Chapter 31: SHAMEFUL FEELINGS
Arianna
For a moment, confusion clouded my mind. He was feeding me? The thought was both absurd and incredibly arousing. Without questioning his motives, I eagerly opened my mouth and took a bite. His eyes, dark and intense, watched my every move as I chewed, savoring the unexpected flavors.
As soon as the taste registered, I almost choked on it. My eyes widened, and I opened my mouth to speak. “This tastes like heaven.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through my body. Stroking my lower lip with the pad of his index finger, he murmured, “Good.”
I smiled, my cheeks flushed with pleasure. I probably looked like a chipmunk, my mouth stuffed full of food, but I couldn’t stop myself. I continued to take small bites from the taco, amazed by the explosion of flavors – crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes, tangy tomato sauce, and savory chicken filling.
Just the way I loved them.
“T-this tastes amazing,” I swallow the last bite, licking remaining crumbs from my lips. “You’re the perfect book boyfriend. Cooking is good as well? Jesus, I will stay with you forever then,” I joke, but there’s a painful, undeniable truth woven into the jest. A truth that whispers of wanting, of needing, of surrendering to the twisted fantasy that had become my reality.
Nibbling my lips, Vincent tastes my mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss after a messy meal, his tongue sharing the lingering bits of sweetness.
When he finally breathes against my lips again, a shiver crawls down my spine, a chilling prelude to the storm I know is brewing.
“Book boyfriend? I will be your real husband who spoils you rotten. My girl needs a man who takes care of her needs, her pleasure, her happiness,” then his eyes darken, the playful glint replaced by a possessive fire. He curls his fingers around my neck, the pads pressing just hard enough to be a warning, a promise. He squeezes, ever so slightly. “And maybe a little bit of pain.”
Oh god.
My breath hitches. It’s a sound too close to a moan for my liking.
His eyes trail down, predatory and knowing, as I clench my thighs, feeling arousal bloom, shameful and unwelcome. The sight makes his nostrils flare, his grip tightening imperceptibly.
Humming softly, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through my bones, he lifts his eyes back to me. “Does that turn you on?”
I press my lips shut, clamping down on the shameful confession that threatens to spill. Shame coats my face, a burning flush that betrays me more than words ever could. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and self-conscious under his intense gaze. He knows my deepest secrets, the dark cravings I try so desperately to bury. And despite the fact that he has stalked me, manipulated, and drugged me, he has never acted on those things, never hurt me in the way I secretly, terrifyingly, wanted. I could never say it out loud; the words would choke me, the admission would shatter the last vestiges of control I have over my own desires.
Vincent tightens his hand around my neck, the pressure increasing just a fraction. For a heart-stopping second, I think he will choke me, push me over the edge into the darkness I both crave and fear. But that only makes me shamefully wet, a traitorous response that infuriated me. I can’t stop these feelings from surging to the surface, these twisted desires that prove how utterly broken I am.
He was always ahead of me, a master strategist playing a game I didn’t even understand. I was at a distinct disadvantage, caught in his web, a moth drawn to a deadly flame. He was a ruthless killer, capable of unspeakable acts, and I couldn’t do a damn thing if he decided to end me.
The reality of my situation crashes down on me, suffocating and terrifying.
The only thing I hated more about this situation was that a part of me liked it when he threatened me. I should be running, screaming, fighting for my life. Instead, I’m getting soaked by thoughts of him pleasuring me through pain, of surrendering to the darkness that lurks within us both. I was as twisted as he was, maybe even more so.
Will he lose his control this time? Will the carefully constructed facade of tenderness crumble, revealing the monster beneath? Maybe the sweet and gentle gestures have all been a calculated performance, a way to lure me in, to lull me into a false sense of security until he gets the chance to unleash the darkness he holds inside, to do whatever he wants with me. I couldn’t be sure, not anymore. I couldn’t trust anything he said, anything he did. He was a master of deception, and I was his willing puppet.
“I see your thoughts racing, little rabbit. Do I need to see for myself if you’re drenched for me?” He smirks, a predatory curve of his lips that sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through me. My skin prickles, and I struggle to maintain eye contact, to hide the truth that he already knows.
“I’m not,” I grit the words out, a pathetic attempt at defiance. I internally slap myself for rebelling, for provoking him. Do I need to be punished so badly that I am fighting him? Is my self-destruction so complete that I am actively seeking the pain I claim to fear?
“Hm, all right. I will confirm it then,” that’s the only warning I get. His other hand, the one not wrapped around my throat, moves with lightning speed, shoving inside my shorts, beneath my underwear. His fingers glide against my pussy, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I struggle to breathe, to stay still, to maintain any semblance of composure as I glare at him, my eyes blazing with a mixture of anger, fear, and a desperate, undeniable desire.
Slipping two of his fingers inside me, he invades the most intimate part of my body. I bite my lip, drawing blood, as a small, smug smile tugs at his lips. He knew I would be wet, knew the power he held over me, the way my body betrayed my will. He stuffs my hole like he owns me, like nothing is off-limits to him. Each press is a little spark of pleasure and pain. The friction is agonizing and delightful.
Drawing those fingers out, he holds my gaze, daring me to look away. I can’t. I’m transfixed, horrified, and utterly fascinated as he shows them to me. They glisten, slick with my arousal, dripping with the evidence of my shame. Jesus.