Chapter 8:
1045 Words
With those dangerous words, the large object directly entered her, his hands gripping her waist like a vise, flowing.
The bathroom was now filled with intense emotions. Desire, mixed with the sound of running water, was both wonderful and repulsive.
After a fierce assault like a tidal wave, Ricard held her tightly, his chin resting on her hair, panting.
“Abigail, was it thrilling?” he asked, panting.
His torment already exhausted Abigail, with no strength left to answer.
“Need more? Want another round?” He stroked her hair, his gentle movements contrasting with his words.
“No, no, it was very thrilling, very thrilling!” Forced, she finally spoke.
Seeing her comply, he smiled contentedly, but his smile quickly froze. He took a towel, opened it, and gently dried her hair.
He had dried her hair many times, so the movements were familiar.
Her long black hair swayed under his pampering movements, and Abigail relaxed slightly, no longer pressing tightly against the wall.
After a while, with her hair half-dry, he took another larger towel, turned her to lean against the wall, then wrapped her trembling, alluring body, carrying her to the enormous bed at the end of the room.
After the yacht incident in the morning and just now being tormented by him, Abigail was extremely tired. As soon as she wanted to close her eyes, she heard him say, “Want to sleep?”
She nodded.
“You can sleep, but first, answer one question for me.” He lay on his side, one hand supporting his head, the other playing with a lock of her hair.
“Ask,” she said lazily.
“I remember telling you that if you dared to leave me, I would make you lose these legs.” As he spoke, his leg brushed against hers, sliding down to her foot.
His words scared her to the core, making her whole body shiver, her laziness gone completely.
She remembered him saying this the first time he possessed her. She had heard it but didn’t pay attention. But hearing it again now, he absolutely wasn’t joking.
Today, she had indeed tried to escape using the yacht. Could it be that he would really make her lose her legs? Seeing his smile slowly spread, she was terrified.
His voice enchanted everyone, but not here. She jumped up from the bed, not caring about her naked body, curled up in the bed's corner, and begged for mercy, “Ricard, I was wrong today. I won’t dare to do it again.”
Ricard’s smile remained unchanged, like an angel, but also like a demon.
“Abigail, why don’t you remember for long?” He dabbed the silk quilt, his eyes lingering on her feet.
“What a pity, such beautiful legs.” His eyes flashed as he grabbed one of her legs, shaking his head, “The more beautiful something is, the more disobedient it is. It might be better to destroy it!”
Hearing this, Abigail recoiled in fear, trying to pull her leg back but lacking the strength. A second later, she felt her body being pulled down, her legs tightly restrained by him.
She tried to kick, but her strength was no match for his, and after a few attempts, his hands clenched her legs.
“Ricard, I was wrong. I’ll listen to everything you say from now on, okay?” She was truly terrified of losing her legs. Without them, not only would she cannot leave him, but even simple walking would be a problem.
“It’s too late to realize that now.” Ricard, as the Mafia Boss of country A, held immense power. Even when his grandfather was alive, his reputation was equal to his. After his grandfather’s death eight years ago, his influence had only grown, fitting the phrase “holding up the sky with one hand.”
A man who controls the heavens with one hand speaks with careful calculation. Even before the girl he liked most, he remained the same.
Seeing that her pleas did not sway him, Abigail’s heart grew cold. She reconsidered; she had lived without freedom for over ten years. Wasn’t that already like being crippled?
As she was lost in thought, Ricard suddenly pulled out two thick, long ropes resembling enormous snakes.
In less than two minutes, her hands, and feet were tightly bound. Looking up at him, his demonic yet enchanting face was closed, and his devilish hands continued to caress her legs.
His movements were exceedingly gentle, so gentle that one could hardly believe the owner of these hands was a cold-blooded killer. His nimble fingers gently massaged, and each frown or smile on his face could make one mistakenly think he was a beautiful angel.
He leaned closer, sniffing her foot, an action even more absurd than a highly perceptive dog.
She didn’t know if he would ultimately destroy her legs and didn’t want to see his perverse behavior anymore, so she closed her eyes, finding peace in the darkness.
But Ricard wouldn’t let her have peace.
“Abigail, don’t be afraid. The pain will be brief, and it will pass.”
Abigail wondered how he would make her lose her legs. Curiosity made her open her eyes slightly, but she saw nothing in his hands.
She thought he was merely scaring her. Suddenly, someone lifted one of her legs and heavily pressed down on her ankle. Then a pain, sharp to the bone, shot to her heart. The other leg suffered the same fate, and with a “c***k” sound, everything went black, and she fainted.
A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, the sound of thunder breaking the night’s silence.
In the forest, a girl in a white dress with blood flowing from her legs, her black hair loose, crawled with difficulty. Behind her, she could see faint lights flickering, and she could hear the distant sound of hunting dogs.
She continued to crawl through the grass, terrified of being caught. But she hadn’t gone far when a tall, dark shadow loomed over her.
She saw polished leather shoes, then black trousers, and a white shirt.
A man exuding masculinity in a white shirt and black trousers must be extraordinary.
- Writer
