Chapter 10

ten

I lay on the couch, every breath a battle against the pain that wracked my body. Grayson had left, but his presence lingered like a toxic cloud, suffocating me even in his absence. The silence of the house pressed in on me, broken only by my ragged breathing and the occasional creak of settling wood.

Days blurred together, punctuated by Grayson's increasingly frequent visits. The violence I'd come to expect gave way to something far more unsettling – a gentleness that turned my stomach. His touch, once brutal and punishing, became almost tender. It was a mockery of care that left me more shaken than his previous assaults.

One night, I jolted awake, heart pounding. The room was pitch black, but I sensed a presence. As my eyes adjusted, a familiar silhouette materialized by my feet.

Terror froze me in place. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He stood motionless, watching me. The mask hid his expression, but I felt the weight of his gaze boring into me.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached out. I wanted to scream, to run, but my body was broken. I lay there, paralyzed, as his fingers slipped under the blanket. They brushed against my hip, and pain exploded through me. I bit back a cry, tears stinging my eyes.

His hand moved lower, pressing against the places where my bones should have been shattered. The agony was blinding. I choked on a scream, my vision going white at the edges. Just when I thought I'd pass out, the pressure eased.

Grayson's touch became feather-light, almost reverent as it lingered over my abdomen. The gentleness was worse than the pain. It felt like a violation, this twisted parody of intimacy. My breath caught in my throat, confusion warring with revulsion.

For one horrifying moment, a traitorous part of my mind whispered that maybe he was trying to help. The thought made bile rise in my throat. This monster wasn't capable of kindness. Whatever this was, it wasn't meant to comfort me.

Suddenly, he pulled back. The silence stretched, taut as a wire about to snap. Then, he spoke. His voice was low, rough from disuse, but unmistakable.

"It's…healing…"

The words hit me like a physical blow. My blood turned to ice in my veins. It wasn't just the shock of hearing him speak after so long. It was the implication behind his words. He knew.

He knew about the unnatural way my body was knitting itself back together. The broken bones that should have taken months to heal were already mending. Bruises faded faster than they should. Cuts closed before my eyes.

I'd tried to convince myself I was imagining it, that the isolation and trauma were playing tricks on my mind. But Grayson's words confirmed my worst fears. Something was happening to me, something beyond my understanding.

Tremors wracked my body. I wanted to deny it, to scream that he was wrong. But the words wouldn't come. All I could do was lie there, shaking, as the full weight of my situation crashed down on me.

Grayson stood there, watching. I could feel his eyes on me, drinking in my fear and confusion. Whatever was happening to me, he understood it. And that terrified me more than anything else.

The silence stretched on, heavy with unspoken questions and dark possibilities. I lay there, trapped between Grayson's looming presence and the growing horror of my own body's betrayal.

He smiled, or at least, I imagined he did. There was no mistaking the predatory anticipation that rolled off him in waves. My breath hitched in my throat as he reached for me, his gloved fingers cool against my skin.

I felt his touch between my legs, invasive and intimate. His fingers probed gently at first, exploring my delicate inner walls, searching for wounds that were no longer there. The pain should have been searing, but instead, there was a warmth building inside me, a treacherous heat that threatened to consume me.

When he found the spot that made me gasp, his curiosity was piqued. His fingers pressed firmer, a clinical sort of intrigue that made my stomach churn. Was it pain or pleasure that colored my expression? I didn't know myself, caught in the maelstrom of sensations that flooded through me.

His other hand pressed down on my abdomen. I winced as he prodded at the tender flesh, but the pain was swiftly replaced by a dizzying surge of pleasure as he continued to massage my g spot with maddening precision.

Tears streamed down my face. The wetness that coated his fingers was undeniable.

He began to move within me, a slow, deliberate rhythm that stoked the fire he'd ignited. My sobs filled the room, mingling with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking me. I was powerless to resist, pinned beneath him as he claimed me body and soul.

When I came, it was like a dam bursting within me. The force of my orgasm wracked my body, eliciting a cry that echoed off the walls of my prison. I felt violated and alive, my nerves singing with the intensity of the sensations coursing through me.

He withdrew his fingers, and for a moment, he was still. Then, with a fluid grace, he brought his hand to his mask. I heard the wet sound of him sucking my essence from his gloves.

And just like that, he was gone. The room was plunged back into silence, the only sound my ragged breathing and the fading echo of my heartbeat in my ears.