Betrayed by Truths (Truth or Lies 2)

But Enzo doesn’t give me time to prepare or argue against it. He thinks this is what I experienced on a daily basis on that yacht. That I felt worse than this. That this is nothing in comparison. He thinks the reason I’m in pain is because I’m back there again.

It’s not.

The pain is real.

The pain at never thinking a man would ever want to fuck me.

That a man would never find me attractive.

That a man would never see me as anything but broken.

Enzo doesn’t see me that way. He sees me as a woman deserving to be punished—a woman he is desperate to fuck.

He thrusts again.

“Fuck you,” I scream at the pain.

Although Enzo thinks I’m screaming at him.

Another thrust, hitting me so deeply I can’t imagine he can go deeper inside.

His hands are at my hips, sinking inside me deeper and deeper. Stretching me wider than I’ve ever been stretched.

I feel the blood oozing as he penetrates me. I feel myself being ripped.

I feel the tears dripping down my cheeks. But not from the torture—from the release of the pain and agony.

Enzo is setting me free whether he means to or not. This is what my body needs—not a sweet entry into womanhood. This.

I start relaxing, opening myself to the pain as he starts pounding into me in a brutal rhythm meant to torture me with his cock.

But then he changes his angle, and I feel his body rubbing against my clit. The alternating pain and pleasure overwhelm me. Almost forgetting my part I need to release to fully be free. The part he needs to hear.

It takes everything inside me to speak and not in a curse. “I’ve never been sold.”

He stares at me but doesn’t slow his thrusts as if he can barely understand what I’m saying.

“I’ve never been sold. Truth or lie?” I ask.

“You want to play now?”

“Just answer me,” I grit out between painful tears.

“Lie.”

I nod. But he pounds faster, and the pain turns to quick panting on the verge of coming, but it doesn’t make up for the pain he put me through in his journey to get punishment.

“I’ve never been tortured.”

The s

cars of my torture mark my body, making it an obvious lie.

“Lie.”

Faster he pounds into me—rougher, harder. Not relenting, despite my frantic breathing.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time.