you come, Londyn. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget I was the first man to ever make you feel like that. So you can call it assault. Call it rape. Call it whatever. But we both know the truth. You wanted me.”
His sinister stare rakes down my frame as he smothers my body with his, his arousal prominent against my abdomen.
“And I think you still do.”
“You’re fucking delusional,” I spit out. “It’s only a matter of time until Julia realizes just who she married. You’re right. She may not believe me. She may take your side. But Wes believes me. He knows everything that happened. The true version of events. The only thing I left out was who, but that can be rectified. You may be her husband, but he’s her brother. She’ll do anything for him. You?” I pinch my lips into a tight line. “Not so much, especially if what you did to me strikes a chord with her. If it sounds a little too familiar to something she’s also experienced.”
His jaw tightens, eyes widening for a moment. Apparently, I hit a sore spot.
He drops his arms, no longer trapping me against the wall, giving me a chance to breathe. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”
“How so?”
“Maybe you’re not Medusa. Maybe you’re more like Ovid’s Philomela. Are you familiar with that story?” He cocks a brow.
“It rings a bell,” I say, despite the voice in my head telling me to take this opportunity to run, to flee. But like that night all those years ago, I don’t listen, allowing him to pull me into his chess match once more.
“Tereus was a king who married a woman named Procne,” he begins, pacing in front of me, as if lecturing a class of eager students. “After a while, Procne missed her sister, Philomela, so she asked Tereus to bring her to their home. He agreed and set out on the journey. When he saw Philomela, he fell in deep, deep lust.”
His voice turns into a growl as he stalks toward me like an animal prowling after its prey. My chest heaves as I remain glued in place, detached from reality, like I’m just watching a movie, not living through this.
“He couldn’t shake it. He tried. Reminded himself he was married to her sister.” He presses his hips back against mine, circling them.
A whimper escapes my throat, my body seeming to betray me like it did that night. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears escape and slide down my skin.
“He knew he’d never be satisfied until he had her.” He leans toward me, dragging his tongue up my cheek, licking my tears.
A tingle rushes through me, partly out of desire, partly out of fear. I think that’s what confused me so much about what happened, made me think perhaps I was to blame. It wasn’t until I attended a sexual assault survivor’s meeting that I learned it’s completely normal, that a small percentage of women who are assaulted do feel pleasure. It doesn’t mean they enjoyed it. It’s still a brutal act. For some, there’s simply a disconnect between the pleasure receptors and the brain.
“So, just before they reached his kingdom, he had her in the woods. When she threatened to go public with it, he had no choice but to cut out her tongue.”
My stomach roils at the brutality of it all. I shouldn’t be surprised. Greek myths are notoriously barbaric and violent. Which is probably why Nick seems drawn to them. They feed his addiction.
“I can’t blame him,” he says nonchalantly. “He did whatever he needed to protect the kingdom he built. The life he built. Just like I’m willing to do.”
He makes a move to cage me in, but I’m ready for him and quickly duck away, darting toward the door. But what is normally only a dozen or so feet away now feels like the length of a football field. I only make it a few feet before he wraps an arm around my arms and chest, using his strength to lock me in place. His strong grip makes it impossible to fight him off.
“But don’t forget,” I pant, hoping to distract him.
“What’s that?” he growls.
“Philomela still found a way to tell her sister of Tereus’ crimes.” I swallow hard against the pain as he tightens his grip on me. “Wove a tapestry. And let’s not forget Shakespeare’s Lavinia from Titus Andronicus. They cut off her tongue and hands, yet she refused to stay silent, holding a