Cruel Intentions | ✓

08 | IMPERIUM

08
IMPERIUM

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       HE WAS ROUGH, too rough.

      She had always let him do what he wanted. Given him what he wanted. She would've stolen the mourning moon for him if that's what he wanted.

       So she lay there, face down against the counter, ass up for him. She just wanted him to feel good. But it hurt her so fucking bad.

       The way he held her, the way he kissed her. She ought to have gotten used to it by then, but she hadn't, and she hated herself for it. She wanted to make him proud.

       The sharp edge of the bathroom counter dug into her stomach. It was piercing her, digging too deep into her. She wanted to cry.

       He didn't even notice.

       It was during an act that was meant to be about pleasure and intimacy that she felt herself break. Where were the teasing touches and wondrous whispers she read about? Instead, all he gave her were too-tight grips and animalistic grunts.

       She squeezed her eyes shut, telling herself to just get through it. She gripped the counter edge tightly, knuckles fading white as she desperately prayed for it to be over soon.

       She felt the sharp corner draw blood from her stomach.

       The pain ceased momentarily when he pulled her up only to smash her against the wall. She heard the sound of her head hit the cold wall.

       He didn't stop. He didn't ask if she was okay. He said nothing.

       His hands were everywhere, fisting her hair, clenching her wrists, clawing her thighs. She felt dizzy.

       He kissed her roughly as his hand closed around her neck. He forced her to tilt her head back, forced her to arch into him. He was holding her too tightly.

       His hands squeezed tighter. Her vision began to blur.

       She closed her eyes and told herself it was just the pleasure.

       But it wasn't. She was starting to suffocate. Her stomach was bleeding. Her legs were aching.

       Where had oxygen gone? Her lungs were closing. Her mind was bursting. She felt herself slipping.

       And just when she thought she couldn't breathe anymore, she felt her own hand reach out to hit him.

       It was a swift move. An impulsive decision. She shouldn't have done it.

       The room went silent and the sound of her palm against his cheek echoed. His movements stopped and he froze against her.

       Why? Why did she do that? Oh god, she shouldn't have done that.

       He released her and stepped away, breathing heavily. His twilight locks were tossed messily across his head. His body was drenched with sweat.

        She was gasping for breath as she stared at him, drowning in those obsidian eyes.

       His silence was a bullet. It dug into her skin, slaughtering her senses until she felt it suffocate her from the inside-out. His fists were clenched beside him, body completely still.

        Oh for fuck's sake, why had she done that? Why couldn't she just take it? Pain was good. Pain was good. Pain was good. She shouldn't have done it.

       The silence was deafening. Had seconds passed or minutes?

       But then he slapped her hard and deadly, making her neck snap to the side. He had never hit her like that before. His eyes were sunken bullet holes. He stepped towards her and punched his fist against the wall right beside her ear. He was angry.

       You bitch, he snarled. He gripped her chin tight, like he was trying to muzzle her. You think you get to do that to me? You think you get to fuck with me like that?

       He was almost spitting on her.

       Don't you ever, ever touch me again, his voice was deep, menacing, and hateful. He glared at her like she was a monster, like she was everything he despised.

       He shoved her hard against the wall and left, leaving her alone there — a bleeding, weeping, hurting mess.

       She wasn't sure what hurt more: her cheek from the slap, her stomach from the sharp edge, or her heart from breaking.

       His consuming imperium was all she knew, all she wanted.

       She hadn't meant to do that. She shouldn't have done that.

        She sobbed, hugging her cold, aching, naked self.

       She wanted him to come back. She would have done anything for him to come back. She would have let that corner dig into her until she split in half. She would have let him choke her until she learned to breathe without air.

       She needed him. Needed his control. Needed his cruelty.

       What was she worth without it?