Page 141 of The Colour of Revenge

As we move through the scattering guests, I barely register the polite smiles, the congratulatory remarks, the murmured goodbyes. Their words are distant echoes, meaningless noise against the roar of my own thoughts.

The car ride is suffocating. The silence stretches like a noose, and though I keep my gaze fixed out the window, I can feel his eyes on me. Heavy. Accusing.

When we finally reach his house, I don’t wait for him. I head straight for the stairs, desperate to escape, to lock myself in my room and gather the shattered pieces of my sanity. But his voice stops me dead.

“You smell like sex.”

My blood turns to ice.

Slowly, I turn, fighting to keep my expression blank, my panic buried beneath the surface. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice thin, unsteady.

Lucian steps closer, his gaze narrowing into slits, his voice a low growl. “Don’t insult me. Your hair’s a mess, your makeup’s ruined—you’ve been withhim, haven’t you?”

My breath catches, my body stiffening as fear coils tight in my stomach. I can’t speak, can’t move.

He’s on me before I can react, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so sharply pain explodes across my scalp.

“You think you can humiliate me?” he hisses, his face inches from mine, his grip tightening. “You think I won’t find out?”

Tears blur my vision, but I bite them back, refusing to give him a reaction. My heart pounds against my ribs, my fury and terror warring beneath my skin.

Not yet. Not yet. I can’t break.

“Get on your knees.” The command is cold, demanding.

I freeze.

I look at the floor, the cracks in the tiles, and the scattered pieces of my soul.

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

His grip on my hair tightens before he throws me to the ground like a rag doll. Pain erupts in my arm as I catch my fall, and I try to stop myself from crying out.

My eyes stay trained to the floor as I hear his belt being undone, his zip lowered. I swallow thickly in my throat.

This is not happening.

He clasps strands of my hair in his hand as he positions himself in front of my face. His cock directly in line with my mouth.

“Open.”

I don’t move. I barely even breathe.

The pain at my scalp is unbearable and when he twists my hair once more my mouth opens in a gasp. He takes that moment, using it to his advantage as he shoves himself roughly inside, right to the back of my throat. I gag and bile rises up.

He fucks my mouth, never letting up the pace. Tears stream down my cheeks as I try not to throw up on him.

“You are mine. You belong to me. And you will not see him again. Do you understand me?” His voice is grating, strained with laboured breaths.

Something inside me snaps.

No.

No.

NO.