FOUR
He punctuates his threat with a hard thrust of his hips, entering me on one brutal stroke. It hurts, the stretch as he fills me, but by the second blow I’m holding out for more.
My shoulder blades dig into the tiles as he lays his claim, my body violently shunted against the wall over and over again. Dallas threads his fingers through mine, placing our joined hands above my head as he presses them into the wall. The mix of pleasure and pain, the contrast of his satisfied groans and the brutal way in which he takes what he needs without wasting time on meaningless foreplay—I understand what he meant by stripping me of my soul.
I’d endure purgatory day in and day out if this were the reward I’d get each night.
“You’re mine now,” he growls as his thrusts become harder, jerkier. “You can’t leave,” he murmurs. “I won’t let you.”
I’ve heard these threats before from Terry, yet the difference is he would scream the lines at me as I cowered from his fists. I’m not stupid enough to call what I have with Dallas at this moment anything other than reckless lust, but the threats carry less weight when my core clenches at the fullness of his cock. Maybe I’m drunk on the sex; perhaps I’m the classic case of Stockholm syndrome and in love with my tormentor. Whatever the fuck it is, it’s the most treasured I’ve felt in a long time. I don’t care if it’s wrong.
When your life isn’t worth the paper it’s written on, love and acceptance come in any form you can get them. And right now, I’ll take it, even if a psychotic man who is yet to dispose of my boyfriend’s dead body dishes it out.
Dallas stills inside of me, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers three simple words that send me over the edge. “Come for me.”
I open my mouth and cry out as he resumes his brutal pace, falling undone around him when he places his fingers in my mouth and pulls down—hard.
“Mine to fuck when I want,” he grits out through a stiff jaw before his hips jerk as he shoots his load. “Understood?”
“Understood,” I pant.
“Mine to take where I want,” he continues as he slides out of me. “Mine to give to who I want.”
Wait. “What?”
He shrugs. “I go away when I work sometimes. You might need company.”
“I’m okay on my own.” Like fuck he’s going to lend me out like some cheap car.
Jesus. When did I start thinking about the future with this man as though it’s a given?
His lips curl up on one side as he steers me under the water and proceeds to clean away the cum that drips from my swollen folds. “You won’t be okay on your own, baby.” A cool chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest. “You’ll beg me to stay.”
I might be bent, traumatized from a life of abuse, but like hell I’d be that dependent on a man. Would I? A sinking feeling takes hold in my gut as I realize that this man, this stranger, might know me better than I know myself.
What the hell have I got myself into? “Where will you take me?”
He slides a lazy digit inside my pussy, hooking it around to tickle my still sensitive spot. My legs buckle around his hand as he answers, “Home.”
I slam both hands down on his shoulders to steady myself. “This is my home.”
“No, April.” He slips his finger free and resumes cleaning. “It’s a rotten fucking shoebox in a building that should have been condemned decades ago.”
Maybe so, but it was mine … ours. I worked hard to save up the security to get us into this place. The security that would be gone twice over by now, I’m so behind on the lease.
Dallas rinses the suds from my body and then with a firm slap to my ass, orders, “Out.”
I do as I’m told, too drained to fight about something as petty as being instructed to dry off. He washes as I towel dry with the same one we used last night, and then go to find some clean clothes.
“April,” he calls as I step out into the living area.
“Yeah?”
He pops his head out the shower door, and fuck it all if that boyish smile doesn’t undo at least half of what he’s put me through so far. “What will I use?” He pointedly flicks his gaze to the fluffy towel.
Right. Of course. “Sorry.” I quickly hang it on the rail and then head out to get my clothes with my arms crossed over my naked chest.
The water shuts off as I tug on a clean pair of panties, and then go in search of a bra. There isn’t one. At least, not one that won’t smell like Terry’s work clothes in the laundry pile. Dallas steps out of the bathroom in nothing but his jeans as I pull a loose sweater over my head, hoping the way the material hangs will hide the fact my girls are swinging free until I can get enough together for the Laundromat.
“Let’s get something straight,” he states as he runs the towel over his head, messing his hair up in a way that makes me forget what a monster he can be. “You try to hide your body from me again, I’ll make it so your arms are too fucking sore to cross over yourself. Got it?”
“Are you done with the threats yet?” Amazing what extra confidence a slip of cotton and two feet of breathing space can give a girl.
He tips his chin down, those shark eyes blacker than black as he grins. “Warnings. Not threats, baby. Warnings.” He tosses the towel carelessly on the floor. “They’d be threats if I didn’t intend to go through with them, but I will hurt you if you don’t obey.”
“What if I don’t want to be your whore?” I snap. “What makes you think I’m not going to ditch you the first chance I get?”
My bravado seems to amuse him as he leans back on the rear of the armchair and folds his arms. “Where would you go? What would you do?” He lifts both hands to gesture at my apartment. “What have you got in this world other than a barren place to rest your head?” He pushes off the chair and marches across to my nightstand. “Where are the family photos, April?” He jabs at the empty space where the reminders of loved ones should sit. “Where are the signs that somebody gives a shit about you, or that you give a shit about anyone either?” He strides over to the bathroom and re-emerges with the jeans I wore last night, ramming his hands in the pockets as he carries them to where I stand. “Nope. No phone.” The denim hits the floor with a dull thud. “I haven’t seen you indicate that there’s anyone in this world who would miss you if you were gone, April. No one.”
He’s found the delicate center of who I am and smashed it to pieces with the weight of his words. I am redundant in this world. No work buddies, no family that care anymore, and no friends who would check in on me if I went silent.
I am alone, and that’s the one thing I hate the most. Hate with enough passion to consider trying a life with a crazed murderer.
I wasn’t entirely truthful when I said I’d be fine by myself. I’m okay on my own if I know somebody is coming back to me. I need to know I’m wanted. Not always loved. Just wanted.
A side effect of being repeatedly told you were a mistake as a child, I guess.
“You’re right,” I answer with monotone detachment. “There isn’t anyone.”
He frowns at my shift in attitude, my cool indifference to his pointed criticism. I’ve trumped him. Thrown him off course. He probably expected me to cry, to break down sobbing and to beg him to stay with me.
Instead, I pull in a deep breath and step toward him. There’s no point fighting to survive when I’ve got nothing to live for. No point asserting my rights and making a stand if there’s no oasis in my desert of failures.
I’m alone in this life, struggling to get by. I have no purpose. No greater good that brings light to anyone’s life.
I’m simply a waste of space without direction, and Dallas, he provides guidance on what to do, whom to be—even if I don’t like the sound of the woman I have become.
I lift both arms beside me, offering my wrists to the man with only death in his smile.
“What are you doing, April?”
“Obeying. I’m ready to go home now.”