Page 71 of Shattered In Darkness

“Don’t compare me to that piece of shit,” he hisses. “Marcus breaks things so he can call it love. I break things because I want to. That’s the only reason I need.”

He shoves me back, hard enough that my shoulders slam the wall. I try to scramble away on my hands and knees, but he’s on me before I can move, one knee in my back, weight pressing me flat. His hand finds the waistband of my panties and snaps them up, digging the elastic into my flesh, painful and humiliating. He tears them down, rips them half-off my hips, then lets them dangle at my knees.

I scream, like a feral animal. I try to buck him off. I twist and claw, nails scrabbling at the cold floor. He pins both my wrists behind my back, grinding his knee into my ass.

“You want to fight?” he growls. “Fight all you want. It only makes me harder.” He lets me struggle, lets me waste my strength, then flips me over in one brutal motion. I’m sprawled on my back, panties twisted at mid-thigh, legs splayed. His masked face looms over me, all skull and hunger. “Look at you,” he murmurs, mocking. “Not so tough now, are you, princess? Not so mouthy when you’re on your back.” He stands, looming over me. His hand goes to his belt. He unbuckles it slowly, savoring the moment. “You want to run your mouth? I’ll give you something to put between your lips.”

Panic flashes, but so does something else, something I hate, something that makes my thighs clench in shame even as I brace myself. He undoes his zipper, pulls his cock out—thick, heavy, already hard, veins bulging along the shaft. The sight of it makes my mouth go dry, but I glare up at his mask, defiant, hands balled into fists.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and hauls me up onto my knees. My scalp burns as I try to jerk away, but he clamps a hand over my jaw, squeezing until my lips part. The gloved thumb digs into my cheek, forcing my mouth open.

“You bite me, I break every bone in your fucking hand,” he says. “Understand?”

I don’t answer. I just glare, but his grip tightens until I whimper. He shoves his cock in, rough and sudden, splitting my lips, filling my mouth.

He fucks my face. There’s no other word for it. Brutal, merciless, grinding deep until the head hits the back of my throat and I gag again.

“Keep your eyes open,” he orders. The mask stares down at me, white and grinning, as he uses my mouth. “Look at me. I want you to see who owns you now.”

I can barely breathe. My jaw aches, lips stretched wide, nose mashed against the rough zipper of his jeans. He thrusts in and out, fucking my mouth like he owns it, like it’s not a part of me at all.

“Good little slut,” he grunts. “Now you’re learning. Nothing but a mouth to be used.”

He holds me too tight, controls every breath, every whimper, every inch I try to steal back. He pulls out, long enough for me to gasp a ragged breath, spit and drool stringing from my lips, then slams back in, even deeper. My throat convulses. I try to cough, but he just laughs, rocking his hips.

“Is that the best you can do?” he taunts. “After all the men you’ve fucked for Marcus, I thought you’d be better at this.”

The words are cruel. I sob, but the sound is muffled by his cock, my humiliation complete. He fucks my face harder, brutal, relentless, using me like a doll. Spit and tears drip down my chin, onto my bare thighs. My knees ache against the cold floor. My jaw feels like it’s splitting apart.

“Take it all,” he growls. His hands force my head down, bury me to the root. I gag, nose pressed to his pubic bone, unable to breathe, vision sparking as the world fuzzes black at the edges.

But, despite it all, I’m wet. Why am I wet? When Marcus would do this, I never got wet. But now, I am dripping down my thighs. I want to rub myself so badly.

At the last second, he pulls out, jerks himself with one hand. Hot, bitter ropes of cum splash across my face, streaking my cheeks, lips, chin. He makes sure to aim high, smearing the mask of himself over me.

“Keep it there,” he commands, voice is ruined, breathless. “Don’t wipe it off. I want you to remember who owns you.”

I collapse back on my heels, coughing, face burning with shame and sick, twisted want.

He stands over me, cock still hanging thick and spent, skull mask gleaming in the dim light. He tucks himself away, zips his pants, nothing but contempt in the tilt of his head.

Leaning down, his gloved fingers trace the mess he made across my face, rubbing it in, marking me as thoroughly as any brand. “Cry if you want. Scream. It doesn’t matter. Nobody’s coming for you.”

I glare up at him, shaking, tears mixing with the mess on my cheeks. I make myself hold his gaze, even as every part of me screams to run, to hide, to die rather than let him see me so broken.

“That’s better. I like you better like this.” He turns and heads for the stairs, boots thudding. At the door, he pauses, looks back. “Remember this lesson, Lola. Here, you’re nothing. Here, you’re mine. Mine to fucking keep. They wanted to take you away, to hurt you, to make you disappear. I couldn’t let that happen.”

I collapse, shuddering. The cold eats at me, inside and out. I am nothing but a thing in the dark.

I shiver, and the wind in the basement feels colder than ever.

And still, I do not stop shivering.

21

LOLA

I am a broken doll, the fragments of my body are chewed up and spit out. I sit in isolation, awaiting the arrival of the man in the skull mask. Last time he came in here, he fucked my mouth. I can still envision the black and empty eye sockets of the mask.