Page 36 of Little Spider

A final message pings through. I force myself to look.

Good girl. Next time, I’ll make you say my name.

I can’t stop the tears now, streaming down my face as I curl into a ball, his words sinking into my skin like a brand. I hate him. I hate he knows exactly how to break me.

And most of all, I hate that some part of me wanted it.

The shame crashes over me, waves dragging me under, and I can’t breathe. I curl tighter into myself, hands shaking, the phone abandoned on the floor. I want to scream, to claw the feeling out of my skin, to burn away the way his words made me come undone.

My legs continue to shake, and the warmth remains as the remorse creeps in, overwhelming me. I press my forehead against my knees, biting down hard on my lip to keep from sobbing.

A soft vibration from the phone. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see his words, hear his voice, feel that twisted pleasure all over again. But I can’t stop myself. I pick it up, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand.

You’re quiet now. Are you ashamed, Little Spider? You shouldn’t be. You gave me exactly what I wanted. You couldn’t help yourself. That’s what makes you mine.

I choke back a sob, forcing myself to type.

You’re wrong. I hate you.

His response is immediate.

If you hated me, you wouldn’t have let go like that. You wouldn’t have cum just from my voice. You’re starting to understand, aren’t you? You’re meant to be mine.

Another message. A voice note. I hesitate, fear gnawing at me, but I hit play.

His voice, calm, dripping with satisfaction:

“I should punish you for trying to deny it. For pretending you don’t crave the way I make you feel. You should be on your knees for me right now, head bowed, thanking me for making you cum. I could make it hurt, just enough to remind you who’s in control. You’d cry, but you’d beg for more, wouldn’t you?”

My heart slams against my ribs, and I can’t stop the way my body responds—a fresh wave of heat pooling low, even as my mind screams that this is wrong.

“If I was there right now, I’d pull you onto my lap, force you to straddle me, pin your wrists behind your back. I’d take my time, make you grind against me until you’re desperate, until you’re begging me to put it inside. You’d whimper, wouldn’t you? Try to act like you hate it, but your body would give you away.”

A whimper slips from my mouth, and I hate myself for it. My body betrays me, every word from him sinking deeper, pushing buttons I didn’t know I had.

Another voice message. I can’t help myself—I press play, throat tight.

“Maybe I’d pull your hair, make you look at me while I slide my hand down your throat, just to feel your pulse pounding under my palm. You’d try to fight it, but I’d pin you down, forceyour legs open. You’d cry out, but it wouldn’t stop me. I’d whisper how pretty you look when you’re scared, how tight you are when you’re trembling. You’d hate yourself for giving in, but I’d make you admit how much you love it.”

My thighs clench, and I can’t breathe. I drop the phone, covering my mouth, choking on the sob that tears free.

A loud knock on the door jolts me upright. I freeze, my whole body rigid, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free.

My phone buzzes again. Another text.

Open the door. You’ve earned your reward.

My stomach twists, fear and a sick, twisted anticipation fighting for control. I push myself to my feet, legs unsteady, and approach the door, fingers hovering over the lock.

Another knock—harder this time. My phone buzzes.

You’re not running anymore, are you? You’re finally ready to admit it. Let me in, Little Spider. Let me finish what you started.

I swallow, my hand trembling as I grip the lock. I can’t open it. I shouldn’t. But I can feel him through the door, his presence like a weight pressing against me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe, trying to gather some scrap of resistance. But the way my body aches, the way my skin prickles with need—it’s like his words have wrapped around me and squeezed all the fight out.

My phone buzzes again.