DON'T CHEAT ON ME!

CHAPTER 27: Thirsty

Patricia's POV:

"Please, Jordan, stop! I can't take it anymore."

Jordan moving closer, and I can feel it-every step heavy, deliberate. He's savoring this. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, drowning out everything else. I try to pull my wrists free from the ropes, but the tighter I struggle, the tighter they seem to get. The knots burn against my skin, leaving marks I'll never forget. I hate that I'm powerless, trapped in this nightmare of his making.

"Stop?"

His voice is calm, unnervingly so, like he's explaining something trivial.

"Patricia, don't you understand? I'm not stopping. I'm starting."

The words hit me like a slap, a chill running down my spine. Starting? What does he mean by that? What more can he possibly do? I don't know, but the uncertainty is worse than the fear. The unknown is always worse.

---

He starts undoing his shirt, each button coming undone slowly, deliberately. My eyes fixate on his hands, not wanting to look at him, but unable to look away. The fabric falls to the floor, and he's standing there in front of me, bare-chested, his posture open and confident.

And I-I-am still tied here, helpless, exposed.

I try to speak again, to beg, but my voice falters, tangled in the panic building inside me.

I can't breathe.

Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to run, to fight, to break free from these ropes, but my body is frozen. My heart is pounding, the sound of it deafening in my ears as I watch Jordan, my boyfriend, strip away the layers of his clothes like he's shedding his humanity.

First, the shirt.

My eyes follow the smooth, steady movement of his hands as he undoes the buttons one by one, slow, deliberate, almost like he's savoring the moment. And I? I can't look away. I want to, but I can't. As the fabric falls from his broad shoulders, I can see the sharp lines of his body, the way his muscles shift beneath his skin, the way the dim light catches on his abs.

God...

His abs are glowing. It's like they're sculpted from marble, flawless in the low light, and for a moment, I forget where I am. I forget about the ropes, about the suffocating fear in my chest. For a split second, I wonder how someone like him could be so perfect, how I could have ever thought he was anything less than everything I've ever wanted.

No.

I shake my head. I need to focus. This isn't him. This can't be him.

"Jordan, please..."

I manage, my voice trembling, barely a whisper. I want to scream, to make him stop, but the words are stuck in my throat. He's not listening. He's never listened when I begged him before, not when he wanted something, not when he wanted me in this way.

The shirt falls, pooling at his feet, and I can see the faintest glint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He's enjoying this. He's enjoying watching me squirm.

His hands move to his pants, unbuttoning them with the same languid grace. Each movement feels like it's happening in slow motion, like he's drawing out every moment just to savor my fear. I know what he's doing. I can feel it in my gut. He's not just undressing. He's exposing himself. Every piece of clothing he sheds is a piece of his mask falling away.

And it's not the body I'm afraid of. It's the monster underneath.

I can't deny the way my pulse races, the way my breath hitches as he steps out of his pants, standing in front of me, bare. My mind is screaming,

This isn't him. This isn't the man I fell for.

But my body betrays me. There's a part of me-something twisted inside-that can't help but marvel at the power in front of me. At the beauty of what I used to think was love.

He's everything I wanted, and nothing I ever needed.

I hate myself for how my eyes wander, how my breath catches at the sight of him. My boyfriend. My monster.

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine, dark and dangerous. I can feel the weight of his gaze, like a hand pressing down on my chest, forcing the air out of my lungs. I can't move, can't look away.

"You're still staring,"

He murmurs, his voice low, taunting.

"You like what you see, don't you?"

My heart skips a beat.

I hate that it's true. I do like what I see. But I can't let myself like this, not when I know what he's capable of, not when I know the truth.

But that doesn't stop the fear from twisting into something darker, something far more dangerous.

I want to speak, to say something-anything-but my throat feels glued shut. Jordan smirks, his lips curling in a way that's both cruel and mesmerizing.

"You're quiet.."

He says, his voice low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm.

"Cat got your tongue? Or are you just... enjoying the view?"

His words snap me out of my trance, and I swallow hard, my voice coming out in a shaky whisper.

"What... what-

Jordan chuckles, a deep, menacing sound that echoes in the dimly lit room.

"I know you like the view. Dony worry because my d*ck is all yours Patricia."

He steps closer, and I instinctively press myself against the wall, my pulse pounding in my ears.

"Now that you're done eating Dave's head bellow, you should eat mine."

He said, teasing me.

"Jordan! What the fck do you want?!"

He tilting his head as if pondering the question.

"What do I want? But here's the real question-what do you want?"

"Do you want water? because you are thirsty of me?

He said whispering.

"I want to leave! Get me out of here!"

I say, though the tremble in my voice betrays my confidence.

"Do you?"

He leans in, so close I can see the faint scar running along his jawline.

"Hmm.. but you've been watching me like I'm your favorite show. Admit it-you're not as scared as you pretend to be."

I shake my head, but my body betrays me. My breath quickens, and I hate the part of me that's drawn to him.