Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 74

Chapter 74: ’The Prey Bites Back’

Florian inhaled sharply, forcing his hands to remain steady as he gestured toward the worn-out chair. "Sit down." His voice was firm—an order, not a request.

Charles arched a brow, amusement flickering in his dark eyes, but he didn’t hesitate. With an easy, unhurried grace, he sank into the chair, sprawling lazily like a king on his throne. One arm draped over the armrest while the other reached for his whiskey.

He swirled the amber liquid in slow circles, letting the light catch on the glass before taking a long, deliberate sip. His gaze never wavered, watching Florian over the rim, the weight of his attention heavy and unshaken.

The dim lighting deepened the shadows across his sharp, angular features, carving them into something more menacing, more cruel. The smirk curling at his lips was smug, knowing, a silent taunt that sent a slow, creeping chill up Florian’s spine.

"And here I thought you’d be too shy to take charge." Charles’ voice dripped with dark amusement, a quiet purr laced with condescension. He leaned back slightly, settling further into the chair, exuding the kind of effortless dominance that made Florian’s stomach twist. "Now, when are you going to strip?"

Florian forced a smile, tilting his head slightly. "Soon."

The word tasted like rust on his tongue.

With measured, deliberate ease, he moved forward, swinging one leg over Charles’ lap, lowering himself with a slow, practiced control. His every motion was calculated, an illusion of confidence stretched thin over something far more fragile.

The moment Charles’ hands settled on his waist, fingers pressing in with a firm, possessive weight, an icy shudder rippled through Florian’s body. His skin prickled, too aware of the heat of Charles’ palms, the way they fit against him like they had the right to be there. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to stiffen, not to recoil, not to let even a flicker of discomfort show.

His breath came in shallow pulls, his chest tight, lungs refusing to expand properly.

’Almost there. Just a little longer. Just breathe.’

Then—

A sharp, piercing ring exploded in his ears.

Florian flinched.

The world around him dimmed, edges smearing into a haze of indistinct shapes and muted colors.

Not real.

No, not a sound. A memory. A ghost of a past that wasn’t his, clawing its way up from the depths of his mind, dragging him under before he could resist.

Sobbing. Desperate, broken cries.

"Please—please stop, please, no more—!"

His breath hitched violently. The voice—his voice—no. Not his.

The real Florian’s.

"Heinz...help...please..."

Raw. Trembling. Pleading for mercy that had never come.

A violent shudder wracked through him as his mind was wrenched back into a nightmarish haze—

Hands. Rough, unyielding. Pinning down slender wrists. Bruises blooming beneath an iron grip. A sharp gasp, choked and breathless, wide panicked eyes stinging with unshed tears.

The sound of fabric tearing.

The sickening press of unwanted weight.

"PLEASE!"

The taste of fear, bitter and metallic on his tongue.

’NO.’

His pulse spiked, hammering against his ribs like it was trying to break free. A tremor raced down his spine, fingers twitching, going numb. His stomach twisted, nausea curling deep in his gut, coiling tighter with every breath.

The room swayed around him in a sickening lurch, and for a moment—just a moment—he wasn’t here.

He wasn’t Florian, sitting in Charles’ lap.

He was someone else, trapped in a body that wasn’t his, reliving a horror he had no right to claim.

’Not now. Not when I’m so close.’

’I have to do this.’

"STOP—please, please stop—!"

His breath came out ragged, uneven. The voice echoed in his skull, seeping into his bones. He could still hear it. Still feel it. The weight of phantom hands pinning him down, breath hot against his ear, nails biting into his skin. His stomach twisted violently.