Every movement of his fingers made Octavia want to try and break free from his grasp, but every movement of her body just reminded her of the bruises. Not that that seemed to stop her: just made her seem more helpless and distraught, as she writhed about, whimpering.

Overwhelmed.

His voice was in her ear, but so was the harsh sound of her breathing, and quiet-but-loud to her, also the wet sound of his fingers moving over her, against her, inside her. And something about that made her cheeks burn. Maybe because it was proof of how much she wanted all of this. No matter how humiliating.

Her hips tried to buck away from his lap. Or maybe just towards his hand.