Let her undress you

You let her. You stand there, a statue of conflicted flesh, as Ashley's small, delicate fingers work at the zipper of your dress. The metal scrapes, a loud, accusatory sound in the quiet room. Your zipper slides down with a soft hiss.

She tugs your dress down, and they pool around your ankles. You're standing in your panties, your bra still on. You feel exposed, not to her, but to the invisible third person in the room, the man who owns you from a distance.

Her hands roam up your chest, her fingers finding the hem of your bra. She lifts it, and you raise your arms mechanically, letting her pull it over your head. Now you're nearly naked, your pale skin stark against the dim light of the room. The marks Garvin left on your neck and shoulders are dark, violent blossoms against your skin.

Her fingers trace the hickey blooming on your collarbone, a dark, violent purple against your pale skin. Her touch is feather-light, a stark contrast to the possessive grip of Garvin's hands that still seems to brand your flesh. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't look angry. A strange, almost clinical curiosity fills her eyes.

"He's always been like this," she says, her voice a soft, even murmur. "Garvin. He doesn't... ask. He takes." She lets her finger trail down to another mark, this one a series of small teeth imprints on your shoulder. "He marks what's his. I should know."

Your blood freezes. You knew what they was together. They made you like this in the first place. "Mm."

A faint, sad smile touches her lips. "Oh, Harley. You want to know more about our past?" She lets out a small, breathy laugh. "It was two years ago. After that winter formal. You were sick, remember? I was hopping you would ask me out. Shame really. He was there, looking like he owned the place. I was mad at you for being sick, mad at the world for being boring."

She moves closer, her breath warm against your chest. "He saw me. And he just... came over. Didn't say a word. Just looked at me with those eyes, like he was deciding if I was worth the effort." She pauses, her gaze distant, lost in the memory. "I hated him for what he did to you, to us. But I also... I don't know. I was drawn to it. That confidence. That absolute certainty. The big black cock."

You knew. A part of you always knew, but hearing her say it, feeling the confirmation settle in your gut like a stone, is a different kind of agony. You picture them. Him, taking. Her, letting him. In the back of his car? A hotel room just like the one you were in an hour ago? Last year during Halloween.