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OPHELIA

“ M iss Monroe.”

Topher’s dad was nothing like him. Sure, both men were tall. Both had broad shoulders. Both stood there, in the entryway of Mr. Hawthorne’s mansion, wearing dark, expensive suits.

That was where their similarities ended.

I didn’t like it that I noticed it. It’d been three months that I hadn’t been sure about my feelings for Topher, and yet I noticed his dad from the first moment I laid my eyes on him.

Topher kept asking me out, and I kept saying yes. I believed something would change.

This wasn’t the change I dreamed of. The butterflies in my belly. The stars in my eyes.

If I ever needed a sign to end things with Topher, this was it.

Three more weeks. You promised to give him that long to sweep you off your feet.

Whether he did or not, one thing was for sure—I’d never think, dream, or feel anything for his dad.

This was where it ended.

Soft footfalls padding on stone rouse me from this half-sleep state I’ve been in for…

How long? Who knows?

I sure as hell don’t. Without windows or a clock hanging on the wall, I have no way of telling.

No, that’s not true. I do have some sense of how long I’ve been here.

I’ve used the bathroom twice. Dozed off once.

My stomach has been grumbling over and over again. I’ve hugged it and begged for it to stop twice.

Then there’s been this dull, incessant ache between my legs.

Zero—that’s the number of times I orgasmed. It feels dirty to need James so much that I have to touch myself.

This whole place, the auction, the crawl to me . He’s been debasing me.

Making myself come will be the final nail in my coffin.

“Sonnet.” He’s behind the bars, one hand holding a bottle of water. The other is carrying a plate.

Holy. Shit. There’s a sandwich on it.

He watches me as I hug my knees closer to my chest. His gaze unnerves me, and I press my back harder to the wall.

“What do you want?” I snarl, my throat dry. I could drunk from the tap, but I won’t. They could be unfiltered. I could die.

Topher would’ve loved that. Maybe James too.

“How have you been?”

I almost laugh at him.

I could’ve been better if I’d tucked myself under the covers. Had I slept in the bed instead of on the floor.

Which would never happen. I’d never allow myself to be comfortable here. Won’t lie and tell myself that this isn’t the worst place ever.

Being here is the worst.

James is the worst.

I hate him.

I think.

I do.

I have to convince myself of that. Cling on to that.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

“Let’s see.” Talking hurts after being denied water. After crying for hours. “I was put on display, auctioned, and sold to my ex-boyfriend’s dad. Ever since I’ve been locked in a cell. Sleep deprived. Food deprived. Orgasm deprived. Life is fucking peachy.”

“Ophelia. You’re looking at this the wrong way.” He raises a thick eyebrow. My accusations have gone right over his head. “You were sold for thirty million dollars. It’s the highest bid we’ve had here.”

The nerve of this man. To say these things to me. To look so good while he humiliates me. He’s showered, I notice, refreshed in his blue jeans and gray long-sleeve T-shirt. I won’t stare at him too long.

I will definitely not try to guess what he put in that sandwich.

Fuck him and his whole wheat bread and his damp hair that still manages to look perfect.

Fuck. Him.

I put my hand on my chest. Flutter my eyelashes.

“Oh, Jeez. Where are my manners? Mr. Hawthorne, sir, I’m so incredibly flattered. Honored, even. That is, if I forget that I was sold”—my voice rises, my hand balling into a fist—“against”—I’m screaming now—“my will!”

“The last three items you’ve listed as things you’ve been denied of earlier, that’s on you.

” More ignoring me. More of his flat tone.

More of his dark glare. My thighs remain where they are.

They won’t clench for him. “You could’ve slept in the bed.

Could’ve let me feed you. Could’ve made you come on my fingers.

I offered you everything, but you refused. ”

An animalistic growl bursts past my lips. I don’t recognize it. This isn’t me. “You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re fucking with my head.” Gone is his cool, aloof demeanor. A scary emotion washes over him. He lets it stay this time. Lets me see him. Lets me fear him. “I’d say we’re even.”

My stomach grumbles, and it’s humiliating. I pull my knees closer, hoping it’ll silence the sound. Fail.

“You’re going to be good.” Not a question. A command. A threat. “I’m going to come inside. Then you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

I have to fight him. Either that or humanize myself in his eyes so he stops this madness. He tucked me in before the auction.

He didn’t let the Italian predator buy me. Didn’t let Topher humiliate me or hurt me.

A part of him looks at me and sees more than a pretty face. More than a game.

