Page 40 of Call It What You Want
“This is always how it was meant to be,” he says, pulling his head back. Cool air washes over my temple, but I don’t look athim. I don’t dare. My face is still turned away, so he grabs my jaw and forces me to look at him. “Look at me, Ava,” he growls.
I try to shake my head, but his grip on my face doesn’t allow much movement. With my eyes still closed, I grate out, “Fuck you.” It’s all I can say, the only control I have right now, and I’m going to hold onto it with white—fucking–knuckles.
But even as I try to distance myself from what’s happening, the hard, punishing rhythm of Jackson’s thrusts coaxes my clit back to life, and a deep shockwave rolls through my body. Then the head of his cock slams against my cervix—hard—dislodging a sharp, anguished moan from my lungs.
“That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. The chatting gets louder, more urgent. His cock seems to swell inside me, and there’s a steadier rhythm to his powerful thrusts.
“Look at me,” he repeats, squeezing my face so hard, it makes my eyes water. I try to hold off, but finally, the pain and pleasure are too much, and my eyes fly open. He’s staring down at me, an arrogant smile touching his lips. “There she is. There’s my girl.”
Then his thrust become more brutal and precise. I know what’s about to happen, and something snaps inside me. I push against his chest as hard as I possibly can. “No, wait…” I choke out.
He laughs cruelly at my effort to stop him. Then he thrusts into me one last time, taking me deep while at the same time, pulling me into a hot, punishing kiss. This isn’t a kiss from a fairytale—it’s rough and messy and meant to prove exactly who’s in control.
With his mouth still crushed to mine, and hot waves of his cum rush into my body. “That’s it, baby,” he grunts against my mouth. “Take my cum like a good girl. Every last fucking drop.”
A whimper is torn from my throat as his hips roll against me, pushing his cum deeper into my body.
When it’s all over, he pulls away, and I sag against the wall. His gaze is cold, detached, which leaves me feeling hollow and aching, like I’m nothing more than a used vessel.
With a soft cry, I collapse to the floor, my trembling legs unable to support me any longer. He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t try to help. He just walks away.
The fucking cunt.
Tears streak down my cheeks. Every inch of me feels wrung out—used, discarded. I get maybe thirty seconds to catch my breath before a rough hand grabs me and yanks me off the floor. With Jackson’s cum dripping down my inner thighs, I’m dragged to the center of the room, where there’s a gold crown on fire.
What the…?
More chanting. God only knows what they’re saying. And Jackson is leaning over a small table, scrawling his name across a sheet of paper. When he’s done, he holds the feather pen out to me, his face blank.
My voice cracks. “What is this?”
“Sign it,” he says.
I blink down at the document, but my vision is blurry, and the words are swimming, bleeding together like watercolors. I shake my head and try to step back, but there’s someone directly behind me.
“I’m not signing some random piece of paper,” I choke out.
The chanting takes on a lower, more sinister tone.
Jackson steps up to me.
“Sign it,” he repeats, and this time, his voice is low, sharp. Final.
I have two choices—I can either fight and lose anyway, or sign the stupid paper and put an end to this whole fucking nightmare. I’ll deal with the repercussions later, when I’m not drugged and exhausted. There are at least thirty people here whocan vouch for the fact that I was coerced into signing whatever this is.
With a shaky breath, I snatch the pen from his hand. I’m just about to scrawl my name when his voice cuts through the air. “Yourrealsignature.”
I’m going to murder this cunt in his sleep.
I sign quickly, toss the pen down, and straighten, glaring at him through the fog that’s still clouding my brain. Someone swoops in and whisks the paper away like it’s sacred scripture, off to be sealed in blood or waved around under the next full moon.
“Happy?” I snap, bracing myself against the table. “Can we end this now?”
Jackson removes something from his pocket. “It’s already done,” he says, leaning forward to secure something around my neck. It’s a gold necklace with a heavy pendant that settles against my breastbone. “Welcome to the family,wife.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jackson
