“Does he deserve you?” he asks as he kisses my neck. His affection chokes me more than his hand around my throat. I’d rather have his hand on my mouth than on my neck. I’d rather he kill me now than try to sleep with me. “If you do what you’re thinking of doing, I’m dead,” I tell him. It’s true. Even if I don’t end up six feet under in some half-assed unmarked grave courtesy of this man, if I go home to my husband, I’ll end up that way if this man uses me. My husband will know. He always knows everything. “You said he’ll kill you anyway,” he says as he wraps a hand around my throat once more
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