Time became meaningless.
He took her again an hour later. And again after that. Each time was different—different positions, different words, different ways of making her suffer. On her back. On her stomach. Bent over the edge of the bed. Against the window overlooking the city, forcing her to see her reflection in the glass.
He made her say things. Made her beg. Made her thank him.
Between, he'd smoke and talk to her about his plans. About how he'd train her. About how eventually she'd crave this. About James and how inferior he was.
She lost count of how many times. Three? Four? More?
Each time, she bled a little more. Each time, the pain compounded until she existed in a haze of agony.
By the time he finally stopped, the sky outside was beginning to lighten with pre-dawn grey.
"Y
