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I was going to devour her whole, and she was going to love and loathe every moment of it.

Maybe her nipples being hard had to do with the cold and not her attraction to me, or even the adrenaline and post-orgasm hormones surging through her after her pistol fuck.

But the way her impossibly tight cunt gripped my fingers, how her arousal coated every digit, like thick creamy honey…there was no hiding that.

My sweet captive was just as depraved and fucked up as I was.

She may not have known it yet, but she was absolutely fucking made for me.

There was also something else… panic, maybe? Panic was definitely reflected in her eyes, the golden flecks more pronounced, but there was something more. Something I couldn't quite name.

She rattled the handcuffs. "Let me go, you sick bastard!"

Anger.

I smiled to myself.

Of course. It was anger in her eyes.

Maybe I had pushed her too hard. Or maybe I hadn't pushed her hard enough.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. That's not playing nice," I taunted as I skimmed my mouth along her jaw. "Maybe I need to show you how."

I bit down on her lower lip, pulling on it, tasting her,before releasing it. Still straddling her hips, I leaned back to pull a knife from the holder in my boot.

She inhaled sharply.

"Let's see if I can make you more comfortable," I said as I slipped off the bed and stood hovering over her form.

The silk sheets beneath her gleamed in the low light, her pale skin luminous against the dark fabric. Her breasts rose and fell with each erratic breath. Her stomach was sucked in so hard it was hollow. While her fingers, and even her toes, clenched.

Alina was scared. Good. She should be.

Using the blade of my knife, I sliced through the fishnet stockings, stripping them from her body and pulling off the cheap heels. It wasn't until I pulled them off that I realized they were scuffed to hell, the marks haphazardly covered in Sharpie ink.

She was dressed like a street rat. That was going to have to change, and I was just the man for the job.

Or perhaps her new wardrobe should comprise nothing at all. What use did she have for clothes when she was meant to be my fuck toy?

I couldn't for the life of me think of a single reason she needed to leave my bed. The hotel my cousins owned had everything she could need, and it would be brought to her, delivered right outside that door where I would fetch it.

There was no reason she needed clothes or shoes when her entire purpose would be to satisfy my cock.

The dark thoughts twisted inside my mind.

I hadn't brought her here with the intention of keeping her imprisoned, just like I hadn't chased her down in theoffice with the intent of forcing my cock down her throat… but here we were.

The contradiction gnawed at me. Part of me wanted to shield her from the world's cruelty, yet at the same time I was becoming her greatest threat. She just had to keep running, keep fighting me and making me punish her. Speaking of which...

"What the fuck were you thinking? Working at a place like that?" I demanded, throwing the cut fabric and shoes aside. The shoes landed on the thick carpet with a dull thud as I looked down at her. Her skin erupted into goosebumps as my gaze caressed her form.

Between her job as a midnight cleaner and the fucking strip club, my anger rose.

Did she not know what could have happened to her? A beautiful, innocent woman had no business putting herself in such dangerous situations.

She risked running into murderous sociopaths…like me.

Case in point. She was now chained to my bed, and I had no intention of letting her go.