I skipped breakfast with the King.
Sweat slides down my chin as I spin mid-air and snap my foot into the punching bag. It groans, exhaling dust. Ignoring it, I hammer my fists with renewed vengeance, until I can no longer feel the voices in my head. Until I can no longer see the blood. Until I can finally breathe without aching to ruin and break something.
Ilya. My fist slams into leather.
Oh, I remembered it. A life that didn't belong to me but felt like mine. It makes me furious, that someone could take my body for a ride and use me as a conduit for her endless hunger for her shit-headed Erasthai.
I'd come to and found myself beneath him, legs spread as wide as they could go, chest arched with my breasts in his face, and if I hadn't been in pants, she might have stuck his dick right through me. Without a single care that she was violating me.
