Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Wyn

Pretty Thing.

I immediately stiffen when he calls me that. There's only one person who has ever called me Pretty Thing and that's Gabriel. He used to say my beauty was otherworldly, that I wasn't human. That's when he was being nice.

But Gabriel is dead.

I swallow and shake my head. "No," I say.

But even as I say the word, my body screams for his cock. My clit is tingling, pulsing, and it feels like I'm going to explode. But I can't tell him that because…what would it say about me? That I'm the whore Lucas claims I am?

He grabs my face with his free hand, squeezing, his masked face so close to mine, I can feel his warm breath through the thin fabric. "You're lying," he says harshly, shaking my face.

I'm trying to get away from him, scooching back, but to do that, I have to spread my thighs, so I can get some traction. I don't have much room, though, and in just a couple of inches, I'm hitting the back of my headboard.

He grabs my wrist, and pulls back, yanking me along with him. Shoving his cock back into his pants, he perches his foot on the mattress and bends me over his thigh—then he whacks me hard with his open palm. My body jerks forward with the force of it and sharp needle-like pain blooms across my ass. I yelp, and I hate that I give him that, but I can't help it.

"Lie to the world, Wyn. But never fucking lie to me," he says angrily, shoving me off his thigh and onto the bed. I watch over my shoulder as his silhouette moves in the near-darkness, removing his cock from his pants for the second time.

Grabbing a fist full of my hair again, he pushes into me. No prep, nothing. Thankfully, I'm already soaking wet, my body easing his harsh invasion.

And fuck, but it feels so damn good.

I should scream.

I should try to get away.

I should do anything but moan as his cock pushes into me balls deep. He's big, and he stretches me painfully. But mixed with the pain is a bone-deep pleasure that makes my eyes roll back. Thank God it's dark, and he can't see my face clearly.

Tightening his grip on my hair, his hips rock against me, his balls slapping against my clit. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to disassociate, thinking of something else. But electricity is snaking through my veins, and all I can focus on is the pain and the pleasure, and the way his cock fills me.

It only takes a few strokes before he lets go of my hair, and grips my hips, his blunt nails digging into my skin as he pulls me against him in a frantic rhythm. Finally, with one brutal stroke, he stills inside me, and I can feel his cock pulse as he pours himself into me.

When he's done, he doesn't immediately pull out. I'm on my knees, and he stays inside me for several seconds. I wait for him to say something, but there's just silence—our harsh breaths are the only sound in the room.

Slapping my ass, he shoves me forward, separating us. I flip around immediately, pulling a pillow over my naked body. Then without even cleaning himself off, he tucks his cock back into his pants.

"You came inside me again , you fucking asshole," I say harshly.

"I did," is his only reply.

"I'm not on birth control."

It's a lie. I'm on the Depo shot, and I don't even think Gabriel knew that. He never asked, and I never shared it with him. We always used condoms.

The masked stranger doesn't respond. He probably doesn't give a fuck whether I'm on birth control or not. Selfish cunt.

"The hospital can get your DNA now," I point out. It was dumb as fuck to come inside me. Now he can be identified.

"Let me know if they need a larger sample." I can hear the smirk in his voice. "I'm happy to come inside you again."

The flippant way he's talking about this makes me see fucking red. Grabbing the cheap elephant figurine I have on my nightstand, I chuck it at his head as hard as I possibly can. My aim is shit, though, and it flies right past him, hitting the refrigerator with a loud crash.

"You fucking cunt, " I yell.

But he's laughing, already headed for my front door. He unlocks it, and just before he's about to walk out, I catch a glimpse of something on his wrist. It's a pink scar running up his wrist vertically, about three inches long. Gabriel had that exact scar.

Am I imagining that?

Just as he's about to leave, he turns and says, "See you in your nightmares, Pretty Thing."

And then he's gone.

I stay on the bed for a couple of seconds, staring after him in disbelief, trying to process what I just saw. When I snap back to, I get up and lock the door—not that it matters. He seems to get in whenever the fuck he wants.

Should I call the police? Will they believe me?

After my heart rate slows down, I rush to take a shower. Despite my threats to run off to the hospital and get a swab done, I decide against it. I've already had one done and nothing came of it. Why do it again?

If I want to figure out what's going on, it's clear I'll have to do it myself.

After the masked man leaves, I don't sleep at all. I took a very quick shower, and now I'm just lying in bed and blinking up at the ceiling, replaying every detail of what happened. I analyze his voice, his mannerisms, the infection in his voice, everything.

I know him. I do. The way he moves is so familiar. And the scar…

Could it really be Gabriel?