Page 173 of Somno Slave

“That’s a good doctor,” he murmurs.

I sink my teeth into my lower lip to catch the way my breathing changes.

He moves me faster, applies more pressure, like he knows exactly how to control me.

My fingers spread across his chest before I can register what’s happening. Somewhere between a punch and a push, I fist his jumpsuit. I push him away, but somehow, he gets closer.

A mewl escapes me.

I didn’t mean to let it slip, but it escapes anyway.

“Tut, tut,” He taunts. “Are you about to cum for me, Doctor? Dirty slut. You’re supposed to cure me. Fix me. But here you are fucking my thigh like a dog in a heat.”

His words poison my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut as if that will stop the torture, but the frantic grinding on his thigh is all too much. My orgasm is close. I shake my head like that will do anything. Hold my breath. Grip tighter onto him.

And then—I see stars. Explosions. My high hits me like a drug, instantaneous and violent, pleasure bursting through me in an array of waves. I chase the pleasure like it’s my oxygen. I become frantic.

Only when the seconds pass by, and my vision clears, do I see it. Him, hands held above his head, wearing that cocky, lobsided grin.

“What will the others think?” He whispers.

My face falls. Shame slams into me immediately. My lips part to say something, to protest my innocence, but suddenly he moves us. My body fights him instinctively. I buck and kick, and slam my fists into his chest, but he repositions me.

Cold metal meets my chest. I gasp in shock, my reflection staring back at me on the desk. I squeeze my eyes shut before I can see the tears falling.

He moves behind me. His presence, hot and angry, hands already moving to my arms which flail to fend him off. Time stutters and then, before I know it, cold bands are fastened around my wrists. Cuffs. Hand cuffs. Tied tightly, trapping my arms behind my back.

“No!” I scream. “No! No—”

I flail around but it’s useless, he forces my legs off the edge of the table and steps close, restricting my movement. In one swipe, he pulls the material from my ass, and it tears off like paper rather than linen. The chill attacks me instantly.

“Stop!” My voice is hoarse from screaming. “Stop it, Deogal!”

“You’re not in control here.” He growls. The sound is dark, too dark for any human cadence. “I am.”

Fear bleeds through my body when his fingers curl into my ass. He squeezes hard until I’m sure red marks bruise, and my skin is forced to remember the grooves he leaves behind.

“Get off me! Fuck, help!Help!” I scream again. My eyes dart up to the camera just above me, and shame burns my cheeks. I stare at the small screen helplessly and then look away just as fast. The light is red. Off.

How did he—

“Help isn’t coming, Doctor.” He coos, and I can almost hear the way his lips tip into a smile. “But I will be.”

No.

He groans, low and satisfied, like he’s felt every reaction I’ve tried to bury.

“Do you really expect me to believe you’re not enjoying this?”

My breath stutters, betraying me instantly.

I hate that he hears it.

I hate that heknows.

His hand moves again, slower this time, deliberate. His nails drag down my spine with just enough pressure to burn.

A sharp shiver tears through me before I can stop it. It ripples from my shoulders all the way down, a full-body tremor that I can’t disguise, can’t explain away.