Page 21 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
The dull thought is all I can think of as I lay still and he enjoys himself.
Caelian doesn’t seem to notice my distress. He rumbles out a long groan and then draws back his hips only to slam into me again. The pace is quickly set—Caelian and his machine-like hips drive into me with brute force, breaking me open and tearing me apart.
The pain makes me dizzy. Spots appear before my watery eyes as if letting me know of the damage being done. I claw at his arms and shoulders and any other piece of him to hold on, to fight through the sheer agony.
It doesn’t slow him down.
Caelian buries his face into the crook of my neck and groans as he pounds away. “You feel even better than my dreams,bella. How can you be so fucking hot and tight?”
More tears spill out of me as I silently beg for it to be over. If there’s a god that exists, surely he has to take mercy on me and let this moment end.
Please… please… I can’t take much more…
Every moment becomes torture. My body tenses up out of pain while his seems to do so out of pleasure. He gives no thought to my stiff reactions, to the tears slipping down my cheeks. His throaty moans drown out any cries of discomfort. His thrusts grow harder, come faster, and the ache his member leavings behind lasts longer. It feels as though I’m being torn apart.
At last, with a finishing punch of his hips, he buries himself so deep inside me, it feels humanly impossible, and he comes. Warm fluid seeps between us. Possibly his seed and evidence of my brokenness.
I’m afraid to glance down and check.
I breathe for what feels like the first time in hours. The pain remains, throbbing from my battered sex and other parts of me that were brutalized by his touch.
Caelian bows his head and releases a breath too—his much more rough-sounding.
My initial thought is that he’s seen the bloody mess between us; he’s realized what he’s done. That thought is extinguished in seconds as he hurries to roll off me and rises up from the bed. His tattooed hand clutches at his chest and he lurches toward the door.
“Ms. Poitier!” he shouts, flinging it open. “Call the physician. Now!”
I’m lost as to what’s happening.
Footsteps pound down the hall and another male voice calls something out about a treatment. I’m so shocked, still fresh with pain, that I don’t move. I stay where I am as if waiting to be collected.
After a minute goes by, Ms. Poitier wanders into the bedroom. She must’ve realized I’d be confused.
“Nevaeh, there you are,” she says. “I’ve come to take you back to your…”
Her voice goes out, her eyes lowering to the bedsheets. A pang of horror hits me when I follow her lead and spot the blood and semen not only coating my thighs and sex but the bedsheets themselves.
The older woman eyes the messy evidence with a startled silence, then she comes over wearing a sympathetic frown.
“I’ll get you cleaned up, angel dear,” she says softly. “A warm bath should help. He won’t be back tonight, so you’ll have time to rest.”
“But where did he—”
“He’ll be in treatments for the rest of the night,” she interrupts, curling an arm around my shoulders. She helps me off the bed and my achy legs protest as we walk toward the door. “You should be glad. He won’t be able to touch you again for some time. It’s over for now.”
What should comfort me only disturbs me more. A thousand questions pop into my head as I realize I’m more in the dark than even I realized.
EIGHT
Nevaeh
You learnto cherish things more when you have few of them. It’s a lesson I’ve learned in the past, and it’s a lesson I learn again trapped in Caelian’s secluded mansion. Most of what I owned, I left behind at my dorm. The suitcase I packed could only fit so much.
A few changes of clothes and my most prized possessions.
In the days following my marriage to Caelian, I learn I’m expected to think of the things provided for me asmythings.
The fabulous new wardrobe and jewelry. The expensive perfumes and moisturizing creams. The furnishings, however archaic, in the bedroom I’m being kept in.