Free we were one once book 2: "A Dark Romance" by Willow Madison

snap just before the leather bites into her back over and over.
    And when it’s done, when he’s panting behind us, she no longer cries out. She stopped screaming some time ago. But screams would have been easier to take than the incoherent sobs that escape her shredded throat now. Or the animal grunting from him as he moves closer and pushes her pants off, pulling on her arms that barely bear her weight anymore.
    Or the sound of his pants dropping with the whip to the hard floor right behind her.
    Or the feel of his tongue lapping over the open gashes on her back.
    Or the feel of his hands rubbing the warm stickiness of her blood into her back, stomach and finally down into the hair and space between her legs.
    Or the feel of his hardness as he rubs himself against her back just before entering her roughly where he’s never taken her before, her blood only making it a slightly easier violation.
    She has no more screams for this new pain, only more whimpers, more incoherent sobs.
    And it’s easier to take now that her mind has given up trying to hold on, now that she’s numbed to the pain.

16
    The anticipation of this moment has been too difficult for it to be over too quickly. The drawn out nature of her walk now is fitting. Her small steps crunching their way to me make the perfect soundtrack to this moment. I can hear her hesitation, her unwillingness, with each slow drop of her foot. Yet, still she comes to me. I’ve waited to have my life righted again. Lived too long with the upheaval of her disappearance.
    I devour everything about her unhurried approach, even if it isn’t my Gillian. Yet.
    The sway of her hips pushing the length of red silk back and forth, mesmerizing and suggestive. The dip in the front is a bit much for my taste, the expanse of creamy smooth skin and soft swelling breasts a little too exposed. But I know this isn’t a dress Gillian chose, so I can forgive it.
    I smile as she gets closer, I can be magnanimous in all that I can forgive. So long as she plays nice. Plays by my rules. I know my Gillian will. I know in my heart that it wasn’t she who left me.
    I close the small distance to meet her, pulling her into my arms, pressing her to my chest. The rapid flap of her heart is a hummingbird against my suit jacket. She keeps her arms to her sides, but doesn’t resist my embrace.
    A car door opening behind us is the final click to the soundtrack. I feel her lungs expand with a deep breath in; I can hear the little hitch in her throat before she slowly releases it. I don’t need to look down into her eyes. I know already that she’s changed. I can feel her body yielding to me more.
    With my lips against her hair, “We’ll never be apart again, my love.” She brings her arms up to my sides, not quite reciprocating, but an acknowledgement nonetheless.

17
    Gillian pulls herself into the leather seat more, tucking her legs under the skirt of her dress and twisting her upper body to the window, her arm and hand covering the gash of exposed flesh at the front of the garish dress.
    From the drive in the car punctuated by sharp commands from Spencer to his men to waiting for our take off now, she hasn’t spoken a word. Her eyes have barely made contact with mine. But she’s been responsive, obeying only the slightest instructions from my fingertips to get in the car, to walk up the steps to the plane, to take her seat. Silent, but obedient.
    I pull off my suit jacket and drape this across her front, pushing it behind her shoulders to stay in place. Her lips curl into a small smile, but only her chin lifts up to me. Her eyes remain on the darkened night outside my plane.
    “Look at me.” Her eyes reluctantly follow her head back up. I cup her chin and fold my upper body over the space she’s tried to create with her distant stares, “Have you forgotten your manners, Gilli?”
    Her gulping swallow pushes my hand with her chin, “Thank you.” A sweet, soft voice, tiny against the whirring