Maybe if I’m good, he’ll remember that. Maybe I can even grow to like this side of him.

And maybe if you’re bad, he’ll kill you. Maybe that’s what happened to Topher’s mom. He might’ve killed her.

Either way, I have to gather my strength. I have to eat to survive this.

“I’ll be good.” I’ll survive this. I’ll survive him. “What do you want?”

“That’s better.”

With the bottle squeezed into his armpit, he has one free hand to retrieve the gold keys from his jeans pocket. He unlocks the door, closes it behind him, and locks it up again. The keys slide back into his pocket.

I’m wary and insanely curious as he gets closer. His elegant gait. His eyes on mine. How he lowers himself into the bed I refuse to get into.

“Before I left, I ordered you to do something.”

The plate is on the bed. I smell peanut butter. Did Topher tell him it was my favorite snack? I’ll kill him. I’ll destroy him.

Food doesn’t matter. Topher doesn’t matter.

“How long has it been since you left, anyway?”

James takes a moment or two to answer me. Could be a million. His silence is unsettling. His silence makes me wet.

“Okay. I’ll indulge you.” He makes it sound like a gift, and I, sickly, in the most depraved way, light up at this.

Then this darkness splashes across his face.

He’s mad that I’m leaning closer to him.

“Three hours. Couldn’t leave you here for longer than that without food.

You need to eat. You will eat, damn it.”

Hope. A sliver of it. He might care for me. In an unconventional way. But still. “Even if I don’t?—”

One shake of his head and my mouth slams shut.

“Food and water won’t come for free. Tomorrow, maybe.

” He shrugs, and even that movement looks violent.

“Depends on how well you behave. On how well you follow orders tonight. How pleased I’ll be by the way you crawl to me.

How much of a fight you put up before you finally bend to my will.

You will, eventually. Trust me when I say that I’m not leaving here before your stomach is full.

The only question is if you’ll be punished for it or not.

You don’t want to test my patience. You shouldn’t. ”

My first reaction is to shudder. Can’t help it. He’s so severe. So intimidating. His words are teeth sinking into my flesh.

James, my owner, notices. His eyes narrow. Wicked satisfaction lights up in them.

The last time he was here, crawling to him seemed like the worst possible thing that could happen to me. Every cell in my body rejected the idea.

Now, late at night, when I’m exhausted, hungry—and after spending hours here by myself—it doesn’t sound as awful. Having him here isn’t as terrible. His presence doesn’t terrify me.

It…

Fuck.

These feelings for him. I shouldn’t be having them, yet here they are.

Right. Fucking. Here.

He can never know that I’m growing attached to him. That a part of me finally admits that I’m relieved that he returned to my cell.

I hoped he never would. Prayed that the next person to come down here would be a man or a woman in a police uniform, they’d hold the literal and metaphorical key to my freedom.

James is here instead. A familiar presence. And he brought me water and food.

He’s someone I find comfort in.

Topher, who tricked and betrayed me, wouldn’t have given me this sense of strange peace. The buyers in the auction room wouldn’t have given two fucks whether I ate or drank or starved to death.

James is here to make sure I’m okay.

I’m not alone. Not whipped or ignored or left here to lose my mind until I’m nothing but a vessel. A bag of skin and bones to be tortured.

But surviving this hell comes with a price.

Doing what he says will humiliate me. Demean me. My soul will crack some more after tonight.

It’ll be okay , my mind sends the signal to my worn-out, defeated body. You might even like it. Being his.

No, I won’t.

I’ll do it anyway so I can live to fight another day.

Tears gather in the corners of my eyes. I’m already on my hands and knees.

Deep breath .

“I’ll crawl.”

“Not so fast.” He raises his hand to stop me. “You’ve made me wait.”

I look at him from beneath my lashes. He’s quiet. Expecting another thing of me. I don’t know what, and my helplessness almost pushes tears out my eyes. I will them to stay there while I try to figure out what it is he wants.

I have to try.

“I’m…” A sick part of me wants to please him. All of me wants to kill him for putting me through this. “Sorry?”

“Cute, but no.” His hands flex on his thighs. Physically, we’re about six feet apart since he sits at the foot of the bed, staring at me. Emotionally, he’s right here, towering over me. “After you crawl, and before you get to touch your food, you’ll suck me.”

Fire flares across my body. My neck heats. My muscles lock up. I thought it couldn’t get any worse. That the humiliation would end when I crawl to him.

Not when I have his cock in my mouth.

My panties are soaked at the idea. That, too, makes me want to weep.