“Do you still want me to stop, Abigail?” His touch on my ankle was soft now. His thumb stroked the bone, back and forth, too light. Too sweet.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Say no, Abigail.” The way his voice lower
ed into a vibration made it sound like a threat, but he was threatening me to make him stop.
I couldn’t do it, either way. I couldn’t say no.
“There’s no going back, Theo.”
Misery. That’s the brine on my tongue.
I promise by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for everyone but me.
He was right in the end.
Some emotion flickered across his features at my words. It was followed by another barely-there second of that addictingly sweet touch; then his grasp hardened, and he yanked me to the edge of the bed. He lifted one ankle to his shoulder, and then leaned over me, hands at my neckline, tearing my dress down the middle.
Hours before he’d wondered if it was held up by magic; now the lace was torn between his fingers.
His touch left me too soon, but one hand returned, between my thighs.
“Oh, I get why you didn’t want to stop.” He laughed, rubbing my panties into me. “What did it? What part of this is getting you so fucking wet, Reject?”
I was stuck on him, the way he watched me. It was reminiscent of our first night together, when he drank in every sigh, goose bump, and bitten lip. But unlike that night, I had a feeling I was going to regret his worship.
He rubbed my silk panties against me, a concentric, intoxicating rhythm. I wanted him to rip them off. I would deal with the emotional fallout after. All I knew was I wanted Theo’s rough, knowing hands on me.
“Is it knowing you’re second best?” he asked, pushing aside my panties. He slid one finger into me, and I must’ve gasped, but it was drowned out under his groan.
His groan.
Deep, strangled, and unfair. Unfair he gives it to me after such cruel words.
His fingers left me. I was shocked, and so empty. A cruel fucking tease.
But then he was at my entrance, his thick cock spreading me. He held one ankle on his shoulder, my other gripped in his hand. I’d never been so obscenely open, vulnerable, and so ripped apart.
But he waited.
For me to say no? To push him away? I should. Tears were drowning my face.
Instead, I arched my back.
He slammed into me. I arched higher off the bed, but he gave me no reprieve.
“Abigail Crowne,” Theo taunted with another powerful thrust. “So unloved she can’t love in return.”
“Abigail Crowne”—thrust—“has told herself so many lies the truth looks fake.”
Theo pushed deeper and deeper until I could only gasp. Deeper than I ever thought I could take, harder than I thought I could manage.
“Abigail Crowne”—thrust—“a pathetic, rejected princess.”
“Why are you doing this?” Tears streamed down my cheeks, not from physical pain, but from the brutal, emotional battering I was receiving. Physically, Theo was driving me to ecstasy.
The combination was ripping me apart. He was weaving two existing dichotomies inside me irrevocably together.