He let go of her throat and her body to backhand her again, feeling her flesh bruise under his knuckles. It was a powerful, heady drink, and he had to drop his hands again to look at her, taking in the bruises on her neck and that little illicit trickle of blood. His smile edged up along the corners of his mouth, taunting. "Don't fight me," he said softly. "That's what you're here to learn, Sommer. You have to learn not to fight your place here." He took her in his arms and kissed her, on the lips, intimate and hard, his teeth scraping her lower lip. The sudden intimacy was there and gone and then he pulled back to smile at her.<br/><br/>Pressed as tightly together as they were, she could feel how hard he was, through the fine, thin material of his pants. Whatever pretenses Michael might have made, he was clearly enjoying her suffering, clearly basking in her fear and delighting in her pain. He slid his hand down her breasts again, then down the flat of her belly to slide between her legs, parting her easily and plunging painfully inside, two fingers twisting inside her. His other hand held the back of her neck firmly and violently, to keep her from moving away from him, though his eyes fluttered partially closed as he pushed up cruelly inside her.<br/><br/>"You'll learn," he whispered, shuddering. "You'll learn your place here. I'll teach you. I promised, didn't I?"