Page 128 of Shattered Souls
Wrapping my hand around the side of his neck, I inch closer. His hand is a brand on my lower spine, a crushing weight carrying me forward until my lips press to his.
Eyes squeezed shut, I count the seconds.
One.
Two.
His lips remain unmoving against mine.
Blood rushes in my ears. My heart thrashes in my chest.
I force my mouth to move over his. Force my tongue to sweep along his lower lip. Force myself to relax into him.
His lips part slightly, a silent order which I resentfully obey.
The second the tip of my tongue toys with his, his self-control snaps.
A wild snarl rips from his throat. The hand holding my face moves to the back of my head to keep me in place while the hand on the base of my spine forces me into his lap as he takes control.
I force myself to stay still. To take it. To give it back until we’re both breathless and heaving.
“Fuck,” he rasps, grip still bruising. His pupils are blown, his eyes black and wild with want. He nips at my lips, and I cringe at the sting. He chuckles. “I love it when you’re good, but I think I love it more when Daddy’s little girl is naughty.”
Something must cross his mind as his gaze hardens, and in the next second, I’m choking, spluttering, fingers scraping at the hand wrapped tightly around my throat.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he practically yells in my face. “Was it thathockey player? Were you a slut for him? How aboutmy son?You thought you could replace me withhim?”he spits. “And that boy you were sitting beside at the arena—have you been spreading your legs for him, too?”
My only response is a suffocating gurgle as I fight uselessly against his superior strength. Bertram has morphed into something truly demonic, his eyes blazing with a raging fire and his body vibrating with fury as he squeezes tighter.
Tighter.
Tighter.
My muscles grow heavy, my body getting weaker.
Black spots steadily enlarge across my vision.
Royce’s blue eyes. Logan’s winter scent. Grayson’s heavy weight.
Aurora’s child-like laugh.
Those are the last thoughts bef?—
Choking and spluttering, I ignore the jagged pain vibrating up my tailbone as I roll onto all fours and splutter over the tiled floor. Saliva trails from my lower lip, dangling as I drag in a raspy breath, hungrily filling my starved lungs as the room comes back into focus.
Black loafers appear in my line of sight, but I don’t have the energy to peer up at their owner. “You have thirty minutes.” His voice comes in and out as though he’s yelling down a long tunnel before he stalks off, leaving me alone on the dining room floor, bruised and traumatized.
And the torture has only begun.
36
RILEY
With careful movements, I slide out from beneath a passed-out Aurora. A moan escapes as she rolls onto her stomach, and I reach down to brush her hair out of her face before sweeping a loving hand down her spine. Reluctantly, I make myself pull my hand away, tucking the covers around her tiny frame before I grab my heels, slip silently from the bedroom, and close the door behind me.
In the hallway, heels dangling from my fingers, I lean my forehead against the door and breathe deeply. Or, I try. I haven’t taken a full breath since Bertram walked into that bathroom at the arena. Eyes closed, I try again. And again, until I at least feel like I’m not coming out of my skin.
I can wish and pray on falling stars that this isn’t happening, but the truth is thatit is. This. Is. Actually. Happening. And with every minute I waste standing out here, I’m risking my daughter’s safety.
