Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lara

For the second time within a few hours, I wake feeling groggy and confused. The digital alarm clock beside my bed screeches, letting me know it's eight-thirty.

Two groans fill the air.

Michael reaches over me, knocking off the alarm. His hair is mussed, his eyes heavy as he kisses me. Our lips move together lazily, and the small spikey hairs on his cheek tickle my skin. I squirm, the weight of his arm on my waist and the pain between my legs drawing me further out of sleep.

The man hadn't been joking when he'd said I'd feel him all day. It's like an imprint of his cock was made as far deep inside me as he could get.

My inner thighs feel raw; the skin is chafed and still sticky. My muscles scream, and pain shoots from my thighs to my crotch, making me flinch.

My eyes widen at the memories of what we did last night. The sex while his brother cleaned the room, the repeated fucking Michael gave me, breaching my ass. The man he killed.

Life will never be the same, no matter what I do.

"Stop," he tells me sternly, a sweet kiss to the side of my head taking away some of the bite his word carries.

I nod, biting my top lip. I do as he says and stop pulling at the rope. It wasn't giving way anyway. My breath shudders out of me, but I have no more tears left.

A small pulse jumps behind my right eye. I need water, painkillers, and coffee, and not in that order.

I bring my hands down to my chest. "Please?" I motion to the rope keeping me in bed.

Michael ignores my plea, his arm tightening around my waist.

I turn my head toward him and whisper, "I need to go to school."

His brow rises, his eyes assessing.

But it's not a lie. I do have class.

Michael smirks, his fingers teasing as they lower the blanket. "You could always call out sick." His body moves closer but stops, leaving a little space between us. Head bent, his next words are whispered into my neck. "You do sound hoarse. Not that I'd expect anything less with all that screaming last night." I can feel his smile.

Shame fills me. I had screamed for him, screamed for more. Begged, even.

I pull away quickly, staggering to my feet. The rope keeps me planted close to the bed, my back hunched slightly.

The early morning light hasn't quite started to come through the drapes, leaving the room shrouded in shadows, yet I have never felt more exposed, not even when he was devouring my body last night.

This morning , my mind corrects.

A twinging in my crotch reminds me that barely a few hours ago, we were still rolling around in tangled sheets.

"I can't. I have a test." I lie, yanking on the rope hard enough that the bed frame moves.

"Stop," he orders sharply, standing quickly. "You'll hurt yourself."

I'm already hurting.

Gentle fingers soothe the red skin, stroking softly as he releases me.

Stepping back, I remove myself from his touch, practically sprinting toward the bathroom.

"Lara," Michael calls, "One day soon, you'll find out what happens when you're dishonest with me."

My throat bobs as I swallow my fear. His words hold a threat of violence, and after what I saw last night, fear should be the only thing I feel . . . but it's not. My nipples are beaded, my breasts heavy. My ass clenches, and my pussy weeps.

Quietly, we just stare, our gazes locked.

Finally, Michael relents, climbing back into bed. Running his fingers through his hair, he settles against the pillows.

"Take a quick shower, and I'll drive you to school."

What? No!

I need space and time to think of how to fix this.

My mouth opens to say something, anything. But one look at his face and my words evaporate.

I quietly head into my bathroom, hating how, after everything, I still take in the way his bicep bulges, how defined his six-pack is, and how much it bothers me to see those small silvery scars that litter his torso as I shut the door.