He pushed his back off the wall. With heavy footsteps he crossed the floor, making my heart pound a little faster with every loud echo of his steps. I could barely see his eyes from underneath his furrowed dark brows. “Are you really fucking sure you want to make things worse for yourself right now?” His voice held onto the quiet rasp before the storm of depraved actions occurred.
“How could they be any worse? Being that I have this”—I pulled a steak knife from behind my back, casually showing it to him—“you should stay the hell away from me.”
“What are you going to do?” The corner of his mouth spasmed into a half-smile. “Poke me to death? It barely covers enough inches to puncture a vital organ. That’s only if you had the strength to do anything with it, which we both know you don’t. Because—correct me if I’m wrong, which I know I’m not—but weren’t we here before? In the end, I was the one with the knife in my hand while you came repeatedly on my cock, like a very, very dirty girl hungry for a fuck…remember?”
“Do you think history will repeat itself?”
“Nikki,” he growled, “the more you piss me off, the worse your payback will be. Keep that in mind, because if I have to make one more step toward the bed because you’re being a spiteful bitch, it won’t be pretty for you.”
“Bitch?” I asked in incredulity.
“I take that back,” he said with his eyes smiling. “A crazy cunt sounds…better.”
“If I’m a crazy cunt, you’re a psychotic asshole whose only saving grace is his huge dick and pretty face. What a tragedy it would be if you no longer had either one.”
He bit into his lip and any hint of emotion he held, disappeared from his eyes. “Last fucking warning.”
“Go fuck yourself, Ethan, you psychotic asshole.”
He pursed his lips together as his cheeks puffed out. The hold he had on the bottle tightened, turning his knuckles a shade devoid of color. “In less than the few seconds it takes you to disrespect me again, this bottle I’m holding…will be jammed inside your pussy.”
Alerted, I stared at him in astonishment. He…wouldn’t, would he? My hold on the knife firmed. “I’m still bleeding. You wouldn’t risk giving me an infection—”
“At this point, do you think I give an iota of shit? Lie after lie, Nikki. Now you’re trying to go behind my back and see Victor? I don’t even want to know how the hell you got to him. What the fuck are you playing at?”
I blinked up at him in awe. I wanted to scream out, “What are you talking about?” but my mind was too busy with the possibilities. Something wasn’t right. Something was far from right. Eric was being steered away from me with outright lies. Worst of all, he believed the deceptive statements against me.
“Nothing to say, huh?” He cocked his head to the side, staring me down, attempting to intimidate and dominate me simultaneously with the intensity of his gaze.
Standing, I remained on the other side of the bed and arched a brow, daring him to move forward with his threats. My grip on the steak knife strengthened.
Moving around the bed, his feet shuffled forward, closing in on my position. Without warning, he reached across, grabbing a fistful of my hair. He attempted to thrust me stomach down on the bed. I swung my arm up, plunging the knife into a tough fleshy part of his body. It made a slight slushing sound as it sank into his flesh.
“FUCK!” he shouted to the ceiling, sputtering in his stance. Letting me go, we both glanced at where the blade implanted itself. The hilt broke off, but the stub of the metal blade protruded from where it was embedded; his shoulder.
He released a low guttural growl and lunged for me. I swung my arms around, trying to hit and kick his softest parts. He used the full extent of his weight to throw me on the bed. I landed back on the mattress, stomach down. He crawled on top of the bed, placing his foot on my spine. The bulk of my hair was held strongly in his tightening grip, holding my head firmly against the mattress.
I struggled and screamed. Pulling at my scalp in a taut manner to keep my head constrained, he pushed me against the mattress. The duvet cover nearly suffocated me. My bottoms were unceremoniously removed from me and my legs were spread. He placed a knee between my legs, forcing them to remain apart. He hocked up a spit that landed in the cleft of my behind. Something cold and hollow toyed with my opening.
My cries were muffled into the sheets. My tears soaked the high thread count linens and clung to my face and mouth. He pushed me farther down until I could barely breathe.
“Do you feel this, Nikki? What I could do to you? What I can do to you? Think about it the next time you think you have any control or power in this relationship. Don’t you ever fucking cross me again.” He completely withdrew and flogged the thickest part of my behind with a harsh open-handed slap over and over again in the same area.
I whimpered with each flog, jerking under the sting of the brutal force. The part of my body that needed the pain began to awaken despite my fight, and reveled in what he gave me.
“Did you like that, Nik?” he asked breathlessly. “Did it turn you on? Are you disappointed I didn’t fuck you with the bottle? Or would you rather it was my cock? Can I tell you?” He leaned forward, his lips grazing my earlobe. “If you were just a regular cunt, instead of a crazy one, this bottle would be inside your pussy right now. But if you still want it…it’s yours. Do you want it?”
I didn’t answer, resulting in him strengthening his hold on my hair until I could feel the pull in a painful way. “No,” I whimpered.
“Do you want this cock? Since, according to you, it’s only one of the two good things about me… Ask me for it, and if I can hear how desperate you are, maybe you’ll get it.”
Sobbing, I fought to keep my lips pressed together and refrained from giving him an answer.
He sucked in a slow breath and released his hold on me, leaving me disconsolate. “Fine. Keep being a bitch. I hope you enjoyed this, because it’s about as much action as you’re going to get from me until you apologize.”
I slipped up and turned just as he disappeared out of the door.
“In case you were curious,” he shot at me from the hall, “I’m going to get this goddamn knife out my shoulder, then I’m going to sleep somewhere you aren’t. Maybe find someone more deserving of the gift between my legs. Who knows? The night is young.”
I couldn’t move from the bed until I heard the front door to the house slam closed.
Sitting up, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and searched my bag for the number to the therapist Melonie recommended. I had to get rid of my crippling addiction, no matter how badly I needed him. Because even after he demeaned me, he further consumed every inch of my being by reminding me of what I thought I had forgotten. He gave me a taste of something I hadn’t been given in a long time, and my body began to pine for more.
While I spent most of my life floating through the world, shut down, unfeeling and uncaring, he made me feel alive again.
It was a problem that needed a treatment. I’d spent too much time pondering over the right strategy to find Ethan and make him stay, never clear on how I could do it.
I needed the clarity I lacked every moment Eric was in my immediate vicinity before I could return him into the man he really was—until I could bring back Ethan again.
V and D: Thank you for always keeping my head straight and reminding me to work three times as hard and be twice as smart.
J: Thank you for filling in the blanks when needed to make Eric's mouth a little more dirty. A bigger thank you for putting up with me when a certain psycho took over my attitude.
A very special thank you to my awesome street team, Mavens of Mischief, for their encouragement and understanding. You are all my foundation and inspire me everyday.
To Kristen S. I appreciate your kindness and you're all around awesomeness. Thank you for putting up with me and my crazy stories.
Holly: Thank you for skewering The Sect. I wouldn't have found an awesome proofer who schools me on
my bad grammar. You're incredibly kind and a delight to work with. May the space be with you.
I thank you in every book and I always will. A very special thank you to Jettie Woodruff who believed in me early on and fiercely.
Emma and Annmarie: Thank you for giving this fragile creative the will and the motivation to go through the wire and publish a story that coincides with my vision and remove myself from the unobtainable expectations. I'm very lucky to have two people who understand my work down to its bones. You always keep your opinions genuine, raw, and real. This wouldn't have been published without your encouragement and critique. I stand firmly and proudly in my vision because you both believed. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Last, but not least, thank you! Thank you for the messages, recommending my books to others, taking the time to leave reviews and your constant support. I am forever grateful.
The Starkest Truth (A Breaking Insanity Novel Book 2) Page 24
