Page 17 of Coercion

I don’t know how to respond. What to say. What man in his line of business doesn’t just take what he wants?

“Ruby…”

“You can fuck me.” I say, cutting across whatever he’s about to. It’s better to get it over with. Better to just be done because refusing him is only going to cause more pain for me. Besides, I’m his wife now, he can do what he wants with me.

He growls, pulling me around so that his body is more on top of mine and instinctively I shut my eyes ready for the feel of his hands grabbing at me, for my legs to be forced open.

“I’m not doing that.” He says. “But I need you to moan, to pretend that I am and that you’re enjoying it.”

I blink back. Enjoy it? Since when did someone care if I enjoyed it? “Okay.” I whisper, hoping I can do that.

“I’m going to kiss you. It will make this feel less awkward.”

I nod, not that he can see and then his lips are on me, his tongue is back in my mouth and all thought, all reason seems to dissipate. He wraps his arms back around me and I lose myself in whatever magic he seems to be creating.

“Moan,” He murmurs against my lips.

Right. Pretending. I’m meant to be acting like we’re having sex.

I let out a noise. It feels constrained. It feels wrong. I don’t even know how to moan, not the way he clearly wants or expects.

He kisses me deeper, as if he’s trying to make this all feel less contrived. I moan again, at least I think I do. It sounds even worse than before. I must be the worst actress in the entire history of the world.

He stops, cupping my cheek. “Not like that.” He says. “Pretend that you’re enjoying this. Pretend that I’m touching you, giving you pleasure, making you come.”

My face flushes with shame. I make another noise. I try so hard to do what he asks but I can tell it’s wrong. All of it is wrong. He’s going to be angry. He’s going to hurt me now because I’m failing at this.

“I don’t know how…” I mumble. I don’t even know this man and all of this suddenly feels too much. Way too much.

“You’ve never come before?” He says after a moment.

“No.” I manage to say, though god only knows how I get the word out.

“I thought you said you’ve had sex?”

I look away for a moment, not that he can see me but it feels like even through this darkness, all of this is far too intimate.

“I have.” I say jutting my chin. “I’ve fucked loads of men.” I don’t want him to know the truth. Right now I’d rather he think me a whore of my own choosing than what I really am.

He lets out a snort. “And none of them have made you come?” He murmurs. “Do you not touch yourself?”

“Why would I?”

The air seems to tense. Like he’s learning all my awful little secrets.

He lets out a sigh. “Alright.” He says but it sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to me. Like I’m so disgusting he needs to give himself a pep talk before he can even consider sinking his cock into me.

He holds me tighter, turning my body so that I’m now tucked against him with my back to his stomach. It’s so hard to ignore his erection from this position. He feels huge, he feels colossal.

“Let’s just sleep.” He murmurs.

My eyes widen. “You don’t want to pretend more?”

“No.”

I’ve disappointed him. I’ve failed. I hang my head, not sure what to do. In so many ways it feels like my prayers have been answered. He’s not touched me. He’s not done anything other than kiss me and I’m not ashamed to admit that I like his kisses. I like the way it feels when his tongue is in my mouth, when he’s wrapping his hands around my hair like I’m something to actually want.

But this won’t be the end of it.

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