I plead with him as he hoists me up over his shoulder and pins me down onto the same table he was tortured on. I apologize. I cry. I beg him and kick him and scream as he tightens the bloody straps around me and shoves my face down onto the cold steel.
He reaches for one of the tools on the tray beside us.
“Please, Javi. Please.”
“Please what, beauty? Please remind you who you belong to?”
“No,” I beg through my tears.
It doesn’t matter. I know it doesn’t matter. He tears open an alcohol swab and wipes the cold over my forearm.
I am afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. But still, I plead with him.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. Please, Javi. Please just let me go."
My words are swallowed back down my throat when the metal tip of a scalpel digs into my arm. The weight of his massive frame crushes me into the table. I can’t move, but even if I could, I think I might be paralyzed.
The only sound in the room is his ragged breath. The knife slices into me again and I stop breathing altogether.
It burns.
But there isn’t time to focus on the pain because it comes from a different direction each time he carves into my flesh. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know how deep the wounds are. But I can feel the blood dripping down onto the table. I can feel his excitement against me. His want and his need.
And my mind blocks it all out somehow.
The pain. The terror.
And when he is done, the only thing left are the endorphins flooding my system.
He dips his fingers into the blood and smears it over my cheek when he grabs my face and forces me to look.
"Mine," he snarls.
And that’s exactly what his bloody artwork on my arm says.
He kisses me again. Brutal and demanding. I'm still trying to fight. Still confused. But the adrenaline surging through me is tainted by something else.
Something feral and toxic.
Javi tastes me like he owns me. Drinking from my lips and rolling his hips into me. He's feverish. Ravenous. And so drunk on me I am completely at his mercy.
He leaves my lips only to bury his face in my hair and inhale me. Whispering his secrets in Spanish. Touching me reverently in one moment and violently in the next. He licks the length of my jaw and bites down on my ear, sending a shock of pain and heat through my body. I buck against him and cry out, and he repeats the sentiment on my throat.
"Mine," he growls.
I don't know who he's trying to convince.
His hands are a hurricane, laying claim to the landscape of my body. My breasts, my back, my hips. He worships them all with his fingertips.
Warmth gathers in my belly and spreads down between my thighs. I can't help thinking of a similar scene. A scene that I wrote in my own journal. A journal he has read thoroughly.
His lips hover at the base of my neck, chest heaving. His fingers drag down my spine, and he follows. My cheeks are hot. Everything is hot. And he is too heavy. I don't know how to feel right now. I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore.
The only thing I know is that when he assaults me with his mouth, I cry out for him. I encourage this fucked up need inside of me. Javi likes it. He likes it so much he tears the straps away and spreads my legs apart and shoves his face between them.
He licks me until I am raw. Until I feel like I'm going to explode. Until I hate him for doing this to me. I can't find the words to tell him so. Because he's possessed me. And I fear the only way to get him out now is to find an exorcist.
He unzips himself.