Page 7 of Depravity

As his hand reaches up to touch me I jerk back, pushing my body back, and my spine connects with the hard surface of a hundred-year-old bookcase.

“You’re a flighty little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, as if this is a game. As this is some sort of joke.

Only, I know the consequences if this goes wrong, if I’m caught here alone with him. He’ll walk away scott-free and me, I’ll be carted off, sent to Oblivion on a one-way ticket.

“I, you, we shouldn’t be here.” I stammer, trying to sound far more in control of this situation than I feel. My heart is already slamming into my chest. My pulse is already erratic. And in my head, I’m already chastising myself. Lamenting my stupidity. Because I was safe in my room. I was fine. I had enough books. I should have been content with what I had stashed away. But I was greedy, reckless, I wantedthisbook, this one damned book, and now look where I am.

I’m teetering on a cliff edge, about to be ruined and all because I couldn’t wait a few days for Wuthering bloody Heights.

He tuts, as if my words mean nothing, as if my fear is nothing. And he flicks through the book like he thinks it’ll be full of silly pictures instead of actual words.

“You like reading romance?” He questions.

“It’s not, not romance.” I reply. “It’s not a love story. It’s about ha-ate. Anyone that’s really read that book, that really unnnnderstands it, knows that that is the real plottt.”

He arches a brow, and those stupidly full lips of his curl up into a grin. Does he find my speech impediment amusing, is that it? He’s acting like if I’m flirting with him. Christ, does the man have no sense whatsoever? Does he really have such little regard for anyone else’s life but his own?

He places the book above my head, too high for me to reach. I feel like a child being tormented by a school bully. Only I’ve spent my life with bullies, I’ve grown up in a nest of them, and if he thinks he can intimidate me that easily then he has another thing coming.

Fuck Bronte, fuck Heathcliff, none of this is worth the risk.

As I push past to leave, he yanks me back. Wrapping a hand around my throat, he pins me right back against that unforgiving shelf once more.

“Whatttt are you doing?” I gasp.

“You want the book? I’ll make you a deal.”

My eyes narrow. Suspicion fills my stomach. I don’t give a fuck about anything anymore, I just know that I need to get out of here, need to escape before all this escalates even further.

“Let me go.” I say as forcefully as I can.Please just let me go.

“For a price.”

No. I shake my head.No price. No deal.

He lets out a little laugh. God, he really does see this entire thing as a joke. For a second, I wonder what it would be like, to be a Lord and not a Lady. To know that the rules are different, to know that I can do whatever I want, and the repercussions won’t be utterly catastrophic.

His spare hand skims up my body, coming to a rest on my arse. I jerk more, shock and something else quickly replacing the suspicion that was there before. The problem is that he’s so much bigger than me, he towers over me, and I already feel like I’ve lost this fight before it’s even begun.

But my leg comes up anyway. I jam it into his crotch and he groans, falling forward, pinning me further in place.

“That was rude.” He states, regaining his composure far quicker than I would have liked. Clearly, I didn’t knee him hard enough.

“Let. Me. Go.” It takes all I have to enunciate every word, but it still makes no difference.

His hand grips my throat tighter and tuts with obvious annoyance. “You just hurt me.” He says like I’m a child, like I didn’t do it on purpose. “I’m a guest in your home.” He says like I don’t know it, like it needs to be stated. The air seems to grow more tense. My head screams bloody murder, and I jerkuselessly in his grip. “I think you should kiss it better.” He adds with a smirk that makes my heart stop.

“Ex-xcuse me?”

He undoes his belt, pulls his actual dick out and I stare, dumbfounded at it.

This can’t be happening. This can’t possibly be real.

I can barely wrap my head around the fact thatthatis what they look like when he yanks my neck hard.

“Kiss it better.” He orders. “Or I’ll tell your aunt what a naughty thing you’ve been, up after hours when you should have been tucked away in your bed asleep.”

My eyes fill with tears. I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to give in either, but I also know that’s not an idle threat.

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