrupting me. I know if I survive this, I’ll never be the same, but there is nothing I can do to stop him.

“Finding your g-spot ain’t the only thing I’m good at,” he drawls, making no effort to hide the lust in his tone. “I’ll teach you what exquisite pain and torturous pleasure a doctor’s skilled hands can inflict.”

His finger leaves me, and he takes something from the tray. Metal clamps with rubber tips, connected by a chain. He rounds the table and I let out a gargled noise as his lips close around my right nipple, his tongue swirling around it.

My insides quake with reluctant desire. It’s so wet and soft—

Cold air hits my nipple when he straightens and then—searing pain. The cry I can’t let out bellows inside my head, thrown back at me by the walls of my skull. He doesn’t give me a break before he attaches the second clamp to my other nipple.

I imagine myself thrashing. Fighting back. Anything but lying there motionless.

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