Chapter 5 The Forced Pacification

Cole placed his hand on the heavy brass doorknob, ready to leave for his conference call.

He paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the bed.

Alya was sitting up against the pillows. Her profile was cold, indifferent, and completely detached. She wasn't looking at him, she was staring at the blank television screen on the wall.

A surge of inexplicable, fiery irritation washed over him. She was dismissing him.

Cole dropped his hand from the knob and turned around. With a sharp, definitive click, he locked the suite door.

Alya's head snapped toward the sound. Her eyes widened in sudden, visceral alarm as Cole slowly walked back toward the bed.

His gait was slow, deliberate. He reached up and unknotted his silk tie, pulling it from his collar and tossed it carelessly onto the armchair.

His gaze was locked onto her like a predator cornering its prey.

Alya scrambled backward against the headboard. Her hands grabbed the thin hospital blanket, pulling it up to her chest defensively.

"Stay away from me," Alya warned. Her voice trembled slightly, betraying the stoic mask she was trying to maintain.

Cole ignored her. He reached the edge of the bed and placed one heavy knee onto the mattress.

The bed dipped significantly under his weight, causing Alya to slide slightly toward him. He was trapping her against the wall.

"You want to play games?" Cole murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

He lunged forward. His large hands shot out, gripping both of her wrists. With effortless strength, he pinned her arms above her head, pressing them hard against the wooden headboard.

Cole leaned down, his body covering hers. His lips crashed onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss of passion. It was harsh, punishing, and entirely dominant. He was trying to swallow her rebellion.

Alya thrashes wildly beneath him. She kicked her legs, her bare feet hitting his thighs. She twisted her torso, trying desperately to break free from his iron grip.

Cole simply shifted his weight. He used his heavy, muscular body to completely immobilize her legs, pressing her deep into the mattress. He deepened the forced kiss, his tongue demanding entry.

Alya's panic spiked. She clamped her jaw shut. When he pushed harder, she bit down. Hard.

Her teeth sank into his lower lip. The sharp, metallic taste of blood instantly flooded both their mouths.

Cole hissed in pain. He pulled his head back slightly, his chest heaving. He raised the back of his hand and wiped the smear of blood from his torn lip. He looked at the red stain on his skin.

Instead of getting angry, Cole's eyes darkened with intense lust.

"You're finally showing some fire," Cole muttered, his voice thick with desire.

He attacked her neck. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses against her collarbone, his teeth scraping against her sensitive skin.

"Stop! Cole, stop!" Alya pleaded desperately, turning her head away to avoid his mouth.

He ignored her, his free hand moving down to grip her waist.

Alya realized fighting him physically was completely useless. He was too strong, and her struggling only fueled his twisted sense of dominance.

She suddenly stopped resisting.

Alya let her body go completely limp. Her muscles relaxed into a terrifying, unnatural stillness. She became lifeless beneath him.

She stared blankly at the ceiling tiles and her eyes went vacant. She slowed her breathing, acting like a hollow, empty doll enduring a chore.

Cole sensed the immediate shift and he paused his assault on her neck.

He lifted his head, looking down at her unresponsive, frozen face. A flicker of deep unease crossed his arrogant features.

Cole's crushing grip on her wrists loosened significantly. He released her hands.

He reached up, his thumb gently brushing a stray tear that had leaked from the corner of her eye. It was a rare, confusing moment of softness from him.

"Alya," Cole whispered, a hint of genuine frustration bleeding into his voice. "Why do you have to be so difficult today?"

Alya remained completely silent, she didn't blink. She shut him out emotionally, retreating deep into her own mind where he couldn't touch her.

Cole sighed heavily. The sound was ragged.

He rolled off the bed, his boots hitting the floor. He ran a frustrated, shaking hand through his perfectly styled hair, ruining the expensive cut.

He buttoned his collar, hiding his throat. His demeanor shifted rapidly, snapping back to cold, business-like detachment to mask his internal discomfort.

Cole reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his leather wallet.

He extracted a solid black American Express card. He tossed it onto the bedside table. The heavy plastic clicked sharply against the wood.

"Buy whatever you want to calm down," Cole instructed, his voice flat. "I will have the driver take you home tomorrow morning."

Alya didn't look at the card and she didn't look at him also.

She slowly pulled the hospital blanket up to her chin, turning her back to him entirely.

Cole stared at her rigid back for a long, heavy moment. His jaw locked tight.

He turned around, walked to the door, and unlocked it.

The door slammed shut behind him. The heavy thud echoed in the silent, sterile room.

The moment the lock clicked, Alya curled into a tight fetal position.

Her hands gripped her own shoulders. A violent, uncontrollable shudder wracked her entire body.

Immense humiliation and despair crashed over her, suffocating her.

She realized, with terrifying clarity, that he truly thought her soul-crushing grief and heartbreak was just a tantrum. A tantrum that could be bought with a black card or fucked away in a hospital bed.

She closed her eyes, letting the darkness take her.