Forced Love

Chapter 24

Immediately following the tea room incident, Drake and I were to attend a lunch with his parents. Just what I wanted, to sit down and having lunch with the Devil himself, the king. Who I haven’t seen since he threatened to rape me if I don’t get pregnant. That would be bad in the first place, but it is even worse after going through the traumatic of watching some ones tongue being chopped off.

I had blood on my dress from helping Lady Brinsworth, so Drake rushed me back to our room and ran a bath. Instead of waiting his turn he stripped down as well and joined me.  I sat stiffly in his lap as he washed both of us. When I was thoroughly washed I made to leave, but the Prince had different ideas.

“Not so fast, my love.” He whispered as he dragged me back down so that I was straddling his lap.

I pushed against his chest, splashing water over the sides of the tub. “We have to meet your parents, stop it.”

His hand dug into my hair and yanked my head back painfully.  His lips met my throat and his tongue snaked out to tract a path to my breast. “They can wait.”

Panic started to build up inside me. Every time he does this I am able to somewhat manage it, even though his touch makes me disgusted. I go to the back of my mind and just wait till it’s over. But this time, after watching the viciousness he is capable of, I just can’t stand it. His touch makes me feel dirty and used. He cut a woman’s tongue out of her mouth and made me watch. 

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” I growl and knee him in the groin.

He is momentarily stunned, which gives me the chance to dash out of the bath and run to the door.

“Get back here bitch!” he screams and I hear him stumble out of the tub behind me.

I run into the bedroom and search for a place to go. I haven’t thought this far ahead. I can’t go run into the hall because I am naked, and there isn’t much places to hide in the room. My eyes latch onto the closet door, which I know can be locked from the inside. I rush towards it and slam it close just as Drake comes storming into the room. I lock the door and stumble away. A few seconds later the handle rattles.

“Open the door my love.” He says kindly.

I know he is faking it and I refuse to budge. I am hoping he will decide it isn’t worth breaking a door down and will leave me alone.

“I am not angry baby, I promise. I just want to talk.”

No answer. The handle shakes again, this time more violently.

“Come on, open the door. I mean it.”

I back farther into the closet as his voice gets angrier and angrier.

Finally he bursts, “Open the fucking door!”

Fear wells up inside me as I hear thumps against the door. He is trying to kick the door down, I realize. It goes on forever, the thumps. It could have been minutes or hours, I don’t know. But with each one the door started to cave in and splinter. My back ran into the coats as I tried to get as far from the door as possible.