Luce

I stood in the center of his bedroom, my chest heaving. The heat from the dining table was still under my skin, a shameful reminder that I wouldn't have stopped him. I would have let him do everything. That was how weak he made me. Now, I was standing in his bedroom because he told me to, waiting like a loyal dog for him to come back and finish what he started.

"I can't stay here," I whispered to the empty room.

If I stayed, I was his sex slave until he got bored or decided my life wasn't ...