“I’ll never let you go, never let you leave.” His words are like a bucket of ice water being doused over my head. Is that what this is? Am I here because I’m his? Is this just a game to him, a game of ownership? He called me his sex toy, but am I really just a toy, a possession to be claimed and owned. Does he think this so called ownership strips me of my rights, or my ability to say no? My hands find his chest and I push him as hard as I can. He doesn’t move an inch, but his physical assault stops, his hands stilling, his lip dragged from my skin. “Stop.” “Peaches.” “No, just stop,” I pant,
