69. Emily

69

EMILY

M y heart was beating much faster than it should. Almost like the damn thing was trying to pump its way out of my chest. My stomach fluttering in waves and sweat beading on my forehead. Those very same little droplets of moisture then dripping down my temples and pooling in my hair. I was gulping in breath after breath, my lungs expanding and contracting at double the speed and my skin hot all over.

I felt like I was both dying and being resurrected at the same time.

I needed to get out of here. This room. This building. But no matter how hard I tried to yank myself free, the straps on my arms and legs wouldn't budge. A realization that seemed to send my anxiety into overdrive. Almost as much as the idea of being forced to have a kid with the madman playing the part of a mad scientist.

I'd take a coat hanger to myself before I'd let that happen. He'd figure that out soon enough.

I felt like I was fucking dying as Cohen dropped a knee onto the table, leaning forward before quickly shoving himself inside me. The first thrust left me gasping. The second and third had me squeezing my eyes shut while everything after that didn't really register as my lashes fluttered open again and I stared past the top of his skull into the blinding whiteness of the overhead lights.

His voice was close to my ear again, his rough facial hair scraping across my cheek as he whispered a mixture of promises and threats. None of them meaning much of anything. They were just words. And this was just a moment in time. Like everything else, it would all pass.

At least that's what I kept telling myself until his hand migrated to the space between where our bodies were joined. His fingers circling. Making slow, sensual movements over my clit. While he continued to grind on top of me, matching the speed and rhythm. Each soft flick sent goose bumps rising across my skin, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end and my toes curling.

I didn't want to enjoy it. The things he was doing to my body. I didn't want to acknowledge the tightening in my lower stomach or the pressure building between my legs. But it'd be so much easier if I did. If I pretended I liked it as much as my nerve endings seemed to.

It wasn't giving up. It was giving in. It was getting by until I could get out.

So I did. I closed my eyes, tipped my head back, and surrendered to the sensations. The push and pull. The delicious friction. The smell of soap and cologne. It may have been ten years since I allowed myself to bend to his will, but something about it was so familiar. And strangely nostalgic. Like my body recognized him even when I couldn't.

I knew I was fucked. In every possible way a person could be fucked. But I couldn't be bothered to care when my thighs began shaking. My nipples tenting the thin fabric that barely separated us and my walls contracting and sucking him deeper. Keeping him close. Trapped. Until we both got what we wanted from each other. Then I hit that point of no return, allowing wave after wave of ecstasy to wash over my body as I twitched and trembled beneath him. One, two, three more pumps and Cohen was right there with me. A single eyebrow raised and a stupid fucking grin on his face.

"Do you know what happens to a woman's body when she experiences an orgasm?" It was one of those questions that wasn't really a question, seeing as he kept talking anyway. "Besides a natural rise in blood pressure and release of oxytocin—the hormone that bonds you with your partner and makes you much more receptive to intermingling your DNA—the pelvis muscles contract, raising the cervix while pooling the sperm at the point of entry, which is believed to increase the likelihood of conception by nearly fifty percent."

He didn't have to explain what he was telling me without telling me anything—and I didn't mean all the self-inflated doctor talk. No, he was saying this entire exchange had been about him and what he wanted. My pleasure just a byproduct of his manipulation.

Then he was pushing off the metal table, the smell of sex and shame permeating the air as Cohen tugged his pants back in place and adjusted his zipper. I watched him walk into a storage closet, reappearing a second later with a pillow tucked under his arm and a bottle of water in his hand. Two more steps forward had him standing between my legs again as he shoved the pillow under my ass before using the restraints on my ankles to raise my knees. He bent down, locking something in place and then his head was popping back up again.

"There's no scientific evidence to suggest lying flat does much of anything. But it sure as shit doesn't hurt to try, now does it, pet?" Cohen said with a wink, which wasn't much different from blinking when you only had one eye, as he maneuvered around the table to position himself by my head. His crotch at eye level now.

He twisted off the bottle top with his teeth before taking a long swig of water, his cheeks puffing out as he held it there. Using his fingers to pry my mouth open and pinch my nose closed as he lowered his face and allowed the water to slowly drip through his lips onto mine.

I had two choices. Swallow or choke. Which wasn't much of a choice at all.