Hear Me (Dark Erotica) by Warren Skye

Author:Warren, Skye [Warren, Skye]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-09-15T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

She woke in the dark, a book in her slack hands and a blanket over her knees. She must have drifted off, but where was Sam? Harsh breathing was too familiar, suddenly. A dark presence that taunted with its stillness.

Her throat tightened. “No.”

“Yes,” Brendan murmured. “See? You know me, even if you think you don’t. You know who your master is.”

The words made her breath catch, strange and meaningless to me. “Sam will come.”

Hands enclosed her wrists, warm and firm. “What will he see? You submitting to me. Didn’t he tell you about his last girlfriend?”

Oh God. Sam.

“He won’t want anything to do with you then.” Lips coasted over her shoulder, bringing goosebumps to her skin. “Where will you go? All alone in the woods. I’ll take care of you.”

It sounded like a threat. Would Sam hear her if she called to him?

“Come on, little girl.” There was the pain she expected, almost wanted. Deserved. His fingers dug into my skin, pushing her down. “Fight me. I liked it when you fought.”

But she didn’t. She let him undress her, let him push her down onto her hands and knees, let him cup her breasts and squeeze. What could she do? Nothing, nothing at all. He was too strong, and she was too scared.

She imagined Sam working out there, just one building over. He would be tired by now but frustrated. Something had bothered him, so he kept sanding, cutting, stripping the wood with his hands. Then he would finally let go of whatever it was, through will or sheer exhaustion, and come inside to see his brother fucking his pet. Again.

She could do nothing. She was nothing. All the names that they called her—whore, slut, cum-hole—when had they become true? His fingers were inside her cunt, that part of her both exalted and feared. They worked in and out, drawing out pitiful moisture, making her ready.

She remembered arriving in a cold building. None of the girls would meet her eyes.

A sharp pain on her scalp and her head was pulled back. A voice against her ear. “My good girl. You’ll be my good girl. It’s what you want.”

They’ll never break me, she had promised to herself, silent and fierce. But what could she do?

Each time they beat her body, her mind would drift away. She could feel the pain, but it didn’t matter so much in that empty house of hopelessness. This time, she felt the currents of his cruelty pull her out to sea. But she went somewhere else this time, to a place where color suffused the air, where sounds clashed in sharp harmony, where memories burst on her tongue like spices, rich and bittersweet.

* * *

My name is Melody Cole, and I was born in Syracuse, New York more years ago than I usually cared to admit. As a young child, I ran in a pack of girls, barefoot and wild, kicking up cold dry leaves behind us. We made a fort out of bed sheets and loose lumber that came down when the boys launched a full pillow assault.

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