Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
It feels like I swallowed sandpaper. “How the fuck do you even ask for that?”
“You don’t ask,” she says quietly. “You show up.”
The kitchen slides away as she talks.
“I went to his barracks after lights out,” she says. “He had his own room by then. Perk of being one of Kurr’s main Agents. Guards knew better than to fuck with him. I’d nicked a card, bypassed patrol. You know, all those Honeytrap things they'd already taught me. My hands were shaking so bad.”
Her fingers flex on the glass, like the memory’s trying to crawl back into her skin.
“I walked in,” she goes on. “He was sitting on his bed, boots still on, cleaning a gun. Didn’t even look surprised. Just glanced up once, right through me, then back to what he was doing.”
I can picture it. Sixteen-year-old Hella, blue eyes sharp and hollow, hands sure on cold metal. No jokes. No teasing. Just function.
“What are you doing here, Honeytrap?” she mimics, voice dropping into something flat and masculine. “That’s what they call you. Never Jada. Never girl. Just… job title.”
My teeth press into my tongue.
“I locked the door,” she says. “Walked over. I’d been trained how to move, how to sway hips, how to tilt my head just so. All that bullshit. I climbed onto his lap. Straddled him. He went still. Not aroused. Not startled. Just… still. Gun down. Hands on his thighs. Watching me.”
Her eyes cut to mine. “And I told him. ‘I need you to fuck me.’”
The words hit me hard.
“He studied me,” she says, slow, like she’s still feeling that look on her skin. “Then his hands came up, grabbed my cheeks, not gentle. He pulled my face close. ‘Who told you to say that?’ he asked. First thing out of his mouth.”
I exhale. “Of course he did.”
“I said no one. I said I needed my virginity gone before Kurr sold me,” she continues. “You know what he did then?”
I shake my head.
“He laughed,” she says. “Soft. Mean. Not because it was funny—more like he couldn’t fucking believe the place he lived in. His thumbs were pressing into my jaw. ‘You think this saves you?’ he asked. ‘Kurr will find another way to own you.’”
“And you?” I ask, way too invested in this story.
“I told him, ‘At least he won’t own this.’” Her voice doesn’t waver. “I told him, ‘I want to pick who ruins me, even if it’s still part of his plan.’”
There’s a long, quiet beat between us.
“What did he say?” I whisper.
“That I was stupid,” she answers, lips twitching. “And then he kissed me.”
Heat crawls up my neck; my brain tries to stack that Hella on top of the one who sends me dick pics as good morning.
“It wasn’t soft,” she says. “It wasn’t sweet. Just mouth, teeth, tongue, like he was trying to shut me up. Like if he could fill my head with him, I’d stop thinking about the fact we were in a cage. He stripped me. Shirt. Shorts. Underwear. No fumbling. No lingering. He checked the door twice. Checked the vents. Checked the cameras. Then pushed me down on the mattress.”
Her hand curls, fingers dragging against invisible sheets.
“He didn’t say you’re beautiful,” she adds, eyes sharp on mine. “Didn’t whisper I’ll be gentle. He told me to keep my eyes on him and not make a sound. ‘You cry, the guards come. Understand?’”
My lungs forget how to work for a second.
“I nodded,” she says. “Because I was fucking terrified. Not of him. Of getting caught halfway through and having Kurr finish the job. Hella knelt between my legs. Looked at me for too long. Not in a horny way. In a calculating way. Like he was measuring angles on a mission.”
She throws back the rest of her drink, grimaces, then sets the glass down.
“And then he pushed in,” she says, voice flat. “No warm-up. No fingers. Training told me how to spread my knees, how to arch my back, how to fake moans. None of that prepared me for the burn. It felt like I was splitting. I bit through my lip to keep from screaming. He watched my face the whole time. Didn’t look away when the tears came.”
My thighs press together under the table.
“He held my hips steady,” she goes on. “Short, harsh thrusts, nothing fancy. He wasn’t making love to me, Melissa. He was completing an objective. In-and-out, deep enough to make sure there was no question. Blood right away. I felt it. Warm. Sticky. Sliding.”
Jada’s eyes go distant for a heartbeat, then lock back onto mine. She isn’t asking for pity. She’s laying out the facts.
“He watched it,” she says quietly. “Watched it smear on his cock, watched it on the sheets. His jaw clenched. Hard. For a second, I thought he’d stop. But he didn’t. He fucked me until my whole body shook, until I went numb under the hurt. And when he was sure there was no going back, he pulled out and pressed his palm between my legs, holding me there while I panted.”