His Entertainer

Chapter 3

IVY SILVER POV.

His kiss deepened, then he withdrew his fingers, his gaze never leaving mine. With a slow, deliberate movement, he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his trousers, and unzipped his fly, the anticipation building with each slow, deliberate action. My lower lip trembled, a silent confession of the fear coiling in my gut. I wasn't a virgin, but this was different. Last year, during my stripping training, I'd used a toy to...prepare myself. It had been brutal, agonizing, a self-inflicted punishment to build a wall against the world. I'd promised myself that if Wilmert ever got close, no one else would. I'd done it myself. Two weeks of self-inflicted pain, tears, and a fierce determination to be ready. It was my body, my choice, my life, and I would damn well rule it.

He stood before me, his erection a powerful, throbbing presence. Nine inches, I estimated, a terrifyingly beautiful weapon. A bad feeling twisted in my stomach. This was going to hurt.

I found myself captivated by the sight of him, mesmerized by the slow, deliberate kneading of his flesh. I relaxed against the sheets, fighting the urge to tense, to brace myself against the inevitable pain. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down my spine.

The satin smoothness of his touch parted my thighs, his hand finding my clitoris, sending jolts of electricity through my body. He wasn't looking at me; his attention was elsewhere, his gaze lost in some internal world. Then, he moved roughly, thrusting himself halfway inside me.

I whimpered, a soft, pained sound, biting my lip to stifle a cry. He ignored my reaction, his grin widening as he continued his assault. Fear welled up, a cold dread that tightened my muscles, making the pain even more intense. He pulled me closer each time I tried to pull away, then, with a brutal shove, he was completely inside me.

I screamed, the sound raw and desperate. He pounded into me, hard, relentless, a punishment for some unknown transgression. "Please...stop," I sobbed, the words choked with tears.

He pounded harder, each thrust a searing violation. I tried to move, to escape, but his grip on my arms was like iron. "Never," he whispered harshly, the word a cruel echo in the silence.

[Three years ago]
The memory flashed-Joachim's screams fading into the distance, my desperate pleas for mercy ignored, the dark lord's chilling words echoing in my ears: Never.

[Present]...
My inner voice cut through the pain, a lifeline in the storm. Relax. Play along. For Mom, for Joachim. You knew this wouldn't be easy. You're strong. You'll survive.

I stopped fighting, the futility of resistance heavy on me. The air filled with the metallic tang of my own blood. Tears streamed down my face, staining the sheets. He was stronger, and I knew it. He pounded into me, harder, faster, a relentless rhythm of pain and pleasure. I was a whore, his possession, his plaything. He could do as he pleased.

He shuddered, his body convulsing, then pulled out, his breath ragged, his gaze intense. He saw my tears, and gently wiped them away with his thumb. "You're supposed to enjoy it," he whispered, a cruel taunt before he turned to answer his ringing phone.

The change in his demeanor was immediate, his attention completely absorbed by the call. I struggled to my feet, desperate to escape. He listened, his brow furrowed in a frown. "If that's what you wish...I'm on my way."

Before he hung up, I slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. Nausea wracked my body, wave after wave of bitter retching. I splashed cold water on my face, then, trembling, pulled on my clothes. The touch of the fabric against my raw skin was agonizing.
I was ready at last, for whatever might be facing me, I thought, swallowing. Slowly, I opened the bathroom door and looked into the room beyond. It was empty. The bed, I saw, was stripped of everything-even the pillows and duvet. Gone to be decontaminated, no doubt, I thought, supporting myself against the door flame, fighting another wave of nausea.

When I emerged, the room was empty except for Alicia, unconscious on the sofa, and a cleaning woman.
I went out onto the landing and cautiously downstairs, the music was a distant, muffled sound. My head throbbed, my body felt broken. As I stumbled toward the exit, a hand gently touched my arm. Genevieve's warm smile was a beacon in the darkness. As my gaze rested on her, tears quickly made there way, falling like rain drops down my cheeks "I'm sorry, baby," she whispered, pulling me into her embrace. "I'm so tired," I murmured, my body finally giving way to the exhaustion and the pain. "I know, baby," she whispered back. "Let's go".

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