Rule 7 : Rage

CHAPTER 11: Lustfully Confined.

Dr. Martini's POV

My hand reached for the doorknob, fingers wrapping around the cool metal with a desperate longing for escape. But before I could turn it, a dark shadow fell across me. A strangled gasp tore from my lips as I whirled around, my heart hammering against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

Lord Maximus stood impossibly close, his face a mask of cruelty. A glint of metal in his hand caught the light, revealing a pistol. The weight of the gun in his hand seemed to press against my own chest. My breath caught in my throat as my gaze fixated on the weapon, mesmerized by its deadly presence.

He leaned closer, his cloying cologne assaulting my senses. His imposing form pinned me against the wall, igniting a spark of heat beneath my skin.

A coppery tang flooded my mouth as his lips crushed against mine, the insistent press of his tongue a harsh intrusion. Before I could react, a coldness invaded my mouth, his thumb prying it open.

The world narrowed to the pressure on my throat, a suffocating tightness that stole the air from my lungs. His voice, a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine, whispered in my ear, "I want you completely naked, right here!"

His grip tightened around my neck with agonizing control. A rasping cough escaped my throat, echoing in the sudden silence as he released me with a shove. I stumbled back against the wall, gasping for breath.

The gun remained in his hand. This time, he slowly chambered a bullet. Click. The sound echoed in my skull, a death knell to any hope of escape.

"Right now," he growled. My eyes darted between the gun and his face, searching for a flicker of mercy as a ruthless grin twisted his lips.

My hands trembled as I fumbled with the buttons of my shirt. The fabric slipped from my shoulders, revealing a landscape of mottled purple and red where his grip had been. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took in the sight, his lips curling into a sardonic smile.

The zipper snagged momentarily, a metallic hiccup in the heavy silence. As the skirt whispered down, cool against my legs, I flinched, breaking eye contact. Why did I crave his approval? He didn't speak, but a cruel smile twisted his lips as he took in the sight of me exposed.

My skin, like a phantom in the moonlight, seemed to glow under his scrutiny. His gaze drifted south, lingering on the vibrant ink of butterflies and geese dancing across my hips.

A flush crept up my neck, burning as I tried to shield myself with trembling hands. A ravenous leer spread across his face as he watched my fumbling attempt at modesty.

The pungent smoke billowed as he ignited another joint, the smog swirling around him and abruptly obscuring the chiseled angles of his face. "Come closer," his voice, like honey laced with venom, sent sparks lurching down my abdomen.

I moved hesitantly, vulnerable and exposed, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The air between us felt stifling, yet I fought to maintain my composure, my mind racing as I tried to anticipate his next move.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the marks on my skin with a possessive touch. "Remember this feeling, Martini," he whispered, his voice a low growl. "Remember who holds your fate in their hands."

"What are you trying to do to me?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

His hands tightened around my neck, cutting off my air. His scruff burned a furious red as I wheezed, my struggles growing weaker until he finally loosened his hold. "There's something about you," he murmured, smoke curling around my face like a malevolent spirit. "Something I need to understand deeply."

"My lord, release me, I beg you. I've committed no offense against the Shaque laws," I pleaded, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

"No, you haven't. In this place where love is forbidden, I'll exhibit my feelings as terror, hidden under a facade of despair. Love is never a chapter in my learning," he declared, the cannabis stick dangling from his lips.

With a chilling smirk, he rose and positioned me on a vacant seat, forcing my legs over the chair's armrest.

His fingers brushed along my thigh, goosebumps rising in protest, a prickling heat spreading between my legs. His hand dipped into the satin adorning my waist. A slow fire flared across my stomach as my underwear scraped against my thigh, then slid down with a harsh rasp against my sensitized skin.

My breath hitched as his grip coerced my chin, tilting my head back like a trophy. A plume of acrid cannabis fumes engulfed me, a hazy veil that stung my eyes and choked the air.