Page 88 of Downfall

“You’re going to come Rose. You’re going to fall apart right here for me to enjoy.” And then he lowers his mouth, his tongue devouring me like a lost lover finally returning home.

I try not to react. I try so hard. I scream in my head over and over that I don’t want this. That I don’t want him. That he’s forcing this on me. Raping me in some sense. But my body doesn’t get the message. My body responds exactly as he wants and I can feel my core coiling tighter and tighter as I fight each breath, fight each gasp, fight every second of pleasure.

He slides a finger inside me, curling right where he knows he’ll hit that sweet spot and I arch my back in spite of myself, my hips bucking against his mouth as the pleasure swells.

“That’s better.” He murmurs. “Seems like you can be a good girl after all.”

I glare at him hating the mockery of his words and yet loving how good his touch is.

My pleasure feels like it’s peaking too much now for me to do anything to stop it but I refuse to give in. I refuse to not fight this right to the end.

Clearly he sees my resolve and, as he curls his fingers more and more inside me, he clamps down on my thigh, biting once more into my flesh. I scream. The mixture of pleasure and pain too much to ignore. Too much to fight.

It feels like something inside me breaks, like everything I stand for, everything I am collapses under the ministrations of this man’s fingers alone. I let out a moan so loud I doubt my panties ever stood a chance of muffling it. He plunges another finger inside just as I fall over the edge and the ecstasy that is cataclysmic. I thrash, I scream, I forget even my own name as I come so hard for a man that I hate, I man that has all but forced himself on me right now.

But I don’t care. In this moment it’s like nothing exists beyond my own pleasure. Nothing exists beyond the feel of him fucking me so deliciously with his fingers. He crawls up my body, lays beside me, watching my face as if I were the one consuming him and not the other way around.

“I love the way you come.” He groans. “I love the look on your face. Nothing in the world is more beautiful than your face in this moment.”

I keep my eyes shut. The comedown all the more shameful for how much I truly enjoyed the ride. My body is shuddering, jerking as if every cell is shot with electricity.

Silence hangs between us.

He doesn’t move. He just lays there, watching me as I pant.

And then mercifully he unties me. My hands drop the minute the rope frees them but I’m too exhausted, too ashamed, to do anything but just lie here.

He gets up, creeping back into the shadows like the demon he really is.

“Remember this Rose.” He says. “Remember who owns you. Who has always owned you.”

I gulp, forcing myself to sit up. To hurl back an insult. To say anything but he’s already gone. Slithered back into the darkness like the arsehole that he is.

I spring out of the bed, grabbing a robe to cover myself and run through the house determined to gut him if I can. Downstairs the back door clicks shut giving me a hint of where he is. I grab a knife from the side but a weird chewing distracts me. I frown trying to place it and then suddenly I do. Bella is sat, gnawing on something. I gasp, snatching it from her. He bribed her with a treat? The bastard. I scoop her up, hugging her more for my own comfort that hers because she’s already grumbling at me like I’m the arsehole in all this.

On the table I spot the only too familiar outline of another rose and I scowl, staring out, seeing his outline disappear into the treeline.

He isn’t even trying to hide.

He clearly doesn’t care if my security see him.

And as always he’s left me behind without a moment’s thought. Left me to deal with the consequences.

* * *

I hide inside.Sulking. Ashamed at myself for most of the next day.

But tonight I can’t hide. Tonight I have to be all of my sunshine brightness.

It’s the Summer Gala. The last soiree before every fucker who can leaves the city and escapes to cooler climates.

I’m half tempted to bail. To feign a headache, or grief, or anything that will get me out of this but my father clearly guesses my plan and sends a message making it clear under no uncertain terms that he expects me to be there. No doubt he’s wanting to show me off for whoever he’s lined up to marry me. Like that will ever happen. Like I’ll make that mistake a second time.

When the hair stylist and makeup artist arrive I’m almost relieved. They chatter brightly both to each other and to me. I’m sipping champagne as if this were a fun event but I need the alcohol. I need something to take the edge off everything.

My hair is twisted half up into a French plait with the rest hanging loose in boho style curls. It’s simple but it suits my face. Besides I don’t have the patience to sit for anything fancier.

My makeup is light. With the heat there’s little point going for anything too heavy and risk it smearing under my eyes come nightfall. I stare at the perfectly presented image of myself. You wouldn’t know I’d spent almost the entire night awake, restless, convinced that a man who’d already tied me up was going to come back and finish the job.

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