Page 100 of Breaking Rosalind
He reaches over and delivers a sharp slap to my breast, sending another jolt of pleasure to my clit. Quivering, I moan, my nipples aching for his cruel fingers. I want him to pinch and twist them. To make me scream.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re dripping. Streaming for me. Shaking like a fucking slut.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, loosening tears that roll down the sides of my face and mingle with my sweat. The last vestiges of my self-respect scream at me to get a grip, but my hips won’t stop chasing the pleasure.
It’s intoxicating.
“You should see your cunt,” he says, the words taunting. “It’s fucking pulsing.”
“F-Fuck you,” I snarl through gritted teeth.
“Is that what you want, pretty pet?” His voice drops to a low growl that makes my fine hairs stand alert. “You want me to remove your stitches?”
Yes. God, yes.
I need him to fill me with that massive cock. I need him to pound into my pussy like a beast. I need him to fuck me with all his might.
“Fuck no!” I yell, the denial tearing me apart.
He pulls his hand away and steps back, leaving me alone in the horror of my own lust.
“Time for a shower,” he says with a smirk.
THIRTY-NINE
ROSALIND
If I thought my heart was pounding before, it’s now hurling itself against my ribcage. I can’t stifle my fight-or-flight response. I can’t control my arousal. My throat is parched, and the small amount of rice pudding from earlier has reset my hunger response. Worst of all, he’s gotten me aroused to the edge of insanity.
With the alarms on my vital signs filling the room with sound, Cesare would have to be comatose not to notice I plan to escape.
“Don’t stress,” he whispers, his voice a sinister purr. “Even if you used those combat skills, you’ll never get through our biometric security.”
“Want to bet?” I ask through clenched teeth. “There are enough scalpels here to pluck out your eyes. I’d even cut off your hand.”
His laugh grates on my last nerve. “Does my pet have a fetish for dismemberment?”
Shivers run down my spine. Why the fuck am I giving this sick bastard ideas? I glance down at the huge tent in his pants and grimace.
“I prefer castration.”
His grin falters, providing me with a petty sense of satisfaction.
“Do you want this shower or not?” he asks with a sneer.
I raise my shoulders. “Ready whenever you are.”
Cesare unbuckles the thick leather belt around my chest and waist first, followed by the one holding down my hips. I lie still and wait for the best moment to strike.
He releases the restraint on my neck, and adrenaline surges to my limbs. As he moves between my spread thighs, I consider my chances of kicking him in the balls.
No. That’s stupid.
He’d tie me up again and do something worse than sew my labia shut. I need to exercise restraint, at least until he releases my arms.
The splints holding my fingers straight could make a weapon. Each digit is attached to a thick metal plate that runs between my knuckles and wrist, which will add weight to my back-handed punches.
“I know what you’re thinking.” He crouches between my legs, delivering soft kisses to my inner thighs.