Page 3 of Uprising

I screw my face up, I can’t come. I’ve never come. Not once since he started touching me. Maybe I’m too broken now, maybe I’m just not good enough at pretending but each time he tries to force this all it does is end the same way, with him hurting me more.

He pushes, rubs, does everything he can to try to force my body into giving him what he wants.

I try to pretend, I try to moan, but even that sounds wrong. And besides he can feel it, he can feel from how my body is wrapped around his that I’m not giving him what he wants.

“You will come for me.” He growls. “You’re going to come around my cock like the little slut you are.”

I nod, pretending more, pretending harder.

I have to do this. I have to do all of this for Lara.

He grips my throat, pulling my face down level with his. He’s close now, I can see it, I can feel it too in the way he’s fucking me, he always hurts me more just before he climaxes, as if that little extra pain is what gets him off.

“Come you useless fucking slut.” He spits.

But I don’t.

Even as he groans, even as he pumps himself into me.

And then he slumps back into the pillows and I pull myself off of him, feeling every bit the used piece of trash he wants me to feel.

Rose

We’re sat in the oversized dining room, eating breakfast. Or at least Lara is eating while I act like this is all normal.

I tried hiding away, hiding us both away, keeping out of the main part of the house while Darius and his cronies seem to be everywhere but he soon put paid to that. He wants me on display. He wants everyone to see his beautiful trophy wife-to-be. Afterall, I’m part of his election plan, I appeal to the masses, make him more likeable, more electable.

And he’s ensuring he maximises my potential at every opportunity.

Lara’s grown more quiet. Her whole demeanour has changed in the last two months since we moved in here. Since her father died.

I don’t know how to help, and worst of all, I don’t think I can help because we both know what this is, we both know that neither of us want to be here, that we’re essentially hostages but I refuse to act like that around her. I want her to have as normal an upbringing as possible.

But nothing about thisisnormal.

And nothing I do right now can change that.

I glance at the armed men. All five of them stood around the room. They’re for my protection or at least that’s what Darius tells the press while we all know what their real job is. To watch me. To keep me under-control. To ensure I don’t say or do anything to undermine Darius or reveal my true situation.

Because the press caught wind of that little shootout. They even had pictures of it. Of me, being held at gunpoint. Darius put a good spin on it of course, stating that I was kidnapped and held to ransom. It also gave him a convenient excuse for justifying why we’re rushing this wedding. Why this whole whirlwind romance is being expediated.

It makes sense after all. It’s natural that I would be jittery afterwards. That after the loss of Paris and then this new trauma, of course I would want some happiness, of course I wouldn’t want to wait.

And Darius, my loving, kind, considerate fiancé, is naturally so concerned in giving me everything I desire.

The masses soak it all up. They love every minute of it. It’s a true love story for the ages. Either they’re too insipid to see what it is or worse, they really think I’m a gold-digging whore throwing myself from one rich Blumenfeld into the arms of another.

But Darius’s approval ratings have never been so good and that alone all but seals my fate.

I glance at the ring on my finger. It’s nothing like the one Roman gave me. But then none of the circumstances are the same. Roman gave me something of worth, Roman was someone of worth. Darius all but jammed the ring on my finger, after ensuring he bought the biggest damned diamond he could get.

It’s flashy. Garish. In truth not unlike the one Paris got me, so perhaps it’s a Blumenfeld thing though I don’t want to dwell on that any deeper than I have to.

“Can I get down mummy?” Lara says, in that timid new voice of hers. She’s lost her laughter, lost her smile. All her confidence is shattered.

I look at her plate and it’s only half cleared. She’s lost her appetite too but I can hardly fault her for that. It’s hard to eat when you have five sets of eyes watching every move you make. Every scoop, every slice of the blunt knife.

I nod holding my hand out and she takes it quickly. Without a look at the guards I lead her from the room and out onto the veranda. They follow but they stay by the door, at least giving us a little distance.

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