“Ella,” he whispers in my ear. “Be a good girl.” His breath is soft against my skin, soft and warm. “I’ll take care of you if you’re good, you know that, don’t you?” This isn’t a game. Is this a game? “If you’re not,” he continues, stroking his fingers down the side of my wet face, “if you’re not good for me…” he trails off, and I wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. But then he finishes his sentence. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
