chaoticsoul

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five & Six.

Author’s Note: Change of POV

She let out a muffled groan against his palm before squeezing her eyes shut - reminders of her naïveté were all around her. His face was that mask she hated, showing nothing but occasional flashes of anger. Her skin burned where the knife had nicked her, but she was thankful that it wasn’t more. She obviously had found the way to fight, but it hadn’t helped her. The dull throbbing in her scalp, the sharp pain in her side were a testament to that.

Her shirt was tearing almost silently under the edge of the blade, she could feel it in the way the material seemed to slowly loosen across her chest. She opened her eyes finally and stared up at him through the spiky points of her lashes. He was silent, having settled into that damned focus. The game was up, except the price for losing this was something she didn’t want to experience.

He could have killed her by now, but instead they were at this point. To prove he was stronger? She moved slightly and he shifted with her, reacting to cut off any chance of an escape. She felt the increase in pressure of the hand on her face. She could taste him, his flavor seemed to pierce the soft barrier of her lips. The blood? Still, it was a familiar flavor, one that at one time made her heart beat faster.

Cool air assailed her and she knew her shirt lay open. The hand moved from her face and he stared at her for a long moment before dropping his gaze to the soft peaks of flesh before him. He hadn’t allowed her several items, the bra being only one of many, and she doubted it was an oversight. He was detailed. Had she expected any sort of consideration? This was a man who, in some circles at least, was called Hammer. She thought it charming back then before she really understood what his business, The business, was about. Hammer, God’s Hammer - except in this case God was a very short-tempered mob boss and the Hammer was the sadistic genius that kept people in fear.

Terror, he knew.

Her body jerked as the tip of the knife pressed lightly into her nipple. He leaned over her, his face hovering just above her own. His palm moved and she could feel his breath against her parted lips.

‘I can taste your fear.’ He inhaled, closing his eyes and drawing a breath that disquieted her more than his words. His eyes were slow in opening, heavy lidded when they did. ‘Smell it, too.’

The blade turned slowly in his palm and finally pierced the thin barrier of skin. She let out a soft sound, her voice reverted back to a soft whisper, every bit of her fight having left her. She felt heavy, pinned in place by more than just his weight. ‘Please, Marco.’

His eyes lifted from the suspended drop of blood poised on her nipple to her eyes, which stared at him, glassy, filled with anxiety. ‘Please what, amante?’

The word was a caress and she imagined it lingered on the soft flesh of his tongue. He glanced back down at the exposed flesh and a smile formed on his face as it hardened into an even tighter bud. She could feel the tingling in her body, the way it responded even as her mind screamed its outrage. Adrenaline poured through her, her body quaked almost uncontrollably. He moved slightly down her body and his fingers brushed against the underside of her breast, tracing the smooth flesh. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was silenced by a reflexive choke as his lips closed around her nipple.

Her arms moved and she realized they were left unbound, unrestrained, laying uselessly at her side. She moved them then. First to hover in the air over his shoulders, his jagged wound, then to his hair, touching it lightly. He lifted his head, staring at her, the warning clearly spelled out in the thin line of his lips, the slight narrowing of his gaze.

‘No. No. N-n-no.’ The words stuttered at the end. Images of what she had seen him do, this man who controlled her utterly at the moment, flooded her mind. Her body still ached, bruised from her earlier rebellion.

He lifted his body slightly, his hands reaching up to disengage her fingers. He pressed one hand back against the carpet by her head, the second he lifted to his lips, the knife he carried tucked neatly in the fold between his thumb and index finger. He pressed his lips against the smooth rounded nail at the tip of her ring finger and his tongue raked against the soft padding on the underside. He stared down at her as he pushed the second hand back beside her face; she could feel the air against the rapidly cooling moisture on her skin. ‘Touch me again without permission and I’ll remove the nail from that finger.’

Tears rolled down her face and he sneered, his hand finding the waistband of her soft, cotton pants. She met his steady gaze as he again rolled above her, but faltered when she felt and heard the rending of the material at her waist. She turned, her body trying to twist away, her fingers desperately grasping for the shredded material, but he rolled her back, his hands shoving hers away before he settled above her, his knee parting her tightly held thighs.

There was a silence that settled over him. She hiccuped as she tried to control her breathing, her entire body tense, prepared for his assault. She felt the knife point again on the tender flesh of her neck and she looked at him.

‘Tell me no.’ He said. She heard the distinct sound of a belt being loosened, felt him shift slightly over her.

‘No.’ She swallowed. Her mouth was dry, her face felt wet, her eyes swollen.

‘Say it again.’

Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. She shook her head, mute. The knife pushed in a little further.

‘Say it.’

‘No, Marco. I don’t want this.’

His hand found her cheek and his fingers brushed away the tears. He wiped a single finger over the crease of his lips. His fingers moved down the path of torn clothing, all while the knife rested, silently threatening, at her jugular. He spoke as his fingers trailed lower, curved around the outside rim of her belly button.

‘I don’t care.’