Page 98 of Broken by my Bully
“Yeah, just like that,” he murmurs. “Nice and tight.”
He ducks, his hand darting between my legs from behind. If his thumb hadn’t been pressing down on my tongue, my squeal would have been much louder.
I try to knock him away, but then he hasmeby the throat, and I can’t even take a breath. My hands claw uselessly for his face, punch his waist. But he has me pinned with one fucking hand.
And all the while, he’s staring down his nose at me like I’m every bit the poor, needy slut he thinks I am.
“Kai!” My voice is hardly loud enough to carry past the tree line, but I still try to reason with him.
Or maybe I’m just antagonizing him so he’ll end it faster.
God knows, I haven’t always been Haven ‘Shake-It-Off’ Lee. In my darkest days, those where I slunk home at midnight only to hear my uncle’s bed creak as he got up to greet me, those nights I prayed for death.
I don’t know what the hell I want now.
For it to end?
For it to continue?
For it to never stop?
Now that I can breathe, my body is coming alive again. Pinpricks in my fingers and toes to remind me I’m still here, that I can still fight. A slow, hard ache in my core. Taunting me.
Because I still want him, just like I’ve always wanted him.
Kai was my one and only. My everything.
And despite the hatred seething in his eyes, the bittersweet pain radiating through my chest, I never stopped wanting him.
It explains why, when he uses his stranglehold to lift me up against the tree, that I barely struggle.
That, when he growls, “Spread ‘em,” and jerks my thighs apart, that I let him.
And I don’t hesitate to wrap them around his waist, because he might just throttle me, or he might just fuck me.
I don’t know what I deserve.
Or what I want.
But he doesn’t give me a choice.
I never had a choice, not now, not when we played in the woods. And I liked that, because I’d spent most of my short life deciding for everyone else, including myself.
Kai gave me the freedom just tobe.
My eyes flicker closed when he drags the hem of my sundress up my thighs. They fly open again when he sinks his fingers in, deep enough to dimple. Hard enough to bruise.
The hand around my throat tenses and relaxes as his attention shifts. His green eyes dart from my lips, to my throat, to my heaving chest, to where he’s clamping down on my leg.
“When did you become such an obedient mutt?” he muses to himself as he drags his fingernails up my inner thigh. They’re not long, not sharp, but he still leaves deep scratches behind that burn like hell.
When he shoves his hand between my legs and clamps down on my pussy, an electric thrill tears through me. I gasp, spluttering as his eyes dart back to mine and he tightens, tightens, tightens his grip on my neck.
I can’t speak anymore. He’s taken that from me, too.
Can’t object, can’t call for help.
Would I want to?
