Calmly, methodically, he wraps his fingers around the base of my ponytail, slides his fist to the ends, and then winds my hair around his hand, forcing my neck to crane and my chin to rise. Pulling at my scalp until tears spring to my eyes. I can feel his strength, how much he’s holding back. I reach behind my head to clutch his wrists, but I can’t budge him. My back is forced to arch. I sob. He leans to speak in my ear, his breath hot on my cheek. “I like it either way,” he says.
