From one glided cage to another, Rory Whitmore is force to marry her father's business partner - Gideon Torres. A Colombian Mafia Boss known for his massive wealth and gorgeous, good looks but underneath that facade is a cruel and sadistic man with...
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...7...18...26...
Rory's head was laying against the pillow, green eyes opened wide and lifeless. Saliva was involuntarily dripping from her gaped mouth, staining her pillow wet. Gideon's tie had became undone from the headboard, now she was just laying with her ass in the air, arms tucked under her.
From her neck down to her calves, the skin was marred with blistering, red lashes. It burned, it stung and it was all that she could feel.
At some point, her vocal chords had stopped working. Her throat was strained and dried and so desperately in need of water. She had cried so much that her tears no longer fell. Her eyes dried up, gone bloodshot.
Another hit ripped into her right cheek and she grunted, jerking her body forward.
"How many was that?" He asked, breathless.
She didn't answer because she didn't know she was meant to be counting. Once they had gone pass 10 she had completely shut everything off, forcing her mind to go blank so she couldn't feel a thing.
"I asked how many was that?!" He roared, yanking her head up.
"I don't know." She rasped truthfully.
"Then we will start again." He growled, "Make sure to count this time."
He pushed her head back onto the pillow and adjusted his hold onto her body. Her behind was pressed against his hips and she could feel his erection poking her. He was getting off on her pain. The thought made her stomach twist and she let out a sob.
He raised his arm, bringing the leather down onto her skin.
"One." She grunted, trembling. "Two...three...four..."
Her eyes began to droop to the sound of her own voice. The sight of her bedroom door, her escape, slowly blurring until they was nothing in front of her except darkness. She collapsed, passed out from pain and exhaustion.
~*~
Gideon slump into the chair beside her bedroom window and watched her sleep. He poured himself a glass of brown liquor, relishing the burning sensation swimming down his throat.
Rory's skin was marred by sore red marks but he wasn't done. His rage has yet to be satisfied. He wanted to hurt her more, physically. He pulled his switchblade from his pocket, eyes darting between her and the knife.
He smirked at the idea forming in his head.
He stalked her sleeping frame, flickering the knife back and forth. Gideon rolled her over, admiring her naked front with his eyes and feeling every inch of her with his hands.
