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I need her out of my head.

Her punishment for seducing me can’t wait.

Down the stairs I go, taking two at a time.

There’s order in my life. I have to reclaim it.

“James.” She’s already up when I arrive. Under the covers, doing what she was told.

Being a temptation. A distraction.

I say nothing. Flip the lock. Enter the cell.

“Hi.” Her voice is hoarse from sleep. It speaks straight to my cock.

I still stick to my silence.

It’s then that she notices today’s going to be different. Her large brown eyes run over my body. My dark, long-sleeved T-shirt. The rope in my hand.

“No food?” With a furrowed brow, suspicion paints her voice. “A rope?”

“Up.”

“No.” She raises her voice, pulling the duvet up and over her body. Her fight is another temptation that I ignore. “You can’t keep torturing me. Or if you do, it can’t get any worse. I won’t let you do this to me.”

“Is that so?” I’m a prick for mocking her. For doing it for no apparent reason. It doesn’t help me in the slightest. I don’t feel any less drawn to her when I’m being cruel. The desire to get into that shitty bed and cradle her is intense. “You didn’t look so tortured last night when you came on my fingers.”

The flush on her face is crimson red. “You bastard.”

“Come here.” I’m done waiting. I yank her up and out of the bed, wrapping one arm around her waist. Pinned to my body,she screams and punches me. “Lying doesn’t suit you. I was the one who wiped your dripping pussy clean for the last two days. Had to bring six clean pairs of panties because you ruined yours. You moan when I spit into your mouth.”

“I hate you so much.”

“I wish I could actually torture you. Wish you could suffer for fucking with my head like I suffer.”

God, this new feeling is hell. Loathing. I loathe myself for the things I say. Acting as if the things we’ve done mean nothing to me.

They do mean something.

They shouldn’t.

This fascination with her has to stop.

“I hate you!” she screams in my ear. Tears at my hair. “What the hell is wrong with you? I hate you!”

You’re what’s wrong. Wanting you is wrong.

“We’re back to this again?” Thank fuck we are.

“You’re insane.”

I tighten my grip around her waist as she thrashes against me. As I loop the rope around the hook that hangs off the ceiling.

“Stop.” Ophelia’s screams have turned into agonized cries. Probably from how easily I tie her wrists together. “James. Please, stop. I’ll be good. You asked me to be good the other night, right? I’ll be good. I promise. Please.”

Hugging her. Filling her with babies. Stuffing her mouth with my cock.

Any of these scenarios would be better than what I’m about to do.