Page 25 of Depravity

My hand leaves a livid print right on her perfect arse cheek but that doesn’t stop me delivering a second blow, and a third.

“Sssstop,” She sobs. “Please ssstop.”

“You don’t get to cry.” I growl out. “Not when I’m saving you.”

“Saaaving me?” She practically screams back, and suddenly all that fragile docility turns to fury. She starts kicking more, lashing out, slamming her body any which way she can. “Saving me from what?”

I grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her around so that she’s straddling my hips, facing me.

“I could have left you there, left you with them.”

“Who?” She hisses and clearly, she has no idea what happened last night. No fucking idea at all.

“Giselle laid you out like a five-course meal.” I state. “She drugged you and handed you over to me, and then watched as I did what I wanted to you.”

Her face pales even more. She shrinks back against my hand that’s holding her up, as if she’s trying to fold up all those tiny pieces of herself. “She, she watched…”

“She got off on it.” I snap, still feeling my anger at the fact she’d laid there, touching herself, tarnishing my moment with Brynn.

That clearly hurts her more than I expected as she curls up into herself like she’s just received a physical blow. And I can see she’s shuddering, shivering, trembling.

Her eyes dart about. “What, what are you going to do with mee?” She asks. “Why, why am I here? Where even amm I?”

My lips tilt. That sweet, soft, vulnerable tone does things to me that she can’t even imagine. I drop my own eyes to stare at her body that’s on full display for me once more.

“You’re in my home.” I say. “And that’s where you’re going to remain from now on.”

“Your, your home?” She whispers.

I lean in, seize the moment and claim her mouth once more but as we break apart, she screws her face up before slamming her head right into mine.

“You fucking bitch.”

“I won’t staaay here.” She screams. “I won’t be your, your, your sex slave or whatever the fffuck you think I am.”

The laugh I let out is loud, cruel, and I know it puts her even more on edge. Does she really think that’s all I want her for? Is she that stupid? Or perhaps her family has her so downtrodden that she doesn’t believe she is worthy of anything else, worthy of more.

Perhaps that’s it, my sweet little doll sees me as too good for her. Too above her, too high up the order to be anything better than that in my eyes.

“I don’t want you as a sex slave.” I state, stroking her hair softly. “I can take any woman from Oblivion for that.”

“Then what…?”

“You’re going to be my wife.” I cut across her. “Our families want a marriage, and they’ll have one. But it’ll be you I tie myself to. You who bears my children, not Giselle.”

She gulps, shaking her head more and from the tiny trickle of blood I can see, she split her lip when she headbut me. “I don’twant, I don’t…” She draws herself up, shattering that illusion I have of her, that notion that she saw herself as lower than me. She’s fighting back the tears now, and that pisses me off more. “I want to go home. Taaake me home.”

“You are home.” I reply.

She shakes head more violently. “I want to go home.” She starts screaming. As if she had one, as if that place she grew up in was a sanctuary and not a glorified prison camp.

“Enough.” I sigh, growing bored. Only she doesn’t relent, she sobs even harder. Begging for me to return her, begging for me to let her go, to marry Giselle instead.

Christ, does she not get it? How can she not understand? I’ve done all of this for her, for us. She should be thanking me. She should be getting on her knees and treating me like I’m her very salvation.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t waaant you. I don’t waant to be your wife.” She sobs.

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