Chapter 5 BRUTALLY SEXED
CHAPTER FIVE
The words hit me like a slap across the face.
“Kane has requested you tonight.”
Nanny’s voice was filled with concern, as she set the tray of food in front of me. I stared at the steaming bowl of stew, my spoon frozen halfway to my mouth. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought they might crack.
“It’s fine,” she added, noticing my silence.
“You won’t die.”
I wanted to cry or scream. Or throw the bowl across the room.
Won’t die?
That was supposed to comfort me?
I forced the spoon into my mouth anyway, tasting nothing. She was right about one thing….I needed strength.
Later, when the house grew quiet and the halls dimmed, I stood outside his room. My knuckles hovered over the wood for what felt like forever before I finally knocked.
“Come in.”
His voice was low, smooth, the kind that could charm you one second and terrify you the next. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my bare feet silent on the cold floor.
Kane was sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless, the lamplight casting shadows over the sharp lines of his face.
He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, like staring at a storm cloud right before the lightning hits. Those dark eyes locked onto me, unblinking, and every memory I had of him flooded back at once. The gunshot. The woman’s body crumpling to the floor. The way he hadn’t even flinched.
My stomach twisted.
He didn’t speak at first. Just watched me, the air between us thick with something I couldn’t name. Hunger. Power. Anger. Maybe all three.
“Take off your clothes,” he said finally.
The words landed heavy, final. My breath caught in my throat.
This was it.
I was going to be used. Broken. Thrown away when he was done.
I hesitated, fingers trembling at the hem of my gown.
“Anything that makes me repeat myself,” he said quietly, “will kill you.”
There was no threat in his tone. Just fact. Like he was telling me the sky was dark outside.
My hands moved before my mind caught up. The gown slipped down my body and pooled at my feet. I stood there in nothing but my bra and panties, hugging my arms around myself, trying to hold onto whatever dignity I had left.
He tilted his head, eyes roaming over me slowly.
Then, to my surprise, he said, “Stop.”
“Sit there.” He nodded toward the armchair in the corner.
Confused, legs shaking, I crossed the room and lowered myself into the chair. My skin prickled under his gaze. I waited for him to stand, to approach me, to do something….anything that matched the horror stories I’d heard about men like him. The chains. The toys. The pain they craved.
Instead, he disappeared into the adjoining room.
My mind raced. He was getting something. Something to hurt me with. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to brace myself.
When he returned, he was carrying… a drawing board. Pencils. A small case of paints.
I blinked. What?
He set everything up on a small table near the window, arranging the board just so. Then he sat on a stool, picked up a pencil, and looked at me.
“Stay still,” he said.
And he began to sketch.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft scratch of pencil on paper. Minutes bled into an hour. My back ached from the stiff posture. My legs went numb. Cold air raised goosebumps on my skin.
Every time I shifted even slightly, his eyes flicked up-sharp, warning. I forced myself to freeze again.
But eventually, the twitching in my left leg became unbearable. I leaned forward just an inch to ease the cramp.
“I said stay still.”
His voice cracked like a whip. Before I could react, he hurled the bottle of paint in his hand. It flew past my head and shattered against the wall behind me, splattering deep crimson across the white paint like blood.
I screamed.
The sound tore out of me before I could stop it.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, sliding off the chair and onto the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”
“It was one simple thing,” he said, voice low and furious. “One. Stay still.”
Tears burned my eyes. “Please don’t kill me.
Please, I didn’t mean to….”
He stood abruptly. In two strides he was in front of me. His hand gripped my arm, yanking me up like I weighed nothing. The next thing I knew, I was thrown onto the bed, landing hard on my back.
“You ruined it,” he growled, looming over me.
“You ruined her.”
His eyes were wild now, something unhinged flickering behind them.
“I didn’t even want to do this tonight,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
Then his hands were on my panties. One brutal yank and the fabric tore in half.
“No…” The word ripped from my throat.
“Please, no. Please don’t do this.”
I begged. I cried. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong, too heavy. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand while the other worked his belt open.
I turned my face into the pillow, squeezing my eyes shut as if that could make it stop. But nothing stopped it.
He forced himself inside me in one violent thrust.
The pain was immediate and blinding. A scream tore from my lungs as I felt myself tear. It burned like fire, like being split open from the inside. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All I could do was cry and beg and pray for it to end.
But it didn’t end.
He moved hard and fast, each thrust driving deeper, punishing. My body shook with sobs. Blood slicked my thighs….I could feel it, warm and wet. I bit down on my lip trying not to scream again.
I don’t know how long it lasted.
Minutes?
An eternity?
All I knew was pain and terror and the crushing weight of him on top of me.
Finally, he groaned low in his throat and stilled, spilling inside me. The warmth of it made me want to vomit.
He collapsed beside me, chest heaving.
I lay there, trembling, afraid to move. Afraid to even breathe too loudly.
Then I heard it…his breathing changed. Sharper. Uneven.
I risked a glance.
He was staring at me. Not with satisfaction. Not with cruelty.
With something that looked almost like… shock.
Like he hadn’t meant to go that far.
Like he was seeing me, really seeing me, for the first time.
I didn’t wait to find out what it meant.
The second his grip loosened, I scrambled off the bed, grabbing whatever scraps of clothing I could find. My torn panties were useless. Blood streaked the sheets, bright and accusing. I pulled the gown over my head with shaking hands, wincing as the fabric brushed raw skin.
Between my legs, everything throbbed. Walking felt impossible. Standing felt impossible.
He sat up slowly, watching me in silence as he refastened his trousers.
Then, without a single glance back, he walked out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I sank to the floor, curling into myself as sobs wracked my body. The pain was everywhere. sharp and deep and unrelenting. But worse than the physical ache was the hollow feeling inside my chest.
I had survived.
But something in me had shattered tonight, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back.
And as I lay there on the cold floor, covered in blood and shame, one terrifying question echoed in my mind:
Will i ever be free from this?